


Spare the Rod

by Dementian



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Caning, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 560,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementian/pseuds/Dementian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After living nearly twenty years under the guise of being a beta, Thomas Barrow is forced to come to painful terms with the fact that he is an omega in an unwelcome world where alphas reign supreme over all.<br/>Set post S6E8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dividing the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm working on over five different fics right now, including the sequel to 'And I for Him' and 'Down the Rabbit Hole'. I'm having a hard time writing, but have desperately wanted to tackle a Downton!Omegaverse for quite some time now. I am delighted to see where this goes. Please, for the love of God heed all the warnings that I've posted, and then some. I will obviously at the beginning of each chapter post warnings for that particular segment but be aware that this will be one of my darker fics. I'm not going to pretend that the ending will be distinctly 'happy'. I wanted to really explore what I believe an omegaverse would honestly have look like in 1920's England. 
> 
> If you're curious, It would have fucking sucked.

_Litigo 18:10-12: “Let no one be found among you who sacrifices their womb in the fire, who practices the sorcery of herbs, divides heats, engages in miscarriage, or who is an omega beyond an alpha or an alpha beyond an omega. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Alpha Supreme.”_

 

 

 

When it began, it began with a burning. A dull, groaning ache that slowly grew till it was filling every pore of his being. Every fibre; every bone. His hands and chest would sweat. His vision would blur at the edges, his mouth would become as dry as the Mohave.

 _Water_ , his brain would beg, _Water, food, sustenance…. save yourself!_

But such thoughts would perish as the second wave rolled around, the burning engulfing him in a swarming inferno that left him fevered and maddened for days. He would know nothing save for the one mantra that pounded through his skull with each beleaguered heart beat.

 _Alpha_ , he would think. _I need an alpha_.

Thomas had known he was different from a small age, but it had taken him until the age of thirteen to realize just how different. He’d understood he liked boys instead of girls since he’d first developed a crush on a handsome farmer who lived up the way and worked his fields shirtless during the summer season. At the tender age of five, Thomas would sit and watch the farmer, Thomas’ small feet swinging beneath the fence on which he sat, and observe the farmer strip. It had all been a matter of keeping thoughts to himself until the eight years later though, when Thomas had woken up one morning to find his arse, upper thighs, and penis utterly covered in a disgusting semi-opaque mucus that had smelt strongly of musk and sweat. To make matters worse, his anal passage had been hot and throbbing with a desperate burning ache that he couldn’t satisfy or quench. He’d almost been wanting to jam an icicle up his arse, anything to make the burning stop. Cramps had rocked his system, making him think that he’d taken to the flue, or that he’d even begun to experience an onset of appendicitis. He’d cried the entire morning, begging for his mother to help him; for his father to make the ache go away. When the pair of them had seen Thomas covered in that slick, it had been as if he’d been covered in blood instead. They’d been horrified, desperate to hide Thomas away from the neighbors lest they catch wind of what was going on in their dusty attic. In the end they’d had to cave and call for a doctor when Thomas had begun to vomit profusely and ramble nonsense about being ‘bred’. The village of Stockport had not boasted much in the way of medicine, but the local doctor had been able to diagnose Thomas easily enough and give him a Valerian root to chew on. Thomas had drifted off to sleep, swaddled in several blankets to help sweat out his fever, and when he’d finally come back to true consciousness three days later his entire world had changed.

He’d been declared an omega by the village doctor, and in a single week had been forced to withdraw from public school in order to sign up for some ridiculous matchmaking program offered in each county. Thomas had been young; too young to understand properly just why it was that everyone was suddenly talking to him about making babies and being bred when he was still just a baby himself. Before he could snap his fingers, his mother had found him an alpha from her knitting circle, a woman twice his age eager to take her first mate. She’d terrified him.

He’d run for his life, abandoning his family home early one morning before the sun had even rose to walk the train tracks of Stockport till he wound up in Liverpool. From Liverpool to Manchester, Manchester to Leeds, Leeds to York, and York to Downton- Thomas had spent most of his life on the move hiding from the fate that his counterparts suffered where ever he went. In the church pews, hospital wings, school houses, court rooms, and tea parlors the results were always the same: alpha’s took and omega’s gave, even when they had nothing left to give. Even when they were dying, their uterus’ infected and swollen, their immune systems shot to hell, the number of their offspring taller than their age.

It terrified him. Plum fuck terrified him. It seemed that the world had decided he was predestined to become a corpse in all but name, a walking womb whose only true purpose and pride would come from their ability to push out ‘slick’: a disgusting name for a disgusting substance that produced disgusting results. It was like snot dripping from one’s anus— hardly an ideal situation.

Of course, to every traditional standpoint there was a modern view, and as 1910 bid adieu omegas were suddenly begin given a reprieve for the first time in their meagre existence with science on the rise. Thomas had crammed every bit of liberal literature, commentary, and theory that he could nab into his brain. He’d reasoned with the best of them as he walked the steps from hall boy to footman, from footman to valet, from valet to underbutler. He’d decided long ago that he was not an omega. That he was a _human being_. That like any human being, he had _inalienable rights_. That those rights could not be stripped away from him just because of his ‘drive’. It was his _right_ to pursue his life in the manor that he chose. He _chose_ for that manor to be non-traditional. He _chose_ for that manor to be focused around his career, not his ‘nest’. Indeed, Thomas Barrow did not possess a nest. He did not posses anything.

There were liquid suppressants, perfumed balms for scent glands, pills to break down heats, plenty of medicines to take in an up and coming world; Thomas exploited every opportunity he was given, determined to make use of it as he came to fully grasp with the fact that for the rest of his life, once a month, he would be forced to go into ‘heat’ and deal with the results. The traditional method was to have an alpha, to bear their bastards and whatever beatings they gave out… but Thomas raided his medicine cabinet instead and swallowed as many pills as he dared. For so many years, he’d covered his neck with a balm to hide his scent, had swallowed tonics to slow his production of slick, had taken pills to knock his heats from several days to several hours… the results were that his body had become confused. Had begun to shut down. Though Thomas’ physical anatomy was typical of an omega (slim waisted, widely splayed hipbones and slanted shoulders), he’d suffered a growth spurt in his late teens uncommon for his drive and had stopped smelling like an omega. Whatever his scent had once been, he now smelt like nothing save for a normal male. Sweat was his musk. Good clean sweat and nothing more. Even so, he kept his guard up at all times lest he be approached by a wayward alpha looking to breed. Omega males were rare, or so Thomas had come to understand, but homosexual omega males were on such a complex level of scarcity that Thomas knew if he were ever to be found out, he would be besieged upon by all sorts of alpha men who were either curious for a taste of an omega male, or were also homosexuals and desperate to breed. He was, in short, a plump juicy grouse walking in broad daylight during hunting season while desperately wearing the skin of a pigeon.

 _I’m completely normal!_ he declared to the world, all the while shoving pills in his mouth at an alarming rate. A small price to pay for being thirty five and unbred… unbound.

Thomas despised it, the idea of being the victim and omega, the concept that he might be forced to mate with some stranger during a rut, and bear their bastards too- Thomas wanted no part in it. He took his pills, and he kept his head down free of scent and strife. He watched with detached curiosity as Anna and Bates had found one another. As they’d broken the laws of lord and title to court and eventually mate. The law was simple: any omega in the role of servant to a member of the gentry belonged exclusively to their lord. A lord could sell his omegas or keep them for himself. It was as easy as that. Most lords left it be, or so Thomas had seen as he’d bounced from house to house. Certainly, they owned many lower class omega servants, mostly house maids and even a few cooks, but that didn’t mean they felt the need to sell or to breed. Generally members of the gentry took up with blood as blue as their own. Houses prized themselves on their noble omegas, arranging marriages between families to better stack the odds in their favor as futures were washed down the drain like scraps from a pan. Thomas didn’t know whether to feel sorry for noble omegas or to be disgusted. Lady Sybil had never consigned to tradition, despite being born an omega to an Earl’s lineage. She’d taken up with the lower class alpha Tom Branson, and despite not having Lord Grantham’s permission to bond and breed she’d done just that.

Admittedly with horrific results, but her death had been in the same tone quality of her life… both crafted through her own choices. Her own desires.

In a way, Thomas idolized Lady Sybil even as he lived under the guise of being a beta. She’d never hid from being an omega, but she’d never let it define her either. Thomas wished he had her courage. Instead he was frightened he’d one day end up like Jimmy or Matthew Crawley, both of whom had been bent to the whims of a female alpha without so much as a breath of resistance. To be fair, Lady Mary had been devoted to Mr. Crawley, a loving and caring alpha right up to the very bitter end… but Jimmy had been frightened of Lady Anstruther, unable to escape her save for in appeasing her immense sexual appetite. Jimmy had practically been swallowed whole, had been unable to stave her off even when the fucking house had caught fire. Like an orgasm was more valuable than being alive.

It all boiled down to the same facts: so long as Thomas pretended to be a Beta and kept up the facade, he could live his life on his own terms and conditions without having to breed, bond, or bleed.

At least, that had been the initial plan.

 

When Thomas had gotten wind of exciting new treatments fresh out of London that promised the ability to change an omega or alpha into a beta, he’d flung himself at it with fevered excitement. To imagine, a life where he’d never have to spend his money on heat suppressants or scent balms again! He could finally save up, get a real hold on his life, make something of himself… or so he’d thought until the therapy had turned out to be nothing but another money sucking hoax, shocking the shit out of him and causing his womb to cramp to the point of mind numbing pain. The injections had been just as horrific, and extremely difficult to explain to a wary Dr. Clarkson who’d already had suspicions about Thomas’ nature. How a trained medic was able to inject himself with unsterilized saline was as good as the next man’s guess, but Dr. Clarkson had finally swallowed the lie when Thomas had swiped a contaminated supplement from the supply storeroom just down the hall. If he’d found the container familiar or the case too feeble to hold… he’d said nothing. Merely drained Thomas’ abscess and sent him home wincing.

That had been the beginning of the end, in truth. The ugly dawning realization that nothing would ever change. That he could hide and pretend all he liked… at the end of the day when his covers were up to his chin and his belly was full of pills and serums, he was still an unbound unbred omega… still unable to fulfill his purpose.

It burned him, bruised him, bated him, utterly destroyed him… to reason with the fact that he actually did, deep down, want an alpha. And how could he not? The thought of being protected, cared for night and day by another stronger and wiser than he made him shiver. A tall man, he could see it now, with broad shoulders and an intense stare who would kiss him sweetly upon his scent gland and nibble at his flesh protectively. He’d been firm but not unkind, and content with only one or two children. Thomas saw himself living above a shop, mated to its keeper, nesting and sleeping peacefully while his mate provided the hard labor it took to push a business in a growing economy. His children would be fat and healthy, with plump cheeks and loose dark curls. His life would be modest, but his own… and he’d be able to be an omega at long last without fearing the harsher results.

But those sort of fantasies never saw the light of day, never made it to full fruition. The fact of the matter was that Thomas was thirty five, and way past his ‘prime’ in omega terms. 

No, Thomas’ fragile fantasies of a kind alpha and a quiet life were as dead as Sybil Crawley, the optimistic and forward thinking omega whose womb had damned her to a painful demise. The moment he’d rationalized this, Thomas’ depression had taken him over… and he’d decided enough was enough.

But he hadn’t been successful, slitting his wrists only to be found unconscious in the bathtub by Baxter and Andy, who had run to Mrs. Hughes like the devil was after them. In timid recovery, Thomas had lain broken and bitter upon his narrow singlet cot, watching the clouds overtake the hot English summer sky till the moon beat them into submission. Days had passed, and Thomas knew that his heat was coming closer. That it would surely be any day now, without pills, suppressants, or scent balms to give him relief.

Part of him had prayed that his body would simply forget. That he’d ghost past this heat after the trauma of his attempted suicide. He’d heard the same thing happening to other omegas- even beta women experienced pauses in their normal menstrual cycles when they were under intense stress… but it seemed that his body was determined to damn him in the end, just like it had Sybil Crawley.

When the dull burning ache had begun to build in his stomach, Thomas knew that it was too late. That any pill or tonic he could take would not be able to swing into effect to save him from his current heat. That soon enough, every alpha and omega within a block radius would be able to smell him, and his final horrific secret would be revealed to the entirety of Downton Abbey.

Without physical strength he could not run.  
Without money he could not survive.  
Without an alpha, he could not abate his heat cycles.

So he did the only thing he could think to do: use his final remaining vestiges of strength to push (with bandaged clumsy hands) his dresser, desk, and wardrobe until he'd fully blocked his doorway.

 _Save yourself!_ his brain cried out… the age old line the first wave bore.

 

Part of his fevered brain wanted to knock everything aside and find the first alpha he could; Thomas knew that he was working on borrowed time and grabbed his oil lamp in a panic to clutch it tight to his chest. He lit it with clumsy fingers, digits slick against the brass knob that controlled the wick. He reasoned that should his senses abandon him completely, he would drop the lamp and promptly be consumed by flames. It would be much better, he thought, to die of horrific 3rd degree burns than to live as someone’s omega.

 

He tried to take deep breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth.  
He tried to remember his name, his age, his occupation; tried to count past one hundred using only multiples of seven… anything that would keep him from going insane.

But it would do him very little good.

~*~

Downstairs, in his office, the presiding butler and master alpha of the downstairs (one Charles Carson) was hard at work with his mated omega Elsie Hughes. The pair of them were a fastidious and thorough team, charting each piece of silver that came out of wrapping to be placed among his Lordship’s extensive collection. Elsie unwrapped and Charles put away, so that the pair of them effectively went through twenty boxes in a time that it would normally take to undo ten.

But as Charles took a silver tureen which he was to catalogue for Christmas from Elsie’s patient hands, he caught the slightest aroma upon the Air. An aroma that, much like a roasted duck or boiling fruit compote, drifted to each corner of the house till everyone could smell it. Unlike the scent of a food however, this scent seemed more… human. Earthy.

Musky.

Charles froze, the tureen nearly slipping from his hands as he registered what the scent was. What it had to be.

But it _couldn’t_ be. None of the house omega’s were due for their heats. Even if they had been- they would have come to Charles first. They would have asked for help. They would have refused to put the house in danger, with unbound alphas lurking above and below stairs.

And yet, in spite of all of this, there was a musky aromatic smell upon the air that Charles knew instinctively was an omega in heat. His blood began to pound in his ancient veins, lust slowly niggling at the back corners of his brain and urging to take notice.

“Charlie?” Elsie watched concernedly as he refused to lift the tureen up to its rightful cabinet. Charles was on the verge of dropping it, so overtaken by the noxiously beautiful scent upon the wind.

“…I smell an omega in heat.” He declared, and Elsie gasped, bringing a hand slightly up to her mouth in surprise. She sniffed several times, and sure enough after a few breathes she grew pale.

“Oh my goodness-“

 

Three floors above on the gallery, Lord Grantham and his valet John Bates went through several new styles of tuxes fresh from London. Most were too gaudy for Lord Grantham’s taste, but a few could be modified to his likings, and so Bates held them up one at a time for Lord Grantham to observe.

“These new styles are so… odd.” Lord Grantham finally decided on the word, carefully sipping upon a glass of scotch from his reclining chair. Bates drew back a bit, glancing at two tuxes for himself; held aloft in each hand he stared at one only to drop the other, weighing them like a scale.

“Perhaps.” Bates finally agreed.

Lord Grantham sighed, a rather bad decision, for when he took in a deep breath he unwittingly drew in an enormous gust of a heady musky smell that set his blood on edge. He stiffened in his chair, his glass of scotch nearly dropping from his hand.

“…My god.” Lord Grantham whispered.

Bates opened his mouth, clearly about to ask him what was the matter, but in the end there turned out to be no need for Bates clearly could smell it too.

The two alphas stared at one another from across the room. Both of them were mated, but still… one could not deny there was a powerful allure to that scent.

“Who is that?” Bates wondered, agog that an omega in heat could be in the abbey.

“No one would put the house willingly in such danger-!” Lord Grantham rose from his chair. Bates set down both of the tuxes in hand, laying them carefully across Lord Grantham’s dressing room bed as he stepped to the hallway door. He opened it, poking his head out to sniff at the air.

“Quickly, M’lord!” Bates urged, glancing back over his shoulder at Lord Grantham with manic eyes, “We must find the source!”

The pair of them were of the same mind, like bloodhounds tracking down the scent across the richly carpeted gallery floor.

 

Yet below them on the main floor, a greater crisis was occurring. In the library, Branson sat being served tea by Andy, flipping through map after map of the outlying farms of Downton. He might have stayed there for hours, sipping calmly on lemon tea and munching on vanilla biscuits and he not gotten whiff of a scent that sent his head spinning.

Something… aromatic and thick, like the scent one could glean off a sumptuous pork roast or a freshly baked apple pie.

Branson’s mouth began to salivate as he looked up from his maps. He rose from his seat, unbidden, and closed his eyes for a bit to draw breath after breath deep into his lungs. He was almost light headed from the flood of oxygen.

“… God.” Branson whispered. That scent— he’d not smelt anything like it in quite a while. It was dangerous provocative…. like getting a taste of something you knew instinctively you weren’t meant for. Something expensive and rare.

It instantly made you want more.

“Mr. Branson?”

Andy’s voice cut across the miasma that was slowly soaking up his mind; Branson stuttered to a pause, slightly confused to find himself several feet from his original position by the coffee table. Now he was almost to the library door, his hands stretched out instinctively to search for the source of the aroma.

Branson looked around to find Andy watching him, nervous and sweaty as he clutched the untouched tea tray.

Both of them were unbound alphas, but it seemed that he alone could understand the desire of that scent- the luxurious appeal. Clearly whatever omega was emitting it wasn’t meant for Andy’s tastes.

“… D’you smell that?” Branson asked with a croak. Andy sniffed, and his eyes widened as he realized the source of the silent commotion.

“Where is it coming from?” Andy wondered. He set down his tea tray upon the coffee table, heading with Branson out of the library and into the main hall. The pair of them suddenly looked rather comical, sniffing left and right till their moved in unison towards the green baize door at the far corner of the grand staircase.

It was coming from up- high up. It was too far away to be the gallery floor.  
There could be only one place.

“The attics.” Branson decided, his heart suddenly pounding erratically in his ears as he strode to the green baize door and thrust it open.

He did not even realize that he was running.

 

~*~

Thomas’ senses were all but gone as he clutched the blindingly hot oil lamp to his chest. The flame within was warming the glass to an uncomfortable point, causing Thomas’ face and neck to flush where the heat got too close. Thomas could sense rational thought slipping from him, and try as he might to cling onto it it was just too tempting to let go. Just too easy. He’d not experienced such a powerful allure to the subconscious in over twenty years. It was like being high- like falling asleep but staying awake at the same time, and suddenly Thomas couldn’t control his breathing pattern. He found himself sucking in breath after breath, just desperately trying to tell himself internally that he would be okay. That he was in a safe place. That despite his shoddy reputation in the house, there were people below stairs he could call friends… and surely they wouldn’t let him get hurt.

But a dark voice in the back of his head was warning him that this was exactly why he’d attempted suicide in the first place. That the only one who could protect him was his alpha, and his alpha did not exist. He was a candle in the wind, just waiting to be blown out by the first big gust that came along.

And clearly a hurricane was coming up the stairs.

Thomas could hear heavy footsteps approaching, and despite the intense heat he clutched the oil lamp to his chest petrified as a sudden pounding began to shake his door frame. Blocked by several pieces of furniture, the door held fast, but with each slam against the ancient wood, rusty pins squeaked and moaned in protest. _Wham, wham, wham!_

Thomas could smell something acrid and heavy outside, like sweat but more intense. He knew that an alpha had approached, and cowered against the far corner of his room in fear of who would be on the other side.

“STAY AWAY!” He screamed out, desperate to reach his intruder’s more rational senses. Surely they weren’t too far gone. Surely. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

But the pounding just kept coming.

~*~

Outside the door, all hell was breaking loose.

Branson had scaled the servant’s stairs, and upon finding the root of the omega scent and lost his marbles. He’d tried the door only to find it locked, had slammed against it only to find it barred, and thus had begun ramming his body repeatedly against the oak frame in an attempt to bring it down. Andy had tried to stop him, had tagged behind through the whole affair, affected and yet not engrossed. He could tell that there was an omega in Barrow’s room, which made absolutely no sense. He could tell that the omega was in heat. But frankly… the smell held no appeal to him which was strange as an alpha. Perhaps it was his body’s natural deterrence against un prospective mates. Then again, he doubted anyone could smell as good as Daisy.

Of course, Mr. Branson’s ‘door bashing experiment’ was put on pregnant pause by the arrival of Carson and Mrs. Hughes, both of whom were determined to get to the root of the chaos. Frankly they’d heard wood and flesh banging from two stories down.

“Stay back, Elsie!” Carson commanded, sweeping a powerful arm to the side, as he strode with purpose up the hallway. Andy side stepped the entire lot, his hands above his head in mock surrender as Carson grabbed Branson by the elbow and jerked him back hard from the cracking doorway.

“Control yourself sir!” Carson commanded angrily, suddenly in for the fight of his life with an irate Branson on the other end of his arm, “Remember who you are!”

“Get- off- me!” Branson roared, close to foaming at the mouth as he thrashed back and forth. He was incensed, possessed, captivated by the heady aroma slipping through the cracks in Barrows door. Carson could only wonder at who lay beyond, and why an unbound omega in heat might think it wise to hide in Barrow’s room of all places.

“I’ll have that omega!” Branson shouted, determined to get free. From beyond the door, the sound of a shrill frightened scream was heard, further proof that there was a petrified omega inside. Carson could not help but feel a stab of pity for the girl; no doubt a day maid who’d been too frightened to approach him in the first place. The situation had to be rectified and soon, or all hell would break loose. Even to a bound alpha such as Charles, there was only so much a man could take.

Their party was growing larger. Ever the master of his domain, Lord Grantham appeared at the foot of the stairs with Bates in tow, the pair of them clearly on the same track as everyone else. When they saw Tom thrashing and howling in Carson’s weakening arms, they immediately jumped into the fray. The pair of them were men-of-action, longing for a chance to show their worth once again in pursuit of the good fight.

“Tom!” Lord Grantham tried to grab one of Branson’s flailing arms. It was just about as easy as grabbing onto a life fire hose. “Get a hold of yourself!” But talking to Branson was as good as talking to an incensed baboon at this point. Branson was one step away from curling back his lips and baring his teeth.

“Carson, get him outside in the fresh air, away from the scent!” Lord Grantham ordered.

At once, Carson began to drag Branson back step by step, aided along by Andy and Bates, both of whom presented a sturdy wall for Branson to get through in his pursuit of Barrow’s room.

“No! NO!!” Branson howled, outraged. Red faced and furious, he kicked and squalled, only just missing Bates’ cane and bad leg as he fought his way free, “GOD DAMNIT!”

It was a testament to Branson’s strength as an alpha in pursuit of an unbound omega that he was able to break free of Carson’s hold. Knocking Bates and Andy aside like they were mere shrubs along a garden path, Branson slammed his entire body into the door of Barrow’s room, only to begin scratching at the surface with his bare fingers like he thought to dig through.

Branson’s fingernails cracked, blood suddenly gushing forth as splinters embedded into his nails. He was too obsessed to feel the pain, too high off the smell of slick to realize that he was injuring himself. The sight of blood dripping against the door of Barrow’s bedroom caused the tiniest cry of fear to slip past Elsie’s aged lips. Instinctively, in an attempt to protect and care for one of her brood, she reached out with both hands to try and stop Branson from harming himself further. But Branson was too lost in a haze of lust and power to tell the difference between his objective and the one who got in his way. He slashed a hand at Elsie, bloody sharp fingers whistling dangerously through the air and nearly colliding with her fragile flesh. At last second, Carson grabbed his omega about the waist, the keys upon her hip jingling wildly as he jerked her back out of harms way.

Bates stared agog at Branson, shocked that a man so empathetic and warm as he could attack a long time friend like Mrs. Hughes. It served to remind them all just how dangerous a game they were playing at. This was no mere chess battle; should Branson get through the door he would no doubt rape the poor omega maid inside and not mean to. For a man as honorable as Branson, such a concept would be a death sentence. The shame would drive him in the ground.

“Andrew!” Bates took charge, gesturing from Branson to the nervous footman, “Get Branson downstairs now and take Mrs. Hughes!”

“But— I—“ Andrew didn’t seem to think himself worthy of the charge, clearly quaking against the idea of going up against a man who could rattle even Mr. Carson.

“Now, man!” Lord Grantham ordered angrily, “You’re unmated!”

And he was right.

Andy steeled himself, lips locked tight into a thin white line as he hurtled himself at Branson only to grab him hard about the arms locking him in a barrel roll from behind. He drug Branson foot by foot, stronger than Mr. Carson with younger arms and steadier than Mr. Bates with two whole legs. Mrs. Hughes didn’t seem to know what to do, part of her wanting to go to the omega beyond the door and aid them in their time of need.

But the situation was too tense. Their emotions were wild and Branson’s hands were already damaged. One swipe, one kick, one wrong turn and an omega like Elsie could be seriously hurt (to say nothing of the omega in Barrow’s room).

“Go, Elsie!” Charles ordered, “I’ll handle this!”

She would not disobey a direct order from him. Elsie gave him one last pining look before following Andy and Branson up the hall. Branson’s cacophony of outrage and desire was an audible trumpet across the attics.

Suddenly alone in the attics, wrapped in a muslin of musky aroma and heat from the daytime swelter, Carson, Bates, and Lord Grantham each stared at the bloodied door to Barrow’s room in turn. The crying inside was audible, but just barely. Whatever omega had locked themselves in there was no doubt exhausted mid-heat.

Carson stepped forward, using his master key to unlock the door to Barrow’s room. Like Mrs. Hughes, he too held keys to the house but certainly not as many as her nor not at all times. Still, a master key never went amiss, and he often kept one in his pocket just in case he should need to open a door and not be able to find Mrs. Hughes.

Yet as Carson made to open the door, he found that it would only give about an inch, unlocked but still barred by several pieces of furniture from the inside. Clearly the omega in heat had taken extra precautions, pushing wardrobes and bureaus to get a better chance at staying unmated in their time of need.

“Carson,” Lord Grantham ordered in peculiar calm. “Get it open.”

Carson took one deep breath, barrel chest expanding, as he sized up his elbow and shoulder to ram against the door with all the force of a charging bull. The door went falling, crashing into furniture on the inside and sliding down on its right side. Now Carson could push furniture aside, and did so with the help of Mr. Bates, the pair of them making tidy teamwork as they shoved back both the wardrobe, the bureau, and the desk which were blocking the way in.

What they found on the other side stopped them dead.

There was no frightened maid to be found, skirts soaked in slick and crying for her mother. Instead there was a petrified Barrow, with legs trembling and a lit oil lamp held high above his head as if he meant to smash it to the ground and send them all up in flames! The three alphas regarded him, each with fear for the oil lamp and contempt for him as realization dawned on each of them in turn as to what the scent must mean.

It was like the abbey had suffered under an earthquake, each brick shook loose from its normal cement hold as the men regarded the omega before them. So much that they’d taken for granted before (the snobbish attitude, the high maintenance issues, the desperation to be coddled and the irate actions when denied) suddenly now seemed like massive red flags, beacons gleaming in the night, trumpets high on the morn saying _“here ye, here ye!”_

How had they not realized? How had they not seen?  
But the answer was in the question itself. They’d not seen because he hadn’t wanted them to see.

And that was unforgivable.

“…What have you done?” Carson whispered, taking in Thomas as if he’d never seen him before.  
He’d certainly never seen him dripping in slick… but his black trousers now clung to the inside of his left thigh, clearly outlining the muscle with a wet spot. What was more, the smell which had so far been nothing more than a mere hint, was now an overpowering wave which boded nothing but ill. It was one thing to hold out when you were mated and an omega was merely a scent. It was another thing to be a starving man at a sumptuous banquet and say _“I’m not hungry”._

“This can’t be.” Bates didn’t know how to accept the facts before him. He could see, he could smell, but he couldn’t understand. “You’re a… You’re a beta.”

But at the word ‘beta’, Thomas looked almost heartbroken, his face crumpling as thick tears began to drip down his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips trembling continuously. At this point, each man looked at the oil lamp above Thomas’ head with utmost care.

He could not drop it. They would not let him.

“Could it be,” Lord Grantham was trying to connect all the dots, unsure, “Could it be that you would do something so despicable as to lie about your own nature to avoid its implications? Surely not even _you_ would do that.”

It wasn’t unheard of, admittedly. Omegas and alphas both, each trying to lead a more ‘normal’ life, shirking the way of the rod and their inner nature to instead take on the role of a beta. It was easier for an alpha to do, mainly because monthly heats were obsolete… but it wasn’t impossible for an omega to do the same. Heat suppressants, pills and tonics, balms to layer over scent glands… posh modern magazines boasted them in all-page advertisements… _“Choose your own path! Write your own destiny!”_

“S-s-s-“ Thomas couldn’t even get out a single word, “Stay… back…” He finally managed, his voice taught with suppressed emotion. In recognition of his distress, more tears slid down his flushed cheeks. His fingers were white, clutched tight around the oil lamp, “Stay back. I did what I had to… to protect myself.”

“You’re an omega.” Lord Grantham dared Thomas to deny the truth now, with slick dripping between his legs and blood coating his front door, “You’re an unmated male omega.”

Thomas looked close to having a heart attacks, pupils dilated and breathes hitching a staccato pattern in his chest.

Thomas’s fingers slipped a little on the lamp.

“Put down the lamp.” Lord Grantham ordered. Thomas shook his head, his hair falling out of its regular pomade hold to swing wildly about his eyes.

“Stay away!” Thomas cried, re-gripping the oil lamp above his head. His elbows were beginning to tremble.

There was nothing for it.

Feeling slightly dirty for using a low tactic on an unmated omega in heat, Lord Grantham opened up the back of his throat slightly, coughing once or twice as he bade himself to speak in a voice his father had once taught him to use. An alpha voice meant to frighten and command wayward omegas. The last time that Lord Grantham had used it, he’d been trying to dissuade Sybil from courting Tom Branson. He raised up a commanding hand, fingers outstretched just in case he should have to grab a falling oil lamp out of mid air.

 **“Put down the lamp, omega.”** Lord Grantham tried again, wincing with displeasure as his voice squeaked slightly on one or two syllables. He was out of practice.

Thomas didn’t seem to realize that, though. He all but backed up against his bedroom wall, terrified of Lord Grantham… as if fully realizing for the first time that he was an alpha of the elite, a member of the upper class with full control over his domain.

Carson jumped in, eager to back his lord and master, “Do as you’re told, omega!”

Bates added in his own say, unable to resist “Now!”

And though neither of them could speak in an alpha voice like Lord Grantham, it certainly created an ominous force to go against. Thomas could not look away from one alpha without falling into the trap of another, and as the three men progressed forward inch by inch it ended up that Thomas was trapped, pinned into a corner.

The realization of Thomas being an omega was still much too fresh to truly understand, and Lord Grantham had a difficult time accepting that Thomas’ ‘beta’ stature of irritable ignorance was nothing more than an omega’s desperate determination to ignore his own fate. Of course Bates and Anna’s romance had irritated him…. it had been the ideal alpha/omega romance.

Thomas had been jealous.

 

The lamp slipped.

Carson leapt forward, oddly enough the fastest of the three of them with his eyes locked on the lamp above Thomas’ head. He caught it with one hand to spare, his fingers trembling wildly as he desperately shoved the wobbling oil lamp onto Thomas’ bedside table. Books and pocket watches were knocked out of the way onto the bed to make room, and Carson immediately cut the wick so that the flame inside was extinguished.

His one defense gone, Thomas panicked. Bates reached forward in Carson’s stead, trying to grab Thomas… but Bates' actions were too fast and seen as a threat. Thomas could no longer distinguish between Bates and any other alpha, and who could blame him when his heat was fully upon him? He screamed, arms flung up in front of his face to aggressively keep Bates at bay. He tried to run but couldn’t- his legs too weak to support his weight. He fought all the way down, with Bates grabbing him about the waist to try and get him under control. It was a battle poorly fought, with Thomas lashing and screaming at all three men each time they tried to grab a hold of his legs or arms.

The only plus to this sordid situation was that, in his attempt to stay away from the alphas, Thomas fully forgot to stay away from legs of heavy furniture.

He thrashed, once, twice-!! His head jerked fully back to try and escape Lord Grantham’s third attempt at a neck grip.

The result was Thomas smacking his head with a resounding ‘crunch’ upon the steel bars of his footboard. Like a rag doll, he flopped still in Carson’s slipping grip to lay still at their feet.  
~*~

 

For a long time, there was absolute quiet and Thomas was content with that. The only irritation to his slumber was a throbbing ache at the back of his head which made him wince whenever it became particularly unbearable. Voices started once or twice, only to fade out like white noise. The real shocker that brought him back to the waking world was a sudden cold tap upon his nose—water— that slid down his cheek to drip into the canal of his ear.

Thomas opened his aching eyes, to see a blurry brown world about him.

“…What?” He wondered, unable to make sense of it all.  
Quite suddenly a rather pale face loomed into his view,

“Are we in the world of the living?”

The fact of the matter was, Thomas didn’t know which world he was in particularly, but he had a feeling it wasn’t a pleasant one. He started awake, blinking rapidly so that his vision suddenly cleared to reveal a stone ceiling above him caked in grime. It was most assuredly not the ceiling of his bedroom. His head was aching, his nerves felt like they were on fire, and worst of all Thomas’ upper thighs were utterly caked in dried slick. He could feel his center begin to alight with a fire again, more slick slowly starting to inch out of his arse. It made him feel unclean— incredibly dirty with the thin stretch-out cot beneath him sticking to his backside and his trousers bunching up at the crotch. It was like he was covered in a cold, thin, grimy mud. He was in a completely different room that the one he’d fallen asleep in (had he fallen asleep? He couldn’t remember). Indeed, unless he was hallucinating he seemed to be in the wine cellar. Why on earth he’d been put here, on a fold out cot and covered in day-old slick, he just couldn’t say.

Worst of all, he was not alone. He was surrounded.  
Probably by people who’d put him down here.

Before him, making a semi-circle, were Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Dr. Clarkson. Each of them looked irate in their own way, with Mr. Carson glaring holes into Thomas’ body only to be backed up by a quivering Dr. Clarkson. Mrs. Hughes just fretted and frayed, her hands clasped together as if praying and touching her lips.

If they were standing before him, then that meant he could smell his slick.  
If they could smell his slick, then they would know.

Which meant it was all over.  
All of it.

“Good afternoon, omega.” Dr. Clarkson said, his bedside manor decidedly icy.

Thomas’ stomach was suddenly beginning to flip flop, and it bit at him as he realized that it could be either nerves or his heat. His fears at being found out by the house for years had dictated his every move. From sun up to sun down, he had gorged himself on a diet of pills and supplements, balms coating his skin till he’d developed rashes. And for what, he wondered now as he saw how Mr. Carson glared at him like he were a cockroach. What had it all been for if in the end he’d only been found out? Worst of all, how could he explain himself now? What lie could he possibly tell to dig him out of this sizable hole?

Thomas felt like he was going to vomit. He made a noise like a squashed cat, fingers coming to tremble upon his lips. Dr. Clarkson stuck his hand out, as if to check Thomas’ forehead for fever, but Thomas would have none of it.

He could trust none of their hands now. They were enemies to his future.

Thomas drew back on the single army cot, clutching his thin blanket tight to his chest to scoot until his back touched the damp stone wall behind him.

“You stay back from me.” Thomas managed to get out, a finger pointed vindictively in Clarkson’s face. He flinched when he realized the smell of slick was clinging to his skin and immediately brought his hand back to his chest.

When he realized that no one had answered him, he continued on. “Just… Just stay back! I have my rights, I know them! I’m a human being before I’m anything else-“

But Mr. Carson wouldn’t stand for it. He was close to exploding by this point.

“You caused absolute chaos today!” He boomed, causing Thomas to shrink even further back into the wall with alarm, “Mr. Branson’s hands are a mangled mess because of you! An entire door will have to be replaced! Had we not been able to get to Mr. Branson in time, he would have most certainly mated with you, and what then?!” Carson demanded.

Thomas flushed, thoughts suddenly running rampant with visions of himself being mounted by Branson. But now was not the time to think on such matters, when he was trembling from an unseen cold and clenching his anus tight to hold slick in. He tried to breath slowly through his nose, thinking of a placid lake view or a quiet forest at sunrise. Anything to calm his rushing heart rate.

“Did you ever once think of the implications of your atrocious acts?! Of the consequences for straying around unbound alphas while in heat?!”

Thomas could do nothing more than blink back tears, absolutely silent. Talking back would result in hell, as it stood. His options were few and far between but to allow Carson to berate him and see what was left for him in the end.

“You…” Carson could not seem to get the words out, disgusted, “You are by far the most selfish person I have ever known in my life-!”

“That’s not true-!” Thomas could not contain himself, for in his heat he was so taken by images of himself as an actual omega, of himself as a mother to children with an alpha over a shop that he couldn’t bear to be thought of as anything else. He had not chosen this life of apathy easily. He had done to avoid sexual slavery… or something close to it. Carson looked at him affronted.

“I’m not selfish!” Thomas knew his argument was a weak one, “I had everything under control. Everything! I’ve been taking medicines for years to control my heats! No one ever knew about them until today! I was completely fine by myself, I didn’t ask tuppence from anyone- certainly not some alpha-!”

But now it was Dr. Clarkson to be angry with him, “What charlatan medicines have you been pumping through your feeble body this time?” Dr. Clarkson demanded, sweeping a hand up and down to encompass his sweaty frame. “Every time I turn my head, you’re pulling some outrageous stunt or another— when will it be enough for you, Thomas? Answer me that!”

“Well-“ Thomas didn’t know where to draw the line with attitude at this point, “Clearly they’re not charlatan if they work, _Doctor!”_ Thomas added with clear sarcasm. Dr. Clarkson flushed, for all eyes were upon him now.

Thomas’ pills and supplements couldn’t be charlatan if they had fooled Dr. Clarkson, _and they had_. For _years_.

“But they didn’t work today!” Dr. Clarkson flustered, starting back up.

“They didn’t work today because I…” Thomas paused, bitter to recall the fact that he’d been unable to take his supplements for the cause of his suicide act. “Because I couldn’t take them after my accident.” He refused to meet people’s eyes at this. He was already in a humiliating situation enough. “I was too sick to take them.”

“And so you sat and watched the clock count down, knowing chaos would eventually strike! You could have gone to anyone! To me! To Mr. Carson! To Mrs. Hughes if you preferred another omega!”

“I was a little too preoccupied with wanting to die.” Thomas said bitterly. Dr. Clarkson began to kneed at his brow with pinched fingers.

“But-“ Mrs. Hughes spoke up, and at once both alphas turned to look at her. This was the strangeness of alphas and omegas when it came to interactions. If the omega, like Mrs. Hughes or Anna, was regarded with respect for being humble and gentle, they were given all proper due. Even the most hardy of alphas would stop to listen to a meek and mild omega if only for a second. Between families, or tight knit communities… humble and well known omegas were like diamonds to the greedy.

Mrs. Hughes was trying to get her words out, taking care to make sure that each one was the correct one, “But Thomas, why even do this at all? All of this?” She gestured between the four of them. “Why deny your nature? Why lie to us? Why claim you’re a beta when you’re clearly an omega— my god Thomas…” Mrs. Hughes suddenly seemed overcome. She paused, touching her brow to take a deep breath, “This explains so much.” She finally said, looking first to Carson, and then to Dr. Clarkson, “His attitude, his acting out, his loneliness, restlessness— he alienates himself because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s an omega. No wonder O’Brien had such a hold over him when she was an alpha—“ but suddenly a terrible thought seemed to overtake Mrs. Hughes for she panicked and went white, “Did she mate with you?!”

“What?!” Thomas demanded. The two alphas turned to look at him in alarm. Mr. Carson seemed on the verge of being sick, and Thomas couldn’t blame him. He was repulsed too, “Oh god—ew!” He howled, “God, that’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard!” He shuddered, trying to block out the thought of O’Brien’s breasts pressing against his back, “No!” Thomas barked, if only to get the thought out of his head, “No she did not mate with me!”

“I would almost prefer it if she had.” Mr. Carson sneered, but Thomas knew he was lying.

“You act like I’m awful for wanting a life of my own! Like I’m the only one who has ever done this! But there are loads of us, working towards a better life!” Thomas said it with pride, knowing it to be true though he’d never been approached. “That’s all we want! Rights! Human rights! The rights we deserve as citizens of England!”

“You have rights! We have rights!” Mrs. Hughes gestured between the pair of them. But Thomas would not be fooled.

“Oh sure, the right to be bred!” Thomas sneered, rolling his eyes, “The right to be bound to a bastard for the rest of our lives, to be beaten and broken until the day we die under their boot! That’s the only right we have! We can’t vote, we can’t own property, we can’t get a higher paying job than a maid- the most we’re allowed to hope for is to find an alpha that won’t kill us mid-rut! Well forgive me if I don’t find that sort of meagre existence exciting!”

“You talk as if you’re a prisoner bound for the gallows.” Dr. Clarkson was flustered by this point, cheeks turning red, “Have you forgotten that it is both an honor and privilege to be an omega? Particularly a male omega such as yourself— my god Thomas!” Dr. Clarkson seemed amazed, “You’re the epitome of some poor alpha’s unfortunate existence. Somewhere out there is a man waiting to find you, and to imagine him the whole time denied here— all because of your foolish pride!”

“Foolish, you call me foolish-!” Thomas wouldn’t stand for it, unable to deny that a part of him did twinge with regret when he thought of his supposed alpha mate. Those sorts of stories were told to children at school and before bedtime, but they never actually came true. The charming alphas that protected their omegas and loved their brood were nothing more than facades for the real brutes that bullied their way about the Earth and beat down any resistance in their path, “Did I look unhappy to you?!” he demanded of them all, “With the ability to vote and the ability to own property all because-“

“And the ability to slit your wrists.” Dr. Clarkson said coldly. The effect was like being doused in icy water. Thomas found words dying in his throat, leaving him speechless as he desperately avoided Clarkson’s sweltering gaze. “Probably because you haven't born any children. Your body is desperate for an alpha to lay claim to it. How old are you, Thomas?”

Thomas straightened himself up slowly on the bed, keeping the covers tight to his chest. He was starting to feel sick to his stomach, “I’m thirty six, thank you very much.”

“Thirty-six and unbound, my god…” Dr. Clarkson was staggered, “No wonder you’re so depressed. You’re in your prime mating years. You should have at least three children by now-“

Thomas bristled, his stomach seeming to ache worse than ever.  
“And yet would you say the same of Anna or Mrs. Hughes, when neither of them have children?” Thomas snapped, glaring at the opposite wall to avoid the ugly looks he was no doubt receiving, “Technically they’re in the same boat as me.”

“That’s a low blow even for you.” Dr. Clarkson was outraged, “Mrs. Bates’ situation is known to me, and is none of your business. As you well know, she’s pregnant now, and we thank god for it. And as for Mrs. Hughes who has shown you nothing but kindness over the years….” Thomas looked away ashamed, “Well… I don’t know what to say. I’m disgusted by your lack of empathy for a fellow omega.”

“All I’m saying is that her worth isn’t based off of having children or a mate, so why is mine?!” Thomas demanded reproachfully. Dr. Clarkson looked close to strangling him.

“Because you are still young enough and healthy enough to have children!”

“Oh, what,” Thomas scoffed, raking a hand wildly through his askew hair, “So I endure this sexist insanity until I lose my so called value and get thrown out with the trash!?”

“I’ll have you know, Thomas, that I am the trash of which you speak.” Mrs. Hughes spoke up, her voice unnervingly quiet. In response to his wife, his mate's words, Mr. Carson put a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder. It was the most emotion he was willing to show in public.

Thomas shook his head— he hadn’t meant that, after all.

“I have no value, as an omega. I cannot have children. I could never have children. I’d long ago accepted that I would never know love in my life, or a home… a nest… but Mr. Carson claiming me despite my lack of promise was a godsend. A true blessing from above.” Mrs. Hughes reached up to touch her alpha’s hand upon her shoulder, “And I pity you for not being able to see that.”

“Mrs. Hughes, you had worth before he decided to marry you!” Thomas begged. “Your worth isn’t based on your womb-!”

“Not in my eyes, where it matters most!” Mrs. Hughes corrected him, her tone turning the slightest bit harsh. There was hurt in her eyes, and it stung him deeply to know he had put it there. “And even if you won’t admit it… I think you know I’m right. Why else did you cut your wrists?”

By god, if only he had an answer. Thomas looked away, embarrassed and humiliated.

“Why did you cut your wrists, Thomas?” Mrs. Hughes asked, her tone falling soft again, “If you respect me, then you’ll tell me.”

Thomas took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as he looked away again. Did humiliation get any farther than this? “Because I was alone.” He finally said, and his voice was tight in his throat.

“Would you have been alone if you had an alpha?” Mrs. Hughes’ tone was not cruel, but her words still hurt blindingly, “If you had children?”

It infuriated him, to be talked to of such matters. He didn’t want to speak to her or to anyone about his ‘alpha’ or his ‘children’ or his ‘womb’ or his ‘nest’ or any of the other bullshit that populated omega’s meagre lives. He wanted to be left alone, to be left to his work! But he knew now that no one in the house would ever leave him alone again with the title of ‘omega’ weighing like a stone around the neck. Trapped and frightened, Thomas jolted up off his little army cot clutching his thin blankets tight to his chest. He almost tripped, trying to wrap the blankets around his torso to hide the stains of slick on his pants and trousers.

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Thomas declared, “I’m leaving.”

But this was a feeble plan. To start, Thomas would have to get past Mr. Carson and Dr. Clarkson. This would involve him having to drop the sheet and walk away (rather, run away), and if he did that then everyone would see his… condition.

“You most certainly are not!” Mr. Carson thrust out his hands, creating a wall that Thomas could not cross. Dr. Clarkson folded his arms, his brow furrowed. “You’re in heat and unmated! Any alpha with a working nose from ten miles around will come after you should you step outside the front door.”

“As it is, Mr. Branson is already being restrained!” Dr. Clarkson added.

“You were a fool to let it go on this long, to lie yourself into a corner! You’re without a leg to stand on, Thomas-“

“What about your family, Thomas, why didn’t they find you an alpha?” Mrs. Hughes interjected again, trying to bring peace back to the conversation.

Thomas ducked his head in shame.

  
How could he explain to alpha’s what only an omega could understand? That to be bound to a strange alpha and forced to bear their brood was absolutely terrifying when you were only thirteen years old. Alphas might see it as a privilege or a right, but to omegas it was nothing more than a horrific circumstance of life.

“… They did find you an alpha.” Mrs. Hughes surmised, sounding only slightly disappointed.

Thomas could remember well how his mother had come to his father with pride, gushing about her sewing circle friend who just so happened to be an unbound alpha. She was nearly thirty years old and looking for an omega to breed; when she’d heard that Alice Barrow’s son had been pronounced an omega, she’d all but jumped on the chance to become his alpha.

All of this had been done in the time span of three days. No one had even spoken to Thomas until the papers had been signed.  
His signature hadn’t even been required.

So he’d run away, early in the morning before the chickens had begun to sir in their coops. There had been no time to think twice, no moment to falter or fear. Had he turned back even for a moment he would have been condemned to a life of rape and battery. He would have never known freedom again.

“… She… she was a friend of my mother’s.” Thomas admitted, “Twice as old as I was- I was only thirteen-“ Thomas protested, as if this would even matter to anyone at all. “I was signed away like… like a sheep or a bale of hay. I wanted nothing t’do with her then or now-“

“I know it’s frightening Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes seemed to fathom just what he was going through. The other two looked ready to cook him for breakfast, the pair of them grinding their teeth like murderous vultures. “I understand completely as a fellow omega, but you could have easily explained to your parents that you were attracted to men and surely—“

“Are you kidding me?!” He demanded. What the hell would that have mattered; was she so brainwashed to believe- “You think it’s just that easy? It didn’t matter then or now what I wanted! It didn’t matter if she frightened me, or was twice my age, or a woman, or the damn opposite! I was an omega- a worthless disgusting omega! A whore that they could breed and sell like a sow or a ewe! I didn’t run because I was afraid,” Thomas could not help himself, he was all but seething at a cowering Mrs. Hughes by this point. It painted a far from pretty picture, “I ran because I wanted to live! I wanted the right to live!”

“But what about your rights as an omega, Thomas?” Mrs. Hughes seemed more afraid of him now than ever. She even had her hands up, fingers trembling at her mouth. Thomas could not stand the expression she wore, wished he could wipe her face totally clean of it. It was like she’d forgotten who he was. Like they’d all forgotten his history in the house. His personality.

His soul.

“What about your right to an alpha?” Mrs. Hughes carried on, her voice fluttering like a butterfly on a battered breeze, “Your right to bear children for him, or her, or whoever” she flustered, “The right to a nest, to protection-“

But Thomas just shook his head rapidly, turning away to press his face forcibly against the cellar wall. Dirt bit at his cheeks and nose.

“Feign ignorance all you like,” Dr. Clarkson was far from sympathetic, “You’re still in heat. By my timing, you’re close to your next wave. It should come in less than fifteen minutes, no more than thirty at the most. You need to be somewhere safe, somewhere unmated alphas cannot find you. To move you now would be tantamount to suicide.”

Thomas flinched at the word. No one noticed.

“It has to be within the abbey.” Dr. Clarkson concluded.

“His lordship mentioned to me earlier that Lady Sybil’s old heat suite could be used.” Carson spoke up; Dr. Clarkson took keen interest at the mention of ‘heat suite’, “It hasn’t been used in many years obviously, but it could be easily refurbished.”

“For now I think that would be best for everyone.” Dr. Clarkson agreed.

But once again the control of the situation was spinning rapidly out of his control. They were going to put him where? They were going to do what? And why? And for how long? Jesus, could this situation possibly get any worse?

“Wait- wait!” Thomas cried out indignantly, “Wait a god damn minute! Where are you talking me? You think you’re going to put me in some kind of vile dungeon-!”

“Oh stop being so dramatic.” Mrs. Hughes was starting to grow a tad bit impatient with him. She was rubbing at her temples so frequently he was almost certain she had a headache. “It’s not a dungeon, it’s a ventilated bedroom with a heavily locked door, nothing more. It’ll keep you safe inside and alphas out.”

Thomas didn’t know if that was supposed to be comforting or not.

“You’re ill, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson concluded. What a fucking genius was he. Thomas rolled his eyes unable to contain himself. “Your body has undergone stressful conditions for far too long. You need an alpha to care for you. By god, you need to care for yourself!”

“Oh get fucked.” Thomas spat, the curse slipping past his lips as an unbelievable pain began to spread through his abdomen. He groaned, bending halfway over and holding his stomach tight. Christ it felt like he was about to have the bends!

“Thomas Barrow!” Mrs. Hughes cried, affronted. Clarkson didn’t seem too upset, steel eyes narrowing as he tilted his head slightly to the right. He seemed to be sizing Thomas up, which made no sense. What did he want- the bastard?

Thomas had to pause to breath, his stomach seeming to clench and warm at the same time. Christ, the cramps-!

He wondered if he was coming down with the flu, if he was about to be overcome with explosive diarrhea. A cold sweat began to take over the back of his neck. Thomas took several deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Then gagged, and vomited.

“Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes cried out again, reaching out both hands to cradle his shaking shoulders. He took a raged breath, heaving and vomiting again against the cellar wall. Oddly enough, he suddenly felt more clear, and wiped his mouth to lean against the cool stone.

 

“Are you alright?” Mrs. Hughes was whispering in his ear.

“Ehehe….” Why was Thomas laughing? It was hard to say, “Nothing. S’nothing.” He brushed his lips again and straightened up. “M’fine.”

Mrs. Hughes looked none too sure.

“… It is my belief, that you are suffering given a chemical imbalance in your body.” Dr. Clarkson said. Could one really deny him when vomit was literally drying on the walls? “I think that your best bet is to start on a hormonal therapy, anything to balance your body better. I’m concerned for you Thomas. Deeply concerned.”

Well bully for him.

Wait— what?

“Hormone what?” Thomas ground out. “You’re not puttin’ anythin’ in me that I don’t want. You self righteous bastard!” Something foreign was beginning to take over his brain, like an anxiety attack with a conscience and a heartbeat. It terrified Thomas, who relished self-control and his ability to run from an enemy. Pain cramped his abdomen again, and Thomas had to lean heavily against the cellar wall despite the vomit that wetted its stone. It felt like he might lose his balance any moment now- like he was suffering from vertigo… and the pain!

“Fuck.” Thomas whimpered. There was no other word for it.

“I’m afraid to say that what you want doesn’t matter now.” Mr. Carson warned.

“I’m a human being!” Thomas protested, desperately grabbing at what little vestiges remained of his sanity. “I have rights god damnit! You can’t fore me to take medicine that I don’t want!”

“We can and will if it will keep you quiet and Mr. Branson sane.”

“This isn’t right!” Thomas tried to take a step back from the trio only to stumble against the wall of the cellar. There was something beneath his feet. What was it— wood? He couldn’t say. It would involve looking down too much, and with his newly developed vertigo Thomas had a feeling that would end in disaster. “You know this isn’t right! The whole lot of you are functioning adults and yet you happily pretend stripping another’s rights-“

“Dear god do you ever stay silent even for one moment?” Mr. Carson cut across his demands, which were rapidly disengaging into babbling.

“Why because I’m an omega!?” Thomas did not mean to shout, but it happened anyway. Mr. Carson flushed an ugly red. “Because it’s my place to stay silent and let my alpha do the talking?! Hate to inform you, Mr. Carson, but I have no alpha and I don’t intend to take one!”

But this just made Mr. Carson laugh, a dark ugly laugh that sounded absolutely nothing like his original voice. It scared Thomas.

“Take one? He’ll be the one doing the taking!” Mr. Carson declared.

Thomas shook his head, adamant. Taking, taking, taking… like thieves in the night, the whole lot of them. What was it about alphas that made the incapable of understanding omega suffering?

“I won’t submit.” Thomas had to close his eyes. He was close to panicking from the level of pain in his stomach. What if after years of not submitting to natural heat cycles his body was incapable of undergoing a heat without suppressants? What if he was going to fall horrifically ill or even worse die? A flutter of terror stabbed at Thomas’ wildly pounding heart. “I won’t agree, I won’t-!”

But he could say no more, mouth open and yet silent as he pinched his brow and bent over to try and ease the pain.

“…Oh dear.” Mrs. Hughes whispered, as if sensing the storm that was to come.

Thomas straightened back up, bitter. He refused to be damned, he refused to die! Not like this. If he was to die let it be by his own choice, by his own hands… Not like this.

“I won’t go through with it.” Thomas slowly straightened up again, inch by inch, “And as much as you’d like to pretend that you don’t need my…. my…” White overtook his vision. He slumped, mercifully catching himself on the edge of his army cot. But that was the only blessing of the situation, when a slippery warmth was beginning to increase between his buttocks. It smelt musky and thick, incredibly embarrassing… and he knew exactly what it was.

“God damnit no-“ Thomas groaned, bending over again till his head was between his knees. At this close proximity, the scent of his slick was overpowering and made him slightly nauseas. He felt Mrs. Hughes’ hands flutter to his back, gently tracing the body indentions of his pine.

“Another wave.” Mr. Carson declared with trepidation.  
_Save yourself!_ his brain was screaming… The age old line.

Dr. Clarkson was a man of action, not words, and so he reached out to place two fingers beneath Thomas’ tucked chin. He forced Thomas to sit up straight again, pulling the hair out of his face to feel his soaking forehead.

“It appears so.” Dr. Clarkson agreed, “Heart rate flying, temperature rising, disorientation too, I fear.”

Thomas tried to argue, tried to insist that he was merely tired and perhaps overcome with a touch of flue… but the words were getting caught in his throat and he could do little more than choke on his tongue. Dr. Clarkson’s hands were comforting but heavy, pressing into his overheated flesh like frozen concrete. Thomas felt as if he were swimming through intense waters as Dr. Clarkson urged him backward onto the cot.

“Lay down, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson commanded.  
Thomas somehow felt he had no choice but to obey, and did so. Instantly, his sense of vertigo overtook him so that he was suddenly spinning in a room that ought to have been completely still.

“It’ll be alright, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes was saying. Why were their tears in her eyes?

Mr. Carson and Dr. Clarkson were speaking heatedly to one another, arguing perhaps or agreeing vehemently as Thomas lay distraught between them. Whatever arrangement they came to, Thomas was not privy to it. His only sense of time being jolted was when a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves beneath his knees and neck so that he might be hoisted into the air.

“We’ll move you now.” Carson said. So it seemed that he was the one to carry Thomas.  
Thomas might have had it in him to feel some sort of emotion in regard to Carson’s sudden sympathy for his condition had it not been for the fact that he was forgetting his own name.

All he knew now was that he was no longer himself… and could not control his body.

He watched like a man at a nickelodeon, his eyes blank and glassy as Mr. Carson lifted him from the cellar and back into the harsh light of work. If there were others watching him in the hallway, he couldn’t tell. His entire world now had been narrowed to the hazy pain that bled into his abdomen…. the hot liquid slipping from his anus and staining the back of his pajama pants.

They were ascending the stairs, heading up to a dim world that felt colder somehow, more condensed. Thomas could do little more than close his eyes, allowing Mr. Carson to carry him like he was a child. Part of him felt like a child, frightened by his body and the world changing around him. He wanted to be himself, to be sane, to be in his own bed and alone… but none of these things could feasibly happen now with Dr. Clarkson breathing down his neck and Mr. Carson aware of his ‘condition’. There could be no release, only eventual suffering, and Thomas vaguely wondered if this was some kind of severe punishment for having attempted suicide. Extremely religious fanatics insisted suicide was punished in hell. Even the more moderate Christians had a tongue to wag at the idea….

So maybe this was hell, and the bastards were right all along.

 

Eventually their journey stopped. Thomas only knew this because Mr. Carson grew still and the air dropped another ten degrees. Thomas’ toes felt like ice, with all light fleeing from his vision so that for a moment he thought he’d fainted. Instead, he was shocked back to waking life as Mr. Carson lowered him onto a dusty red duvet. The bed was much bigger than any he’d ever slept in before; so big in fact that he could roll in both directions without having to fear falling off and onto the floor. But it was empty and cold- it was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! His stomach ached, he felt he might explode with gas or vomit up his intestines at any moment. He wanted to scream for help, for the doctor, but couldn’t. All he could do was hold onto his stomach and breath.

Even that was failing him.

Deep at the core of it all, beneath his pride and his determination to remain free, the final vestiges of his omega constitution were crying out for an alpha to protect him. Seedy literature had other words: mating and knotting, uteruses swelling with discomfort and anal cavities ripping at their seams. Alphas looked at matings with pleasure, Omegas with fear. There was no kindness in mating save that it got the pain to stop, and right now that was all that Thomas wanted. He did not consider himself a weak-willed man, but even he had his limits of endurance. The past hours had been a pitiful attempt at his dignity, demeaning him with a lifetimes worth of insults and ridiculous. The superstitions and social barriers for an omega were many and merciless. In the confines of Downton Abbey, Thomas had watched them bend for those that sucked at the tit of the aristocracy. If you were ‘good’ like Mrs. Hughes, if you were ‘sweet’ like Anna, if you were ‘docile’ like Baxter… you stood a chance.

But Thomas was none of those things.

 _Alpha_ , he thought in misery. _I need an alpha_.


	2. Plan A/B/....C?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' heat ends with the sickening realization that he must make a Plan A. 
> 
> Then a Plan B. 
> 
> Neither work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfiction is turning out to be one of the hardest that I've ever written simply because of it's Omegaverse elements. Just be aware that this fiction is going to be increasingly dark.

_Litigo 28:15: But it shall come to pass, that if omegas do not obey the Alpha Supreme, to observe to do all the biddings with which they have been charged, that they shall be cursed.”_

 

The rest of his heat was like a nightmare.   
A solid gold shit nightmare. 

 

If days passed, he was unaware of it. If the world ended, he couldn’t be bothered. Someone could have burst into his chambers stark naked and told him that the house was on fire…. but Thomas wouldn’t have been able to give a damn. So mind consuming was his heat, so pain filled, that Thomas found himself lost in a maze of fire and sweat; swimming headlong through a whirlpool of slick, tears, and terror. He could have drowned in a mixture of his own saliva, choking on his tongue as he gasped for air and writhed in painfully soft sheets. 

How could something be painful and soft at the same time? Simple enough… hyper sensitive skin would do the trick every time. It was almost like having a horrific case of sunburn save that Thomas lived in England and couldn’t get sunburn even if he tried. 

The most awful part of any heat wasn’t the physical sensations, however. It was the mental stimulations, the constant barraging of crude and sexual images in Thomas’ brain that made his inner thighs wet and his throat tight. To best understand it, it would be pivotal to imagine oneself holding an incredibly provocative picture… perhaps the most provocative picture that you’d ever seen in your life. This picture would have to encapsulate everything you were attracted to. Everything that made your blood boil. And then, it would go even further… to where you could smell the picture, hear the picture, even taste the picture. You would have to be immersed in the picture, but unable to experience the sexual joy of it. 

That was what being in heat was like, mentally… and for Thomas who was already denied physical pleasure in every other sense, it was nothing short of sheer torture. 

He awoke after several days and nights, as if from a terrible fever, and found himself sweating in an unfamiliar bed. At first, like before on the cot in the cellar, Thomas found himself wondering how on earth he’d gotten in a bed larger than any a servant should sleep in… one with red downy sheets no less and large flat pillows. For one awful second, Thomas thought he must have crawled into Lady Mary’s bed while out of his mind, save that this was most certainly not Lady Mary’s room. The walls were a soft shade of pink, trimmed in white, and unlike Lady Mary’s room (which was adorned in antique books and Mr. Matthew’s old phonograph records) this room was adorned in many shelves of porcelain figurines. Dead flowers lay collecting dust in miniature rose glass vases. Lace lay over hardwood furniture- nothing more than a set of drawers and two bed side tables. A chair sat next to the bed, abandoned and holding nothing more than a lady’s pink shawl. Thomas’ eyes hung for an unnecessarily long time over the door frame, where no less than ten different rim locks were in use. On Thomas’ side, they were easy to unlock with a simple twist of the wrist… to an alpha trying to get in, however? 

Thomas let out a long shuddering breath, allowing the mercy of him remaining unmated and unbound to bring him a sense of peace.

It was a small satisfaction, and did nothing to change prior facts. Mr. Carson still knew that he was an omega now; his lordship did too. This meant that Thomas’ time at Downton Abbey had for better or for worse come to a close. That he would now never be able to reside in Downton without having to endure the prejudice of the omega race… and that was something he could not stand. 

He had no where to go, and barely any money to go with. He found himself thinking fast, still laying in a tangled mess of sweated sheets and stained linens, reasoning that he could perhaps steal money from the safe downstairs (or perhaps something on the gallery floor if he was quick enough). Depending upon the volume of the amount, he could find somewhere to lay low until a job presented itself. Either way he would have to work incredibly fast to get back on suppressants. 

He would have to do so today, before dinnertime. He would have to practically bathe himself in balms to keep anyone from smelling the final vestiges of his fading heat. Now was not the time to take chances. 

None of these things could come to transpire, however, until he was out of this room and back into a state of decent decorum. His face was heavily shadowed, with fine black hairs bristling along his chin and cheeks. He’d not eaten for days, forced onto a fast while his heat lasted; he needed nourishment and quickly or he’d never be able to make it out of Downton alive. Perhaps he could steal something from the kitchen too. 

_Steal, steal, steal_ … was that all he was good for now a days? It sickened him. 

Maybe to the others it wouldn’t be so uncommon. Thomas crawled out of bed on ginger legs, bitterness making him want to retch as he though of the other’s faces turned upward in grim judgement. They’d all denounce him of course, save for Baxter who’d known he was an omega but had kept it secret under pain of death. He angrily wrenched the ruined sheets from the strange bed in which he’d slept, unsure of whose it was or why he was in it. He supposed he’d been put here to keep Mr. Branson from strangling himself. Thomas would gladly do the strangling for him with these slick soaked sheets. Everything smelt of sex. Everything smelt of sin. He wanted to vomit to purge himself of it all, to be returned to the man he was before. Even if he hadn’t had good standing in the house, anything was better than to be declared an omega. 

To be declared _property_. 

He shed each article of clothing like it was covered in lice, practically kicking it across the room as he searched the drawers of the dresser for something else to wear. He’d take a lady’s tea gown right now if it helped him get cleaner. Instead he found nothing but cobwebs and paper printed with flowering roses that smelt oddly like perfume. Irritated, he slammed the drawers shut and searched out the rest of the room to find that it had an attached bath. 

He paused upon entering, stark naked in the doorway, noting with care that there was fine white marble tile upon the floor. Overhead, Victorian oval ceiling roses lay in a checkerboard pattern, making Thomas realize that this bathroom was clearly meant for an upperclass lady. 

He was in Lady Sybil’s old heat suite. He knew it for a fact now. There was no other room in the abbey that it could possibly be. 

Thomas looked back over his shoulder into the gloom of the heat suite. The lace curtains were pulled shut over the spaced windows, all of which were boarded up with fine thin slats so that only the barest amount of light could shine through. It was almost dark, with sunset staining the lace a flaming red. He tried to imagine Sybil in the disrobed bed; to think of her naked tossing and turning perhaps crying out for Branson. 

But it felt horribly wrong to be in this room; horribly wrong to touch her things and show his naked arse to her bed. This place had been meant for her as a corner of safety in a vastly unsafe world. It had not been able to protect her from eclampsia, or from the prejudice and violence she’d faced from other omega… but it had had firm locks on its doors and clean linens to fall into. 

As much as it pained Thomas to admit it, only the luckiest of omega were afforded such rarities. 

The bathroom hadn’t been used in quite some time, with slight rust stains forming around the sink drains and bath stopper. The bathtub was a Randolph-Morris… a fine thing with clawed feet and a spacious rim on which to sit. On the side board, old bottles of perfume and bath salts sat collecting dust. Thomas picked one up at random and smelt it carefully only to draw back with repugnance. 

It smelt far too strongly of flowers. No doubt Sybil had been trying to cover up the smell of her heats, but Thomas had a feeling smelling like a bouquet wasn’t going to do him any favors either. 

He sat the vial back down, instead fingering the knobs of the bathtub to finally give way and push the hot water tab forward. He stoppered the tub as cold water began to jet out, determined to take a bath and smell like a decent human being again. There wasn’t much in the way of amenities, but a few thin floor towels were still hiding in lower cupboards and a side cabinet offered both a bottle of rose lotion, a bar of rose soap, and a Myatt lady’s razor. This thing wasn’t going to do him any favors, with a dulled blade and a slim handle meant for a smaller hand… but he didn’t have anything else to go on and he was starting to look like a street urchin. 

As steam began to issue from the tub, Thomas carefully crawled in only to hiss and wince at the pain of the water. It became too much to bear, particularly around his genitals which were already painfully sore. To avoid it all, Thomas simply sat on the spacious rim of the tub with only his calves in the water and began to lather up his hands with rose soap. Bathing in this fashion was a painstaking process but Thomas endured it piece by piece. As an omega, his genitals were slightly different from that of an alpha or beta man. Where normally one might find testicles, Thomas’ body only boasted a soft dip in skin much like one might find on a woman. Naturally he had a penis, and it functioned quite normally thank you very much… but his testes were inside of him. Where? He could not say. He felt at his sensitive stomach, looking down in disgust. Slick had dried like old hand cream upon his thighs and penis, causing him to break out in a small spotted rash. It took him longer than he liked to wash his gentles, in particular his anus which was incredibly sensitive and still slightly secreting slick. Omegan healthcare was practically nonexistent, considered an ancient art both mystical and revered for only omegas to know. In this way omegas were both praised and damned, for while their predecessors and elderly offered ancient remedies to ease the pain of heats and stem the flow of sick, an omega couldn’t walk into the hospital and get the same treatment. 

An omega couldn’t walk anywhere without being asked the question ‘Where’s your Alpha?’. 

If one didn’t have an Alpha, then they must have an Alpha Guardian who they could naturally use. Usually this person was either an alpha parent or (if there wasn’t one) a friend of the parents’ that happened to be an alpha. To not have an Alpha Guardian was unheard of. Impossible. Irresponsible. Trying to get medical care without an Alpha was just the same. 

Thomas winced, realizing that in his trail of dark thought he’d begun to scrub harshly at the skin on his stomach and chest. The water beneath him and cooled slightly, and so he sank back down to finally wash all the rose scented suds away. He wanted to wash his face, but refused to do so when the water around him swirled with dried slick. Angry at his anatomy- at his fate- Thomas yanked the stopper out of the drain and watched with bitter satisfaction as all the slick swirled away. He rose from the tub, fetching the floor towel to dry off, and then carefully draped it beneath the sink where it normally would have gone. This towel wasn’t meant to be used to dry anything other than the feet… but Thomas had dried with less before and a towel was a towel. 

He regarded himself in Sybil’s old bathroom mirror, noting the bags beneath his eyes and the excess growth of hair around his neck. He’d need a trim sometime soon; omegas were forbidden to cut their hair in an ancient practice that mirrored the way women were viewed in other cultures… but once Thomas had escaped Downton he could easily get a cut again. For now, he needed to shave, and did so with care dragging the dull Myatt razor across his skin. Twice he nearly nicked himself on his chin, but caught the slip just in time and managed to pull way clean. He washed his face repeatedly, rinsing his face and his hair again and again in Sybil’s sink with her rose soap. When he was finished, he looked distinctly fresher though still worse for wear. He brushed the hair out of his face, carefully tucking it behind his small ears as he tiled his chin this way and that. 

There was nothing about his face to insist he was an omega, surely?   
He looked slightly feminine but that was nothing abnormal. He was a man, for god’s sake. A man with muscles, and height, and attitude! He wasn’t some doormat to be walked over! 

Thomas puffed himself up, preening slightly only to deflate as he realized how very silly he looked. Who was he showing off for? Mr. Carson? His Lordship? 

Oh, what did it matter in the end… he needed to get out of here!   
But he couldn’t do it starkers. 

Unfortunately for him, the only clothing left to his possession as of that moment was the clothes in which he’d been brought: a pair of ratted pajamas stained heavily with slick. He stomped across Sybil’s heat suite, naked as a jay bird, and grabbed up all his disgusting clothes from the floor to drag them right back to the bathroom where he threw them in the tub as good as any washer maid. Though he wouldn’t use the bath salts on himself, he’d certainly use it on the clothes and did so generously as he began to lather and rinse all the slick away he possibly could. He didn’t bother with cold water this time, practically burning his hands as he forced his pajamas underneath the steaming water to try and leak out some of their fifth. It was an exhausting program; again and again he scrubbed, rinsed, and twisted. By the time he was finished, the tips of his fingers were tingling and his pajamas were steaming slightly in the evening air. Thomas shook them out over the bathtub as it drained for a second time, content to walk around in damp clothes if only that it meant he got away from Downton sooner. His pants were slightly uncomfortable to walk in, clinging tightly to his thighs and sensitive penis. He drew the drawstrings on his pajama bottoms tight, not wanting them to drop with the added weight of drying water. He shrugged on his top, trying to get the buttons to stay closed with trembling fingers… but unfortunately a wet shirt wasn’t a happy shirt. He could only manage to get a few buttons closed, and they did not cover his collarbone. 

But the time for fiddling with buttons was past.   
If he did not run now, he would never escape… and that was unacceptable. 

Thomas headed for the door, pulling back each rim lock with care till he heard the final latch click into place. Unsure of what he’d find on the other side, Thomas pressed his ear to the crack of the door first to listen for footsteps in the hallway outside. He opened it to find nothing, a quite hall padded with soft red carpet that clearly was on a private wing of the gallery floor. Thomas had never seen this area before, and wondered where he’d end up as he slowly closed the door to Sybil’s heat suite and made his way quietly down the hall. He thought, somewhere far off, that he could hear the noise of fabric fluttering through the air and a door shutting. It all made very little sense until he came to the end of the hall only to find that he was behind a false panel in the gallery wall which showed through a tiny hole in the door that he was actually quite close to his Lordship’s chambers. Perhaps this had been the whole point: to keep Sybil close and safe. Thomas looked left and right through his little peep hole, wondering when it would be safe to make a move. He could swear he heard maids giggling somewhere along the hall. This wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary if the family were in the middle of supper. The maids would be preparing the rooms for bed, turning down the quilts and plumping the pillows. If he timed it just right, Thomas had a feeling he could make a dash for the green baize door at the corner end of the gallery hall. 

He waited, tense, as he saw the slim shadow of a maid slip around the corner and out of sight towards the far end of the hall where Lady Edith’s rooms were kept. 

He bolted. 

Running as fast as he could for the green baize door, Thomas almost made it only to have to double back at last minute when three maids suddenly came back up the hall carrying old linens from Lady Edith’s room; cripes they were quick! Panicking, Thomas threw himself into a linen closet next to the green baize door, shutting it quickly to lock it from within so that the maids could not open it upon him. Cramped between mop buckets and wooden shelves holding blankets, Thomas tried his hardest not to sneeze in the gloomy dust. The maids were balancing quite a load of blankets; maybe they were clearing out Lady Edith’s room now that she’d gone to London. 

“— It’s absolutely disgraceful.” One was saying, having to pause for the other two while they picked up a fallen linen and folded it between them. 

“As if there’s anything wrong with being an omega!” The second one declared, a haughty frumpy little thing with brown curly hair. She was an omega too, and Thomas bristled as he realized just who they were talking about. 

So even the day maids knew, it seemed. 

“He just hasn’t found an alpha to breed him.” The first maid declared, in an annoyingly know-it-all voice that made Thomas want to throw open the closet door and throttle her thin neck. “Once he does he’ll remember his place.” 

“Go blow it out your arse.” Thomas whispered bitterly to himself, so low that no one else could hear. What the fuck did she know about alphas or breeding? What a self-righteous little beta twat…. typical of their kind. The outside looking in was always a better view than being trapped in the cage. 

The door to the servant’s passage suddenly opened, and Thomas winced as the rotund belly of Mr. Carson suddenly dominated his view through the closet slats. He stood with Mrs. Hughes, the pair of them clearly coming up to do their evening rounds with military precision. The maids were grateful for teh door being held, needing all the hands they could get to carry the linens between the three of them. 

“Thank you Mr. Carson.” The first curstied a bit as she passed, a dangerous move when carrying four blankets in your arms. 

“Down you go, sort those linens!” Mrs. Hughes urged. 

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes!” The second one called back up the stairs. They were gone, and Mr. Carson shut the door so that it was now only he and Mrs. Hughes on the gallery floor. Mr. Carson narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he checked his pocket watch to mark the time. 

“Have you rung for the doctor?” Mrs. Hughes asked. 

“He’ll be here in half an hour.” Mr. Carson said, straightening his cuffs. Thomas wondered if someone was sick; possibly his Lordship, given that he’d already had a precarious year, stomach wise. 

“Shall we get on?” Mrs. Hughes tilted her head towards the far end of the gallery where his Lordship’s chambers sat. 

“No need.” Mr. Carson said. Mrs. Hughes seemed confused, slightly taken aback as she opened her mouth to remain silent for a moment. 

“… But…” Mrs. Hughes paused, “I thought Mr. Bates said the smell of Thomas’ heat had stopped an hour ago.” She said. 

“He did indeed.” Mr. Carson agreed. 

Jesus christ, had they rang the doctor for him? His window was now shortened to less than half an hour, if they kept on talking. He would have to be fast and steal something from another servant’s room… Probably Mrs. Patmore. It would be a bitter thing to take money from her but- 

“Then ought we to go and speak with him now that he’s in a clear mind?” 

“And so we shall my love.” Mr. Carson pronounced, pulling a skeleton key from his waist coat, “And so we shall.” 

Oh shit. 

Thomas froze, a hare caught in the mouth of a fox as Mr. Carson turned and opened the locked closet with his key. Thomas grabbed the handle at once, holding it as tightly as he dared, but he was exhausted and hungry… he could put up no fight against Mr. Carson who was surely twenty stones and fully energized. The door flew from his grip, revealing him to the light of the hallway so that Mrs. Hughes let out an irritated gasp of surprise. Mr. Carson didn’t look flustered at all, merely scowling at Thomas who took a hasty step back only to hit his head against the wooden shelves of the closet. 

“Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes put her hands on her hips; Thomas drew his pajama shirt tighter to his chest, his heart pounding. “What are you doing in there?” 

“I suppose you thought to sneak away?” Mr. Carson declared. Too right he was, but Thomas wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of finding out. 

“I was trying to get back to my room if you must know.” Thomas sniffed haughtily, pulling his shirt even tighter to his skin so that he could keep his dignity. 

Well… Whatever dignity he had left. 

“No doubt to pack and run away!” 

“That is my affair, not yours!” Thomas reminded him, and in a moment of bravery shoved Mr. Carson aside so that he could storm out of the closet and to the servant’s quarters. 

“Your affairs are now my affairs-“ Mr. Carson caught him by the wrist, locking him in such an iron grip that Thomas could not easily struggle free, “And do not walk away from me when I am talking to you!” 

Thomas refused to submit, to be cowed. He nearly dislocated his wrist in the process, but turned his grip and pushed hard against Mr. Carson’s barrel chest so that the only options were either to let go or to be smacked against the wall. Mr. Carson relinquished his grip, looking rightly furious, but Thomas didn’t care. He had decided long ago that when it came to keeping decorum versus keeping his freedom, his personal priorities would always take the final hold. 

“I’m leaving!” Thomas barked, proud of the strength in his voice. He considered the burning in Mr. Carson’s eyes like a personal badge of merit, “Consider this my notice. Goodbye and farewell, Mr. Carson. I have the reference that I am due, and I will take my place in another house. Let no more be said between us!” 

But Mr. Carson wouldn’t stand for it. 

He grabbed Thomas a second time, and now with the lack of distance between them Thomas was suddenly forced to wrestle with a bear on an empty stomach. He writhed in Carson’s grip, trying to get free again if only to make it for the door. To hell with getting his things; he just wanted to get out alive now! He was a fool to have thought of stealing or taking his time in leaving. He ought to have run the second that he got free of his heat suite. He ought to have fled like a thief in the night, taking nothing to chance! 

He’d sacrificed all for the hope of an extra brass… this was how greed was repaid by the universe. 

“Get off!” Thomas cried out. Mr. Carson did no such thing. For every step that Mr. Carson took in the opposite direction, Thomas was forced to take three to make up for the stride. He tried to double back only to lose even more ground as Mr. Carson picked him up around the waist with his second hand and drug him bodily down the hall, “LET GO OF ME! LET GO!” 

“For heavens sake!” Mrs. Hughes protested, partly trying to get Carson to let Thomas go, partly trying to make Thomas be quiet, “Stop it Charlie or you’ll hurt him and yourself too!” 

“I’ll do what it takes to make him behave, by god!” Mr. Carson seemed to have lost his sense of decorum too. An alpha denied was an alpha enraged, or so Thomas had learned over his life watching from the shadows. Now thrown in the spotlight, Thomas was suddenly in the horrific position of being too weak to fight but too enraged to let it die. He didn’t know where Mr. Carson was taking him, but had a feeling that it wouldn’t be cozy and desperately tried to dig his fingers and toes against passing fixtures whether it be carpet or wall linings. Mrs. Hughes tried to get Mr. Carson to let him go, but on this particular subject he would no sooner listen to her than he would listen to a scullery maid. It was the mark of being bullheaded, something Mr. Carson could be accused of even if he wasn’t an alpha. 

"If you don’t stop, I’ll call the Brigade!” Mr. Carson said, red in the face from the struggle. 

Thomas froze, nearly causing Mr. Carson to trip from the sudden halt in movement. 

_The Brigade…_ Thomas’ eyes widened, his pulse quickening in his neck as he realized that this situation was slowly slipping from bad to worse with no cool heads around to stop it. 

The Brigade was an underground network of alphas, a frightening wall of violence and authority against any omega that dared to get to high above their station. Formed during the Victorian era, when a wave of family values had swept the country constricting an omega's already limited viewpoint. Like a tide of evil, the Brigade had swelled and formed, encompassing alphas from all walks of life that delighted in forcing submission on omegas that dared to do such horrific things as ‘get a higher education’ or ‘hold out on having children’. Doctors, lawyers, sergeants, teachers, politicians, and lords… they were all involved with the Brigade and with their resources pooled together they presented an iron wall to omegas. 

The Brigade’s goal was a simple one on paper: to keep the balance between alphas and omegas. In the flesh it was completely different. 

If an omega acted poorly in defiance against their alpha (or any alpha really), their alpha could call upon the Brigade to pop in and give a ‘talk' to the omega. What a ‘talk’ really consisted of was nothing short of mental torture. Thomas had heard horrific stories, of omegas being forced to strip naked and beg for their alphas forgiveness in public. Of omegas being beaten within an inch of their life, begging for mercy only to be denied. Of omegas even being taken away to some anonymous place, imprisoned like criminals for trying to live their life without an alpha leering over them. The Brigade was sharp, and had ears in all corners, backed in the newspaper and in the schoolrooms. From a small age, omegas were told to obey or to fear the Brigade. The Boogeyman was one thing… the Brigade was another. One was frightening, the other was murderous. 

“Mr. Carson!” Mrs. Hughes said reproachfully. It was funny, to watch the shared reactions of omegas whenever they heard mention of the Brigade. The smart ones kept their heads down, but all of them were afraid even if they didn’t show it. 

By god, who _wouldn’t_ be afraid. 

Suddenly Thomas was privy to something quite extraordinary (at least where Mr. Carson was concerned). All the bullheadedness of his personality seemed to melt away at the sight of Mrs. Hughes’ concerned face, and he instead flustered over his words, looking repentant. 

“I cannot rule out the need for higher authority, Elsie. Not when the lack of control results in so much chaos. We are not dealing with small matters anymore; a loose omega in a house such as this can bring about anarchy! We’re already having problems with Daisy.” 

Mrs. Hughes sighed, rubbing tenderly at her brow. Perhaps she was getting a headache. 

Thomas looked between the pair of them, knowing an ally when he saw one. 

“Mrs. Hughes!” He tried to make his voice as frightened and demure as possible, earning him the stink eye from Carson, “You- you wouldn’t let him do this to me, would you?” 

The fact of the matter was, Thomas knew full well that Mr. Carson would never actually call the Brigade. He just wasn’t that sort of man… 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make Mr. Carson sorry for ever saying the word. 

“Charlie.” Mrs. Hughes said his name with the greatest exasperation. She looked crestfallen at her alpha’s behavior, “You can’t say such things; think of all the other omegas in the house. We’d all be in danger should the Brigade arrive here?” 

“I’d never let them harm you, my dear.” Mr. Carson flustered; oh the woes of being an alpha in a butler’s suit, “It’s Thomas that needs to be ironed out.” 

“I do not need to be ironed out!” Thomas cried. Mr. Carson responded by resuming his tug up the hallway, taking Thomas to the main gallery stairs which were mercifully abandoned. Thomas tried to jerk out of his grip again and again; it was a fruitless endeavor. 

“Let me go!” Thomas nearly tripped, grabbing onto the rail with his free hand to keep from being tugged further. Mr. Carson had to reach over and yank his free wrist off, just to keep him from being caught on the stairs, “I have human rights! I won’t be bullied!” 

“And we’re back to this nonsense!” Mr. Carson huffed. 

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Mr. Carson turned right for the library. By the time they were outside the grand double doors, Thomas was all but squatting so that Mr. Carson had to physically drag him across the floor just to get him to move. It was a childish act, likening it to a tantrum, but he didn’t give half a damn. The sooner Carson let him go, the sooner he could run for his life.

“Thomas,” Mrs. Hughes beseeched, beckoning him up with hasty hands; Thomas refused to move, squatting on the floor, “Remember yourself in front of his Lordship!” 

Oh, so he was going to be chastised, was he? Thomas flushed, angry at having to see Lord Grantham when he was wearing damp pajamas that wouldn’t even close fully on the top. It was incredibly out of character for Carson to drag him in front of Lord Grantham when he wasn’t fully decent, but Thomas considered it another ugly reminder that Mr. Carson was first and foremost an alpha… even if he liked to hide it beneath English manners. 

“I can’t see his Lordship like this!” Thomas protested. “I’m not even dressed! Just let me go and I’ll-“ 

“Sneak away like a thief in the night.” Mr. Carson cut him off angrily. “I know you too well to trust you alone, and his Lordship demanded to see you the moment you were sober; get off the floor you are not a child!” Mr. Carson forced him back to his feet so that he was now slouching angrily, “And stop slouching! I trained you to be my replacement, act like it!” 

“You act like I was drunk!” Thomas flushed, “And you locked me away like I was a prisoner! Don’t I have the right to be even a little angry, or do my feelings count for nothing now?” 

“Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes spoke with a short and final tone, placing herself staunchly between the two men and the door with her hands on her hips. “For the past several days, you’ve been raving like a lunatic screaming for random men to mate with you. Mr. Bates went to check on you yesterday and you all but threw yourself at the door howling his name. We didn’t lock you in there because you’re a criminal, we locked you in there because you are an omega.” she didn’t seem unsympathetic. “We were concerned for you, and we had every right to be! You were in a spot of trouble.” 

Oh, that was putting it lightly. 

Thomas looked away, absolutely embarrassed at the revealed information that he’d begged Bates to assault him. He prayed that his voice had been muffled through the door; that he hadn’t said anything too grotesque or lustful. Of all the people for his addled brain to fawn over… it was as if his body was going against him just to spite him! 

“His Lordship wants to speak with you, at once.” Mr. Carson spoke up again, rapping smartly upon the library door before taking up the handle once more, “And you will abide his request. Close your shirt.” He added irritably, “Or are you a total heathen? 

Thomas was slightly overwhelmed, working with one hand, but Mrs. Hughes helped him to wrangle his stiffening shirt closed so that it covered his chest again. What was more, she even ran her hands through his hair to smooth it smartly into a side part. He looked no where near decent, barefoot and in wet clothes… but it seemed that his Lordship didn’t want him decent. He wanted him promptly. 

Mr. Carson entered the library, dragging Thomas behind him. Mrs. Hughes followed up the line, closing the library door after her. There, upon the library sofa, was his Lordship, Mr. Talbot, and Mr. Branson, all of whom were sharing a late cup of coffee. So it seemed that dinner was over now; perhaps the women were playing cards in the pink drawing room across the hall. Branson’s hands were pitifully damaged, which was slightly confusing to Thomas. What had he done to bloody them so? 

Part of his memory, fogged and fooled over, warned him that those bandaged hands were a direct result of his heat… but for the love of it all, Thomas could remember nothing. Only the fear pierced the fog of his heat. The fear and the pain. 

“I suppose I best leave then.” Henry noted, looking from Thomas to his Lordship, who set down his cup of coffee and rose from the sofa. Branson followed him, bitter and fuming. Thomas noted that Branson was having a hard time meeting his eyes, which was a bizarre given that Branson was almost the most straightforward of men. It suddenly struck Thomas that Branson might be feeling embarrassed, or even ashamed, and it burned him to know that he could inspire such attitudes in alphas. That he could be viewed as something sumptuous and lustful which was off the menu. He almost wanted to be Branson to look at him, to remind Branson that he wasn’t a damsel in distress or something on a pedestal. My god, it hadn’t been that long ago when Branson had thought him a berk. 

Was that all so translucent now, just because he was suddenly declared an omega?  
It made Thomas want to be sick. 

“Yes, thank you Henry.” Lord Grantham watched his son-in-law go; it hadn’t been to long ago that Mr. Talbot’s presence in the house had been the bane of Lady Mary’s existence. Now he’d become her husband despite being a beta and unable to bend to Lady Mary’s alpha demands. How did it work, Thomas wondered… How did they work? 

Henry left the library without another word, closing the door to the hallway behind him so that it closed with a definitive sound ringing across the library walls. Thomas suddenly felt like he was on trial; like the closing of the door was the banging of the judge’s gavel as Lord Grantham turned to stare at him with greatest displeasure and distrust. Thomas hadn’t been regarded in such a way since 1912 when he’d been caught stealing. 

“So, you’ve come out from the water?” Lord Grantham asked. What an odd term of phrase; Thomas had to wonder if he was taking a jab at his dampened dress, or if he was referring to his heat being over. The upper class were such ponces when it came to these sorts of matters. He wondered if Lord Grantham had ever said the word ‘bloody’ before. If he’d ever said the word ‘fuck’. 

No, he was much too English for that. 

Thomas decided to by-step all of it, and get right to the crux of the matter. 

“M’lord,” He began frankly, “I have decided that it would be best for me to leave the abbey. I am giving my notice as of this moment to Mr. Carson; I have the reference I am due from when I was searching for positions earlier this year. I will leave with it, and make my own way-“ 

“You think you can leave? When you’ are an unbound omega in my possession?” Lord Grantham demanded, looking quite affronted. Thomas hadn’t expected him to be so angry, and fell short for a moment clutching at straws. His face flooded with heat at the fact that Lord Grantham thought he was a possession to be handled with the same tact as a vase. Thomas had thought him a better man than that. A better alpha. 

“M’lord, I beg to remind you that I have signed no contract stating that I am a possession of this estate. I am unbound and I am free-“ 

But once again, Lord Grantham cut him off like his words didn’t matter. Like his voice was useless. Unimportant. 

It burned him. 

“Every contract signed at this abbey, every contract period has an omega clause.” Lord Grantham was just getting angrier at Thomas’ self-imposed ignorance on the subject, “Your original contract as junior footman had the clause as well; you read it before you signed your name to employment!” 

And it suddenly struck Thomas that Lord Grantham was absolutely right. That when he’d signed the contract to Downton Abbey, he’d seen that damn clause and had read it very carefully all the while knowing that it would never matter because he would never come out as an omega. He’d thought himself above the system, beyond the rules and the punishments. 

“…I…” Thomas floundered for words, for an excuse, for anything that would save his slowly fading freedom. 

“Whether or not you chose to acknowledge it at the time, you, as an omega, legally signed a document stating that you waved your rights of ownership from your parents to my estate.” Lord Grantham didn’t look to happy about it either. He was such a strange man; half the time he pushed for tradition, the other half of the time he ran from it… 

But one couldn’t pick and chose their favorites when it came to the old ways. You either took it or not at all. The same men that endorsed family values were the same men that endorsed omega restrictions whether or not they chose to acknowledge it. 

“You have signed yourself to my legacy.” Lord Grantham said with cold finality. He pursed his lips, “Every omega under this roof has done so.” 

Mrs. Hughes bowed her head, staring for a moment at the floor as if pondering some internal struggle that she herself had overcome on the subject. Thomas didn’t dare glance at her, too busy sweating as he tried to come up with some valid reason for why Lord Grantham should let him go. 

“… I… Then I respectfully request of your Lordship that I null and void my contract.” Thomas fumbled over his words. Lord Grantham narrowed his eyes. 

“I find myself less than obliging.” Lord Grantham replied. 

Oh goody. 

“You are an unbound and unmated male omega.” Lord Grantham said, “A rarity on a level I cannot even begin to fathom myself. In my life I’ve only known one other omega male. He never had a chance at a normal life, the poor man was bound from birth to another. You somehow escaped that fate, though I cannot fathom what your parents were thinking-“ Lord Grantham scoffed. 

Thomas bristled, remembering how his mother had sobbed in his father’s arms, begging him to change the tides of fate and make Thomas ‘normal’. His parents hadn’t been ‘thinking’. They’d been too busy weeping. 

What did Lord Grantham know of that? 

Thomas’ jaw set, his heart steeling over just as it had done a thousand other times before something unthinkable had come out of his mouth. 

“You present before me a precious opportunity.” Lord Grantham said, with as much tact as he could manage, “I would be a fool to deny having a male omega on my staff. It would bring my family even greater standing in our community; I take it with great pride to have you among my brood.” 

“Brood?” Thomas could not help but interrupt, his longing for maturity and decorum slipping with every damning word Lord Grantham ordered, “Are we a cluck of chickens now?” 

“Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes hissed out of the corner of her mouth. He did not care. 

Mr. Carson slowly turned his head to glare at Thomas, his eyes wide and full of flame. 

Lord Grantham gave him an irritable sort of look, “Be silent until I have given you permission to speak.” 

Thomas bit his tongue. He almost thought he could taste copper in his mouth. 

“As an male omega, you are not allowed to hold a high position in staff, safe for that of a valet. I clearly do not need a valet, neither do Mr. Branson nor Mr. Talbot. We already have a footman-“ 

“If there is no place for me, then I ought to leave.” Thomas spoke up. 

“I have not finished, omega.” Lord Grantham snapped. Thomas went white. 

“… My name is Barrow.” Thomas said, reminding the room as if the whole lot of them had suddenly forgotten. His voice was naively shocked, like that of a child. “My name is Thomas Barrow, not omega-“ 

“Hold your tongue.” Mr. Carson snapped. Thomas looked around at him, suddenly quite frightened. 

What horrible world had he stumbled into? 

“I have decided after speaking with Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, that it would be best to place you underneath Mrs. Hughes as her assistant and let go two of the day maids.” Lord Grantham said. His voice had taken on a cold quality that made Thomas’ stomach go into knots. He was speaking about Thomas’ future with such authority, as if what Thomas wanted for his own life was of little consequence now. He had dreams, he had plans- sure they’d never had much hope to begin with but they’d been his own! 

“We have no full time head housemaid anymore, and it would do us well to have one on staff.” Lord Grantham mused. 

“M’lord, my skill set is far above that of a house maid!” Thomas cried out, unable to contain himself, “I’ve been trained by Mr. Carson himself—!” 

“Omega, I will not repeat myself.” Lord Grantham said. 

 

But Thomas could not stand to be undermined, not when he knew he was meant for so much more than the homely work of a maid. He’d been trained as a footman, valet, and butler. He’d served in the war, and had even run the house with Lady Grantham. He’d proven his worth a hundred times over, and he wouldn’t allow all of that to slip down the drain just because he was now an omega. 

He just wouldn’t. 

“No.” Thomas ground out, locking eyes with Lord Grantham.   
For a flat minute, the pair of them remained silent in a battle of wits, an Earl and an under butler each holding their ground in a stifling library. 

Then, Thomas continued on. 

“I will not be silent.” He declared, refusing to stop even as Carson gave a start and Mrs. Hughes put her hand over her heart, “I will not be treated like a child! I’m a human being, and I have a right to speak my mind!” 

“And yet you do not have freedom from the consequences!” Lord Grantham reminded him angrily. All the emotional discharge that his Lordship had set aside in order to have a detached conversation was suddenly coming back to slam them in the face with an ugly wave of resentment and anger. Thomas braced himself, holding on for dear life as Lord Grantham kept on arguing, “For twenty years!” He threw his hands up, “Twenty years you’ve lied and told us all you were a beta! I’ve never heard of such a shameful and disgraceful thing! Such a disgusting act! To deny your womb, your scent, to go against the way of the rod all for the sake of your insufferable pride!” 

Thomas rolled his eyes, pursing his lips; nothing he hadn’t heard before from a hundred other mouths. 

“You are a damnable creature Thomas,” He swore, “You think that will go unpunished in this house?” 

“Punish me then!” Thomas burst out, suddenly feeling like he was arguing with his father more than his employer, “Punish me! Cast me off! See away with me! I won’t complain! I’ll leave this very minute-!” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you!” Lord Grantham said heatedly, “An opportunity to run! An opportunity to hide!” 

“An opportunity to live!” Thomas shouted, “Without licking your bloody boots-!” 

Carson cuffed him hard around the ear. Thomas winced, bringing his hand up to hold his stinging flesh, lips pursed tight to keep his yelp inside.

The fact of the matter was, the act of physical violence upon his flesh was not a new experience. His father had beaten him, first for purpose and then for pleasure. It wasn’t so bizarre, flesh meeting to flesh, but Thomas had always put Mr. Carson above such things. He’d joked about it once or twice, _(“I hope you’re not plannin’ to hit me with that.” “No, but I do not intend to beat around the bush either.”)_

But once again, Thomas was being slammed against the proverbial rock of alphas and the hard place of omegas. It didn’t matter that Mr. Carson was intelligent, or well-mannered, or a butler in front of his lord, or even a soft-hearted man. 

All that mattered was that Thomas was an omega, and Carson was an alpha. That Thomas was disobeying, and Carson thought he needed to be obeyed. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking to his lordship.” Mr. Carson ordered, sounding absolutely livid. 

Thomas took a deep breath, summoning up his courage to defy Carson even with his ear still stinging. He slowly dropped his hand back down to his side, then stared at Lord Grantham to calmly say, “I won’t be a slave for one man’s convenience.” 

With that, he turned, flat out determined to walk from the library and from Downton Abbey itself. Into the night he would go with damp bed clothes, but his dignity and his freedom too! 

Or at least, he would have if Carson hadn’t grabbed hold of his arm again. 

“Let me go!” Thomas cried out angrily. To sod and heck with being mature and reasonable. He would fight fully now, and with every asset available to him. 

With this in mind, Thomas began to scratch and kick at Mr. Carson, wrapping against the other man’s barrel chest with his free hand. It didn’t matter now whether his ensnared hand came away injured or not. He’d take a broken wrist if it could get him freedom. 

Mr. Carson seemed to instantly realize that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, and began to try and grab at Thomas’ neck with his spare hand. At first, Thomas though Carson was trying to strangle him and nearly smacked the man in the face until he realized that Carson was actually just trying to grip him. 

And that really pissed him off. 

Gripping was a low blow, and Thomas would not stand for it. He’d only seen it used once, and from afar: A young woman had been gripped by her alpha husband outside of a shop where she’d been begging him to do something or the other. Her crying had clearly gotten on his nerves, and so he’d taken his meaty hand and squeezed at the back of her tender neck to make her go quiet. Thomas hadn’t understood what he’d witnessed at first, thinking that the man might have been choking the life out of the woman. The truth had been no less disturbing: the alpha had been using a ‘grip’ to subdue his omega. It was inhumane and demeaning, turning an omega into an animal being scruffed, and it made Thomas sick to his stomach. 

 

“Get your hands off me!” Thomas shouted angrily, “I won’t be gripped!” 

He threw out a hand to knock Mr. Carson’s aside, only to watch agog as Mr. Carson reached under to try and get around his flailing hand. 

The result was that Thomas accidentally smacked Mr. Carson right in the face, catching his lip with sharp fingernails so that Carson hissed and drew back at once with wide eyes. 

The silence that filled the library was an ugly threatening thing, as Thomas realized he’d crossed the line. 

It was illegal for an omega to strike an alpha; there were no exceptions, even when an omega was under attack. The lucky ones were given a whollup. 

The unlucky ones… well… 

Mrs. Hughes was upon her husband in an instant, a trembling hand reaching up to touch his slightly swollen bottom lip. 

“Charlie, are you alright?” Mrs. Hughes slip in decorum was corrected by Carson at once. 

“I’m fine, Elsie.” He muttered so that none could hear, “Remember yourself.” 

She dropped her hand and took a step back, her lips pursed into a thin white line as she, like everyone else, turned to stare with cold contempt at Thomas. He hadn’t been stared at with such hatred since 1912. 

“Alright.” Thomas could feel the sweat beginning to slide down the back of his neck.   
God he’d gone and stepped in it now. 

“Alright, now let me go.” Thomas began again, drawing a shaky breath, “I’ve hit you, there’s no other way for it.” 

Lord Grantham looked absolutely scandalized. He shook his head, utterly flabbergasted. 

“Your behavior has put my entire house at risk.” He declared, “It has to stop.” 

“Stop it by sending me away!” Thomas protested. 

“You are my property!” Lord Grantham was stuck between a rock and a hard place something proper. “As awful as you can be, I do not wish to be rid of you!” 

“I am not property!” Thomas was absolutely incensed, stamping his foot in a rage, “I am a human being-“ 

“Oh for god’s sake!” Branson blurted out, rising up off the couch in a flash. He seemed ready to throttle Thomas with his bandaged hands. Thomas took an instinctive step backward, thinking he might very well just bolt for the room where he not certain Branson would pursue him. 

“D’ye see my hands?! Eh?!” Branson shouted, holding up his bloodied fingers so that everyone could see the pink tinging the crisp white gauze. Thomas flinched, imagining what sort of pain he might be in, “Not even three days ago, I was ready to break down a brick wall t’get my hands on you! Do you realize how good you smell? How enticing you are? Bloody hell, I don’t know how I made it through, I nearly lost my mind being deprived of you!” 

Thomas turned a bright shade of red, utterly embarrassed at Mr. Branson’s words. Never before in his life had someone told him that he’d ‘smelt good’; that he was ‘enticing’. Thomas had a very hard time imagining himself as any of these things, and waffled about silently for a moment trying to come up with something to say in reply. When he couldn’t, Branson just carried on. 

“That’s the risk you put this house at!” Branson declared, gesturing from Lord Grantham, to Carson, to himself, “The whole house! Every alpha under this roof can smell you! Can see your beauty and potential! Do you even care at all about the affect you have on other people? Or are you just content to let others suffer for your own convenience!” 

_Suffer_ , what did he know about _suffering_ , the prig. He was an alpha! He might have been born lower class, but he was doing alright now, wasn’t he? Wearing a bloomin’ tux too, the little hypocrite! 

“Now look here,” Thomas ground his teeth, an ugly sort of temperament filling up his blood at Branson’s emotional words. He couldn’t stand being looked at in such a way. Like he was some kind of… of… 

But there was only one word for it: omega. 

“You can mate any omega you like.” Thomas spat, “Most of them would thank you for it. If that’s you’re idea of a good time, then go find one!” He shouted pointed at a random library window for effect, “The other alphas in this house are mated, and Andy’s not even interested, so as far as I’m concerned-“ 

“You don’t stop smelling omegas just because you claim you, Thomas!” Branson said angrily. He seemed shocked at how ignorant Thomas was on the subject. “D’you realize how many alphas have broods of two or more? Particularly in the upper class?” 

Thomas could not help but shudder at this, slightly nauseas at the concept of a brood. Some found the idea comforting but to Thomas it was just another ugly reminder that he would never be more than a hen or a cow to some people. 

“You’re going to make me sick, talking like that.” Thomas refused to be polite anymore. “What are you going to do, sniff me out like one of Mrs. Patmore’s roast? Stow me away like a snuffbox? You talk about us like we’re animals, but we’re human beings just like alphas and we deserve the rights we were born with! The rights that have nothing to do with our sexual identities! What about our nationalities? Our political viewpoints? Our religious inclinations? Do any of those things matter, or are they mere trivialities to our wombs?!” 

“Y’can’t have your cake and eat it too, Thomas!” Branson said angrily. 

“I don’t want to have it too, I just want to keep it from being put into your brood!” 

“God, Robert, make him shut up.” Branson groaned, dragging a bandaged hand angrily across his face. He kneaded at the bridge of his nose, as if trying to tug away a pain. “I’ve already got a headache after this mess.” 

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll—I’ll—“ Thomas looked about the room, desperate for something to throw. He found it in the image of the marble hearth around which the library was situated. He could use the burning embers, surely. “I’ll set the house on fire! I swear I will, I don’t give a damn anymore. I’ll make you all pay for trying to keep me prisoner!” 

“Set the house on fire— what are you saying?” Mrs. Hughes touched her breast reproachfully, her wide eyes full of fear, “Surely you wouldn’t do such a thing. Thomas this is your home!” 

“What kind of home aims to be a prison?!” Thomas snapped. “Look at the way they’re treating us all! Like we’re whores! That’s all you are to him!” Thomas pointed to Carson angrily, “A whore!” 

Mrs. Hughes started. 

 

For one very brief second, she turned and looked straight at Mr. Carson’s face. Thomas saw the fear there, in her eyes. The slightest hesitation that Carson might actually not be as loving as he swore. 

“I want you to listen to me as best you can, Mrs. Hughes- cast aside everything you’ve been told, every lie you’ve swallowed because this is the ugly truth!” Thomas reached forward and “These alphas don’t care if we live or die- they just care if we produce! Look at you and me! What’s the difference!? What’s the one thing you’re doing that I’m not-“ 

“Oh where do I start?!” Lord Grantham thundered angrily, “Holding to decorum, accepting everyone around her with grace and humility, generally being a loving person- and yes I’ll admit she’s also being a normal omega while you are not but that is not the reason why you are in this position. The reason why-“ 

“Is what?!” Thomas thundered angrily. Lord Grantham, in a shocking moment of clarity, fell silent. 

Thomas folded his arms over his chest, certain he’d trumped them all. 

“Face it. The only reason why you’re so angry is because you’ve missed the jump. You wanted a piece of something you couldn’t have. But I’d never let you have me anyways. I’d never let any of you have me.” Thomas spat, knowing that he was being horribly inappropriate. But he just didn’t care anymore; the ruder he acted the surer he would get to being sacked… and that was what he wanted at this point. He could never live a normal life here. He had to go. 

“That’ll scare the horses.” Branson scoffed. Carson looked absolutely livid. 

Lord Grantham seemed to be steeling himself, his eyes growing cold as he clenched his fists tight. Thomas waited for him to be pronounced a vile harlot. For Grantham to throw him out into the night. For Carson to crack him around the face again. 

But none of this happened… and it made him slightly uneasy. 

“Thomas.” Lord Grantham said his name like he were a disobedient child instead of a fully grown man, “I don’t want to do this to you, I don’t enjoy the idea of it… but I’m seriously doubting your disgusting behavior will change until you are reminded properly on the virtues of being an omega.” 

 

Lord Grantham looked pensive. Why?   
What was he planning? Did he think he was going to sit Thomas down and go through the religious texts on secondary sexualities passage by passage? Like Thomas would suddenly change his mind on freedom if he heard the entire chronicles of Litigo and rehearsed its laws? What utter nonsense. 

“I think I might have to call the brigade.” Lord Grantham said. 

“Oh, your lordship, I beg of you-“ Mrs. Hughes blurted out before she could control herself, true fear in her voice. 

Thomas opened his mouth to say something.   
For a moment, words refused to come out. 

This was not the first time Lord Grantham had threatened to call the brigade on an omega. The last time it had been Sybil, after she’d secretly snuck off to a political rally and had gotten struck in the head by an angry passing alpha. He might very well have called the Brigade, had Lady Grantham not begged him to change his mind. Lady Mary and Tom Branson had equally put their say in until Lord Grantham had finally backed down. 

But there was no one in Thomas’ corner to protest in his defense besides Mrs. Hughes, and Lord Grantham had fixed her with such a look that Thomas knew she wasn’t a card he could play. 

He was bluffing on an empty hand. 

Thomas scoffed, putting on the best face he could manage… one of relaxed calm that was, against its nature, incredibly controlled. 

“You’re just trying to scare me.” Thomas bluffed, “I won’t give into it. You wouldn’t actually call the Brigade on me. What am I to you?” He gestured to himself, “Just one omega in a million-“ 

“You are an unmated male omega. Your womb is in its prime. You are a status symbol to this abbey and my family. You are not one of millions… You are one in a million.” Lord Grantham corrected. 

Thomas’ facial expression cracked and fell to the ground, a clay mask suddenly breaking away to reveal a very angry man beneath willing to do whatever it took to get away. 

“I’ll run away.” He declared. 

“You think we’d let you get out of the house?” 

“I’ll set the house on fire.” Thomas said, gesturing to the fire place. His expression did not flicker in anger, did not move in emotion. Bluffing he might be, but bluffing with hardened intent. 

“We’ll hold you down.” Lord Grantham countered. 

Thomas steeled himself, thinking of how it might feel. To be held down by alphas. Part of him, both primal and locked away, delighted in the prospect of it… but it was that very part of him that had to be controlled and ultimately destroyed. There was no way to detach himself from his sexuality. He knew that now. 

So he would simply have to eradicated what made it come forward. 

“… If you touch me.. I’ll kill you.” Thomas declared, for it could be the only way. He could not be around alphas. He could not allow that submissive part of his brain to take over his dominant thinking. Radical in the extreme, murder might be… but there were greater things to fear than notoriety. The loss of his freedom was so important to him, so pivotally driving… that he was willing to sacrifice everything. Everything. 

Lord Grantham blanked, suddenly shocked at Thomas’ words. 

“… I cannot be an omega.” Thomas said softly. “I can’t be mated, or bonded, or bred. I can’t. I can’t go through with it… and if you’re going to try and make me then… well…” He paused, delicately pursing his lips. “Then I’ll have to do what I’ll have to do, won’t I?” 

“Kill me?” Lord Grantham repeated, his tone cold and angry. “You would dare to—“ He cut himself off, scoffing. He turned, pacing the library floor before stopping again and facing Thomas once more, “You’re talking madness. Absolute madness.” 

“It is not madness to yearn for freedom, an alpha could never understand!” Thomas warned. “The oppressor can never fully know the extent of the oppressed. It’s the rules of the game!” 

“This isn’t a game!” Lord Grantham barked the word with insult. Thomas closed his eyes and looked away, only opening them again when he could simply stare out the library window and not look at the faces of the others in the room. He found his eyes tracing the darkened hills around the abbey… the view of the trees and the moon rising beyond them. Of streams babbling, of grass shifting in the wind… heels churning on pebbled roads. Things that the imprisoned longed for. 

“First you deny your mark for twenty years, next you incite a near riot with a heat, then you openly proclaim that you will kill an elite alpha— an elite alpha whose allegiance you owe? Thomas Barrow, you leave me little choice. For the safety of my family, I must contact the Brigade.” 

 

Thomas closed his eyes. 

He was bluffing on an empty hand… and Lord Grantham had just called a full house. 

Lord Grantham turned, making a bee line for the telephone which sat atop his drawing desk in the corner. Thomas felt his muscles bulge and contract, his world narrowing down and slowing up till it felt like time was crawling by at a snails pace. He began to run, determined to knock Lord Grantham down or rip the telephone chord in twain. He did not get halfway there, however, when a sudden fierce hand grabbed him hand by the back of the night shirt and yanked him so fast that his feet actually left the floor. He gasped, air sucking from his lungs as he crashed violently into the wood and carpet of the library floor in a sprawling heap of limbs. Someone heavy was above him—Carson! Carson was pinning him down with a knee, Thomas’ hand bent round backward so that it was throbbing painfully atop his spinal column. He struggled to break free, trying to reach up behind him with his free hand to grab at the seam of Carson’s trousers. Carson refused to give an inch, using his own free hand to slam Thomas’ other into the carpet so that he was effectively pinned. 

“Jesus!” Branson yelped, alarmed at the display of near-violence. 

Lord Grantham stared at Thomas agog, his hand still outstretched towards the telephone atop the writing desk. 

How Thomas wished he could explain to him… this man who had done so much for him. Saved him from Jimmy Kent, saved him from himself… How could Thomas convey that this wasn’t (and was) personal? That it wasn’t that he hated Lord Grantham… it was that he loved his freedom. 

He loved it like a mother might love their child… and here it was being cruelly pried away from him. 

“Dear god.” Lord Grantham muttered, staring at Thomas disturbed. “You’re mad.” 

“I’m trapped.” Thomas said pitifully from the ground, his voice compressed from Carson’s knee squashing his stomach muscles, “And if it was you in this position… you would do the same. Don’t you dare deny it.” He hissed. 

Lord Grantham pursed his lips, turned, and completed his walk to the telephone. He picked it up and jiggled the cradle up and down for a moment to attract the attention of the operator. 

“Don’t do this.” Thomas panicked, suddenly realizing that Lord Grantham was very serious in his intent of calling the Brigade. His stomach turned to knots, “DON’T DO THIS!” He screamed out. 

Lord Grantham’s hand clenched upon his desk. 

“Yes, forward me to the Brigade Home Office.” Lord Grantham suddenly spoke up, “It’s an emergency.” He cast a glance back at Thomas. 

“Oh Jesus.” Thomas cursed into the carpet, dust and thread momentarily getting into his mouth. “Jesus Robert don’t do this-“ 

“Hold your tongue before his Lordship.” Mr. Carson snapped from above him. Thomas wondered what would offend the man more? Him attempting to attack Lord Grantham, or him calling Lord Grantham by his Christian name? 

Lord Grantham straightened up, “I have an emergency.” He said aloud, “I’ve just discovered a male omega in my home. Unmated, unbound, in his thirties… he’s my servant.” Lord Grantham paused, “He’s lied to me for twenty years and told me he was a Beta… but he went into heat and nearly cause a riot. We managed to keep him quiet but now he’s threatened to kill me-“ Lord Grantham paused, glancing down at his clenched hand upon the desk, “And perhaps nearly acted on it. He’s trying to run away.” Lord Grantham gave a stiff sigh, “Yes I suppose-“ It was hard to know what the person was saying on the other end. “Well I wouldn’t put it like that— but yes, yes I suppose you’re right. Well, that is why I called. We’re in Downton. Just beyond Rippon… yes. Downton Abbey. We’re the largest estate in the community—“ 

“Robert don’t do this!” Thomas cried out from beneath Carson’s knee. He could not deny the fear now in his voice or his heart, “Robert you know it’s wrong! You know what they’ll do to me!” 

From beside the couch, Thomas noticed the smallest bit of fear begin to grow on Branson’s youthful face. His eyes were widening. His jaw was slackening. 

It was like he was beginning to take in what was really happening. 

Lord Grantham caught the man’s eye. The pair of them stared at one another, mindless to whatever was being said over the candlestick phone. 

“…Look, just come out here and talk to him.” Lord Grantham commanded, “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re planning but I think you’d better just come talk to him. That’s all I want.” He paused, glancing back at Thomas. 

“…Thomas Barrow.” Lord Grantham said, “He’s thirty … three?” He glanced at Mrs. Hughes who shook her head, holding up the number six on her fingers. “Thirty six, my apologies. Yes. Yes, unmated, unbound… well as I said he’s been lying for twenty years. I’m unsure.” He paused. “I cannot say.” 

He licked his lips. He was growing nervous. Why? What were they saying on the other end. 

“I don’t…” Lord Grantham looked incredibly uncomfortable now. He couldn’t even meet Thomas’ eyes. 

He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

“I don’t want that.” Lord Grantham warned. “I don’t want anyone to touch him in that way. No.” 

_Don’t want anyone to touch him in that way?_   
_What were they going to do to him?_   
_What were they planning?_

“Oh god.” Thomas whimpered aloud, “Oh god what have you done?” 

“Yes.” Lord Grantham said, looking up at the ceiling, “As fast as you can. We’ll expect you in an hour then…. Look, my good man I don’t know what you mean by that, but I’ve already made it perfectly clear to you that I don’t want him to be—“ Lord Grantham paused. “Yes.” He paused again, “Yes I realize that.” 

He looked back at Thomas.   
What ever was being said in his ear, it seemed to render him silent. 

Thomas shook his head, sniveling and feeling weak as a child beneath Carson’s knee. 

“Robert…” Thomas said his name like a prayer. In a way it was. A prayer directed towards the saint of Robert Crawley’s empathy with the lower class. 

“…Robert please.” Thomas managed again, “Please. I’m sorry.”   
And he was, in a way. Though not for everything. 

He was sorry for frightening Robert, but not sorry for the reason he had to frighten him. 

Lord Grantham sighed, his breath shuddering as he exhaled. He looked oddly… defeated… and it frightened Thomas. 

“Very well.” Lord Grantham said with clear bitterness. “We will be waiting.” 

And with that he hung up the phone. 

The room lay in absolute silence, everyone now looking to Lord Grantham for the news he would convey. Branson seemed slightly frightened where as Mrs. Hughes was outright trembling. Above Thomas with his knee still pressed, Carson was simply resigned for what must happen. Resigned, and indeed somber that such black news should befall the abbey. The Brigade might boast itself as a family institution, but the fact of the matter was no sane family would want them near. 

Not when they brought so much destruction and chaos in their wake. 

“The brigade is on their way.” Lord Grantham said. He seemed almost sick with himself. “Whether or not it is wise, I may not be able to decide until future. But mark me Thomas, you left me with very little choice. I will not have violence in this house, and your behavior has grown completely out of control.” 

“You wouldn’t let them do this to Sybil.” Thomas protested from beneath Carson’s knee. “You wouldn’t do this—“ 

“Sybil never attacked anyone.” Lord Grantham reminded Thomas. There was clear hurt in his voice. “… And to think, how I’ve stood up for you so many times in the past. To think how fast you would have turned on me-“ 

“It isn’t you!” Thomas begged, “It’s anyone who would take my freedom away from me! I can’t live in a cage, M’lord, I just can’t!” And he shamefully felt tears slip from his eyes to stain the carpet beneath him. “You can’t understand when you’re the one holding the keys!” 

Lord Grantham didn’t know what to say anymore. He shook his head, rubbing his jaw and looking away to address Mrs. Hughes instead. 

“Lock the library doors.” He commanded. “And barricade yourself downstairs with the other omegas. I don’t trust the Brigade to save my life. They come for Thomas, but they might take two.” 

Mrs. Hughes fretfully did as she was told, going to each door of the library and locking it with her master key. But instead of seeing herself out, she paused at the final door and looked over her shoulder at Lord Grantham who was watching her expectantly. She looked at Mr. Carson, who, from what Thomas could tell beneath him, was apprehensive. 

“… Forgive me, M’lord.” Mrs. Hughes spoke up, locking the final door and walking back across the library to solemnly hand her key over to Lord Grantham himself. 

He took it, confused. 

“I wish to remain upstairs.” Mrs. Hughes explained softly, “To support Thomas.” 

“I don’t know what good it would do you.” Lord Grantham admitted, shaking his head, “They hardly listen to any omega’s wants.” 

“I know.” Mrs. Hughes’ voice was tight. Her eyes were misty and she found Thomas upon the floor. “That’s why I want to stay.” 

Lord Grantham, once again, looked ashamed with himself. He rubbed his jaw for the second time, feeling the key in the palm of his hand. 

“Let him up, Carson.” Lord Grantham said. “He can do no harm with the doors locked.” 

Thomas’ eyes shifted to Lord Grantham’s hand. To the doors of the library- 

He wouldn’t be able to attack Lord Grantham twice. Perhaps he could ram the doors- No. Too hard. Too large. Too sturdy. 

“Are you sure M’lord-“ 

His eyes shifted again towards the windows. Yes, now that he could manage. Glass, and not too much of a fall, merely a few feet. He’d run at the window and jump through. It might cut him severely, possibly break bones too, but both would be the worth the obvious reward of his freedom. With bare feet, it would be close to suicide… but it had to be done. 

“Quite sure. We’ve an hour to wait. You can hardly stay on your knees for that long.” 

The minute the pressure began to relieve against his back, Thomas bolted. 

He wrenched Carson off, no longer caring for manners as he shoved the butler aside. With scrambling, bare feet, Thomas ran for his life, for everything that was inside him! 

Thomas threw himself at the window. 

And promptly saw stars. 

“Gya-!” Thomas crumpled to the ground, his head and his side throbbing.

Jesus bloomin’ Christ! What the hell was that window made out of? Cement?! 

Plan A failed, Thomas Barrow felt like a damn fool beneath the window. He crawled onto his hands and knees, and coughed several times, feeling as if his soul had been knocked loose in his chest. 

“Not a very good plan.” Lord Grantham spoke up, sounding only a tad amused. “I’m sure you saw that in a Nickelodeon somewhere.” 

The sad part of it was that yes, he had seen it in a Nickelodeon, and had honestly thought it relatively easy to do. 

That didn’t mean he was going to fucking admit to it though. 

As Thomas slowly tried to come to terms with a Plan B, he found himself whimpering, clutching at the back of his head. He was throbbing, his body weakened from lack of food and water. If there were a line, dizzyingly close to losing consciousness, Thomas was toeing it like a ballerina. He staggered, looking up to see everyone staring at him like he was an absurd bug. He allowed himself a moment of self-pity, an ugly and withering thing much like the night by a dying fire when Carson had made him cry. Thomas ground his teeth together, slumping against the wall of the library beneath the intact window. He took deep shuddering breathes, raking a shaking hand through his hair to see if blood came away from his touch. It didn’t. 

He’d knocked the shit out of himself, but that was all. At most, he’d have a lump.   
His dignity was fucked over too, but that was another matter entirely. 

Mrs. Hughes took one tentative step forward, then another. She dropped to her knees with obvious difficulty; age and a dress impeding her progress as she reached out to feel at Thomas’ head. There was a tender spot near his left temple which she carefully caressed. 

“Oh Thomas.” She whispered pityingly. It burned him. 

“Don’t you dare pity me.”   
“Don’t fight it.” 

They spoke at the same time. 

 

Mrs. Hughes did not bristle or pull away. She did not even break contact with rubbing at his temple. Instead, she allowed herself to pause for only one moment so that Thomas could go on if he wanted… but Thomas didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Mrs. Hughes then spoke again, just as soft and gentle as before. 

“Please, Thomas.” Her fingers dropped to his cheek, which she touched like one might fine china, “Don’t make me watch them hurt you.” 

Thomas struggled to raise his head, injury and exhaustion rendering him sluggish as he stared at Mrs. Hughes. Her eyes were welling with tears, and once more he burned internally for the obvious reason of their presence. He’d never wanted to inspire sentiment in her, but somewhere along the way of trying to keep her at arm’s length, he’d failed. He supposed it had been the night that Jimmy had shook him to the core. She’d found him crying in the rain like a child, and maybe ever since then he hadn’t stopped being a child to her. 

Mrs. Hughes took another shuddering breath, more miserable than ever before as she regarded how beaten down he was “Accept your mark, accept your fate,” Was her ugly advice. “Just let it go… life as an omega isn’t a damned thing. But a life spent struggling against alphas is.” 

“… You could save me.” Thomas reminded her, unable to resist the spite in his voice. “You could save me if you truly wanted.” 

“I can’t go against my alpha, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes’ eyes were filling with tears, “And neither can you.” 

Oh, what a wicked world it was. 

Thomas closed his eyes, taking in one shuddering breath after another as Mrs. Hughes rubbed his head. He was so exhausted, so hungry, so confused— so many things. Thomas Barrow was too many things. If only he could make a list and let the others read it. Maybe then they’d know. 

Maybe then they’d understand. 

In that moment, like many before in his life, Thomas found himself thinking of Jimmy Kent. 

Jimmy Kent, he’d been certain, was an alpha. Jimmy had paraded and strutted about like an alpha. He’d commanded authority and attention like an alpha… but when he’d taken tea late one night and admitted to being alone, Thomas had known he wasn’t an alpha. 

So he’d gone to Jimmy’s room to kiss him, only to have his entire world thrown on its head. 

Sometimes when he was in true pain, such as tonight, he allowed himself to slip back to that fragile moment in time when Jimmy had still been asleep upon his pillow. So jaded and cruel was his existence that he’d captured images in his mind of moments when it had been somewhat normal in order to feel better. On a shelf found only in the back corners of his mind were moments, photographed so that he could peer at them if need be. 

On the edge of death, none of these photographs had come to mind. A new one had instead been taken: the image of the red tiles surrounding the bathroom wall… somehow merging in his subconsciousness to be connected to the red lining of a womb and the red beneath his eyelids when sunshine beamed down overhead. 

Thomas closed his eyes, and let the light from the fire illuminate that red for him again. 

He took a breath, then another.   
He tried to gather up his strength, knowing that the clock was officially counting down, even now. 

He was losing precious minutes to recovering from an attempted exit. He needed to be focusing on his plan B. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Mrs. Hughes pleaded. “I can help you, Thomas.” 

“No one can help me.” Thomas hissed, eyes still closed. “I’m not to be helped.” 

“If I ever find the name of who told you that… I shall turn absolutely monstrous.” She replied. 

Thomas cracked a weak smile and opened his eyes. He knew it was a ridiculous thing to show sentiment in this moment, when there was already so much to lose on the line… but he couldn’t help himself. A weak and ugly part of him wondered if it was second sexual nature as an omega that made him prone to weeping at high outbursts of emotion. Part of him wondered if it was because he was English and a man in a time when both labels demanded he be stoic. 

Thomas wondered many things. 

“You really are lovely.” He said. Mrs. Hughes looked flattered, brushing his hair carefully out of his eyes. The room of alphas had faded away, to be filled only by two omegas one old and one young. One damaged and one whole. 

Her hand slipped down from his face, trailing along his arm till it came to rest upon his hand. 

For a very long time, the two of them simply stared at one another. Both on their knees figuratively and mentally. The posture was second nature to them in all forms. 

When lights glided across the library windows, sparkling only to fade again in a flash, Thomas was suddenly reminded that a time clock had been counting down ever since Lord Grantham’s phone call. That while he’d been sitting here, recovering from an attempted jump out the window, the Brigade had been on its way to Downton. 

And now they’d arrived. 

Carson gave Mrs. Hughes a long forlorn look that seemed to echo on fear. She did not meet her alpha’s eyes, still clasping Thomas’ hand in her own. Maybe she was lost in thought, unable to realize that the world was turning. Carson could no longer wait; the door had to be answered and Lord Grantham certainly wasn’t going to do it. He left, unlocking and re-locking the library door. When the library door snapped closed, Mrs. Hughes’ head jolted up. She seemed to have come to her senses, glancing over her shoulder to find Carson gone. 

“Heaven preserve me.” She whispered aloud. Clearly she was afraid. 

It was that fear which spurned Thomas to get to his feet one last time, and he did so without her aid though she offered it. Clinging to the library wall, Thomas gritted his teeth and braced himself for what would surely come next. Mrs. Hughes was fretting, dithering between wanting to back herself in a safer corner and wanting to stay at Thomas’ side. 

Thomas cast his eyes left and right, finding a metal wand stick for the library blinds tucked behind the liquor cabinet. He reached down, his side pinching painfully as he snagged it up and clutched it like a cricket bat. 

When Branson saw it, he waved a hand emphatically to catch Thomas’ attention. 

“Fer Christ’s sake drop it!” Branson demanded, “Or they’ll tear you apart!” 

Thomas gritted his teeth, raising the metal wand up high so that he was holding it almost like a baseball bat. Had he been looking, he would have seen Lord Grantham’s face fill with worry.

“No.” Thomas said through clenched teeth 

For twenty years, he had lied his way through the world under the guise of being a Beta. He had lost precious time in the life of an omega. He would likely never be mated or have children. His ‘purpose’ as the old texts put it was null and void, despite Lord Grantham’s words to the contrary. He was willing to go down with that ship, to give one final flare of angry fire when pressed. Just as he’d decided to end his life, so too did Thomas Barrow decide to go on the offense towards the Brigade. 

Both moments would likely garner him the same outcome, but he didn’t care.   
Life was meaningless if one could not live it with freedom. 

“Thomas!” Branson spoke up again. Thomas caught his eye; the man was pained, even frightened if one wanted to stretch it, “I’m beggin’ you, drop it!” 

“No.” Thomas repeated, eyes locked on Branson’s. 

Mrs. Hughes touched Thomas’ shoulder, squeezing it tightly with fear. Where Branson would not admit it, Mrs. Hughes was ready to write a declaration. 

“Thomas please.” She protested. 

“Mrs. Hughes.” Lord Grantham cut across her, his tone suddenly growing quite sharp, “Stand behind me.” 

Mrs. Hughes looked from Thomas to Lord Grantham: the omega she wanted to protect and the alpha she had to obey. It was only second nature by now that she did what she was told, and so as she slipped away from Thomas’ side Thomas did not damn her for it. 

She was a servant, and an omega. She knew no other way.   
But he did. Thomas cocked the metal wand upon his shoulder, angling his elbows up as he heard the key slide in the lock of the library door. 

His heart was pounding in his ears.   
He was frightened, but would not admit it. 

The library door opened. 

Mr. Carson led the way for five men. The first one to walk in was clearly in charge, a broad shouldered man with a sandy beard and short blonde hair. He had heavy set eyebrows, a barrel chest, and hands that looked the size of cooked quails. It was obvious that he was a member of the Brigade, not from his dress which seemed slightly casual in trousers and shirt sleeves, but from his tattoos. 

Tattoos were absolutely unheard of on any other man in this day and age, but it was a well established fact that every member of the Brigade bore tattoos upon their arms and chests. It was an easy way to spot one in public- just the sight of ink could make an omega freeze in terror. Thomas’ eyes washed over splays of sharp curves and jagged edges that decorated the front mans lower arms. By god if he wasn’t smiling at Thomas; beaming even. 

Like Thomas wasn’t raising a weapon in his face. 

The other four were much like the first, though none were quite as large. The second man had dark hair, slightly too long for decorum’s sake with glasses and a hooked nose. He had an intellectual aura about him, in smarter dress with silver cufflinks and a dark blue tie. The man behind him was distinctly older, with wiry gray hair speckled with black and a badge upon his class that clearly pronounced his status as Police Chief. The final two men seemed much younger, close to Thomas’ age if truth be told. They both had a keen appearance about them, like they were trying to soak up all the information available. One of them looked shockingly like Alfred, save that he was not nearly as tall and had more freckles. The final boy had that same sort of youthful farm-boy charm as William, save that William had never worn such a sharp appearance in all his naive life. It was a fool that would assume these were nice men. 

Thomas knew they were here to harm him.   
He’d seen men with smiles like this before. 

Mr. Carson seemed just as uncomfortable as Thomas, stiff in his livery and lips pursed thin. He stepped aside for the men to step into the library, speaking first and foremost to his Lordship. 

“The Brigade, M’lord.” Mr. Carson declared, gesturing to the tattooed men, “This is Mr. Alden MacN-“ 

But the first man cut Carson off, speaking loudly with a Scottish brogue not unlike Mrs. Hughes’. His tawny hair gleamed in the lights of the library, his teeth brilliantly white and his tattoos as black as coal. 

“Just Alden.” Alden said, an eyebrow cocked in delight as he took Thomas in. Despite smiling, Alden had an air about him that suggested he wasn’t in a good mood. Indeed, his dark blue eyes were gleaming as he took in the metal wand that Thomas held in self-defense. 

“…And this…” Alden tipped his head ever so carefully, “Is the omega.” 

Thomas said absolutely nothing, palms slick with sweat upon the metal wand.   
Any minute now he would swing. He had to make the shot perfect. He wouldn’t get a second chance. He had to knock Alden unconscious with a single blow. He’d have to conserve every last ounce of his strength to make it count… if it even could count-

Alden sniffed several times, eyelids fluttering near closed, only to grin again. 

“Fresh off your heat, are you?” Alden declared. Thomas felt heat flood his cheeks in embarrassment. “And wielding a blind wand- my, my what a treat.” Alden plucked at his shirt sleeves, loosening his cufflinks to role them up to his elbows. 

_Make it count, make it count_ , came a mantra in Thomas’ head. _Do not swing unless you can make it count-_

“Threatening to kill an alpha that owns you?” Alden spoke the offenses aloud with slightest caution, “Trying to run away? Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…” Alden sighed in disapproval, but his grin came back as he cast a glance over his shoulder. 

“Newman.” Alden spoke up. The youth akin to William’s farm-boy grace perked up at once, “What do we know about this omega from our report?” 

“..Eh-“ The youth named Newman rattled off facts, clearly trying to impress his superiors. Perhaps he was new to this, “Thirty-six, un presented, unmated, living twenty years as a beta-“ 

“Which means?” Alden cut across. 

Newman paused, his smile falling. Clearly he didn’t know the right answer. 

“…That… he needs to be reminded he’s an omega?” Newman offered up. 

“They all do, Newman.” The gray haired alpha stepped in. He seemed pleasantly annoyed, as if Newman were a child and not a grown man, “What in particular do we know about this one omega from the three pieces of information you just gave us.” 

Newman looked to his youthful fellow. The orange haired man shrugged, at a loss. 

“He’s doped.” Alden spoke up, tutting with his tongue for a moment, “Can’t hide a heat or a scent unless you’re on suppressants. I can barely smell it but…” Alden paused sniffing intently again, “It’s just there. The sweetest fragrance. Can you smell it Thane?” 

The gray haired man sniffed, quirking the smallest smile. “Like a peach.” Thane said. “White peach.” 

“Got a nose like a bloodhound, he does.” Alden declared with pride to the room. “Comes in handy as Police Chief. 

What utter fucking nonsense he did not smell like a white peach. The only thing on this Earth that smelt like a white peach was a fucking white peach. These men were insane. Maybe the ink had gotten into their bloodstream and made them fevered. 

Thomas scoffed aloud.   
Alden just tutted again with his tongue. 

“What…?” Alden spoke in the sweetest voice that made Thomas feel sick. He was being patronized. “Don’t believe me? Want me to prove it to you? I could you know.” Alden paused, sounding almost reminiscent. It made Thomas shudder. “I could break you-“ 

“I thought I made it clear that such activities weren’t to take place.” Lord Grantham warned. “I only want him talked to. I don’t want him touched.” 

“That’s up for me to decide.” Alden warned. Carson made an affronted noise, bristling up like an angry rooster when Alden refused to give Lord Grantham the traditional salute of ‘M’lord’. 

Lord Grantham’s jaw was set. Thomas could tell he was growing angry.   
The last time he’d seen Lord Grantham this mad, Sarah Bunting had been dismissing him at his own table. 

Alden took a step forward. Thomas jerked the metal wand up higher in clear threat. Alden pouted, as if they were playing a game and flirting with one another… but Thomas was far from joking. 

“Stay back from me.” Thomas hissed through gritted teeth. “Do you hear? Stay back. I’ll break your head in. I won’t be frightened by you. All you are is a man—“ 

“Oh I’m much much more than a man.” Alden broke in, talking over Thomas with ease. His voice was so fucking loud- did he not realize how loud his voice was? What a heathen, “I’m an alpha. I’m a Brigade alpha… and I’ve decided I quite like you, Thomas Barrow.” Alden paused, even daring to wink at Thomas. “I like your fire. I like your drive…. I’d like to break it.” 

Thomas could taste bile on his tongue. His hands were trembling upon his wand. 

Alden walked forward, stretching out a commanding hand to clearly take Thomas in a grip. 

_Do it now!_ his mother’s voice shrieked in his head. 

Thomas took aim, fire blazing in his eyes as he reared back and brought the metal wand down upon Alden’s blonde head. Alden’s arm shot up, his hand grabbing the metal with ease. Thomas pressed down with every bit of strength he had, demanding the universe give him the ability to overcome Alden and knock him unconscious. 

But Alden jerked his wrist, and the metal wand was wrenched clean from Thomas’ hands. Alden tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, only to have the metal wand caught by Thane who twirled it like a baton. Thomas grasped with empty hands, wild eyed as Alden reached out to grab him again. Defenseless, Thomas reached back and punched Alden in the face. It did him little good— Alden was built like a brick, and grabbed Thomas’ arm to pull him in. Thomas kicked and screamed out, as loudly as he could! 

“A wild one!” Alden laughed gayly, like Thomas was a struggling chicken and not a human being. From behind Lord Grantham, Mrs. Hughes cowered, terrified as Alden jerked Thomas in— a fish to his line. 

“Let me go! You bastard!” Thomas kicked wildly as Alden hooked him around the waist. He was lifted off the floor, struggling blindly in the air. Alden juggled him from arm to arm, holding him in such a commanding grip that Thomas could not get free. 

“A bit of an interesting fact for you boys,” Alden spoke at large to the room. It was difficult to know who he was addressing, “Omegas have a small cavity in their brains, and if you spin them around long and hard enough? Confuses the hell out of them.” 

“What?” Branson was agog, shocked at Alden’s display, “Can’t you— fer’ god’s sake put him down—“ 

“Nah.” Alden didn’t even justify his decision. Instead, he suddenly began to twirl around, swinging Thomas on the spot. 

So tired, hungry, and confused was Thomas originally that when the room began to spin dizzily around him he had no defenses to make it stop. He groaned audibly, unable to tell when Alden had stopped spinning as his vision went in all directions. He thought he might vomit. 

“Here Thane-!” 

Thomas felt air soaring around him, and only half realized that he’d just been tossed like a sack of hay to be caught by another man. Probably Thane. Suddenly he was being swung around again by a fresh hold. 

“For god’s sake!” Lord Grantham sounded quite angry, “That would confuse the hell out of anyone! Could you stop swinging him around, he’s going to get sick-“ 

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Thomas nearly fainted, going completely slack in Thane’s hold so that he was suddenly thrown to the floor where he bounced and rolled. He vomited unable to help himself as the room spun around him. He collapsed onto his side, shivering in a cold sweat. He pinched his eyes closed, breathing haggardly as the room swung wildly from side to side. 

_God make it stop_ , Thomas pleaded internally, _God make the room stop spinning_. 

“Thomas-!” 

Mrs. Hughes could no longer contain her concern, and stepped out from behind Lord Grantham’s protection to come to Thomas’ aid. Dropping to her knees despite the obvious dangers of the Brigade, she cupped his forehead and fanned him as best she could. 

“It’ll be alright-“ Mrs. Hughes tried to tell him.   
But she was wrong. 

Like a fast-moving storm front, Alden stepped forward quite curious to make the acquaintance of the second omega in the room. Mrs. Hughes looked up, and though Thomas was too dizzy to bear witness to it, she shrank back visibly in fear. 

“What’s this?” Alden sounded pleasantly surprised, “Two omegas? Goodness me, you’re a bit frail aren’t you-“ 

Thomas had never considered Mr. Carson a protective man, save for when he was protecting the family’s honor. As the room went spinning wildly about, Thomas could barely make out the shadow of Carson moving across the floor. He stood in front of Mrs. Hughes, blocking her from Alden’s path. Thomas could not help but feel a stab of bitter jealousy, wishing someone else would protect him in much the same way. Neither Branson nor Lord Grantham seemed keen on Alden and his men, but neither of them were trying to protect him either. What concern was he to them? He wasn’t their omega. He was just their problem. 

“She is of no concern.” Mr. Carson said proudly, “She’s a proper mated omega; my mated omega as a matter of fact.” 

Alden’s features softened visibly as he registered that Mrs. Hughes was not disobedient. He nodded to himself, stroking his beard for a moment before speaking again. When he did so, his tone had changed. He was no longer attempting to sound jovial, merely… normal. Calm. 

“What’s your name, love?” Alden asked. 

“…Elsie.” Mrs. Hughes finally replied, her tone quaking slightly on the ’s’ in her name, “Elsie Carson.” 

“Elsie, d’you know this omega?” Alden asked, gesturing to Thomas. Thomas sucked in one breath after the other, trying to regain his balance and sense of focus. 

“Yes I do.” 

“Are y’fond of him?” 

“Yes I am.” Oh, to be afraid and proud at the same time. 

Alden squatted down, crouched a bit like a bull frog as he stretched out a hand and ran it over Thomas’ side. Thomas jerked, unable to fully rise up yet but still angry at being touched without his explicit consent. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?” Alden mused, “Fraternizing with a wayward omega; one that’s unafraid to try and kill an alpha, at that-“ 

“He’s-“ Mrs. Hughes struggled for the right words; the words that would save Thomas, “He’s confused. He’s not like this all the time; he’s hardly like this at all! He can be very sweet. Very, very loving.” 

“Can he now?” Alden didn’t sound impressed, “Well, isn’t that nice.” Alden’s hand drifted up to Thomas’ neck. He stroked the soft skin there, lightly feathered with small dark hairs. “I’ll have to take your word on it, won’t I?” 

And then he grabbed Thomas’ neck painfully tight. 

This was the grip, what Thomas had tried to escape from with Carson. He could not struggle, he could not even cry out as Alden lifted him physically from the floor. It was like he weighed less than a sack of sugar, held before the other alphas in the room and Mrs. Hughes so that Alden could show him off like the pelt of an interesting animal. 

“Y’see, Elsie,” Alden began calmly, ignoring Mrs. Hughes’ dithering at Thomas’ hanging from his grip. “Y’strike me as an omega who knows her place, and that’s good. But this one?” He shook Thomas a small bit just for emphasis. “This one doesn’t know his arse from page eight, does he now?” 

Thomas tried to move his arms. To cry out. To do anything to protest his entrapment but it was like he was having a seizure. He couldn’t make a single sound. He could barely draw adequate breath due to Alden’s piercing grip on his neck. 

“Please.” Mrs. Hughes was still on her knees; she even drew her hands in front of her to clasp them in sordid prayer, “Please, try and be understanding. It’s terribly frightening and confusing to be-“ 

“Understanding?” Alden was surprised by her word choice, and it showed in his voice, “Oh love, you’ve got me squared away as someone else. I’m a Brigade alpha. I don’t have to understand anything when it comes to omegas… save ways to make them submit.” He shook Thomas again, “And this one? This one is going to be easy to break.” 

Alden looked to Lord Grantham now; across the room Thane was still lightly twirling the metal wand. Lord Grantham watched them all through narrowed eyes, clearly rethinking his decision to call the Brigade into his home. 

“I was originally going to just try and straighten this one out with a talk.” Alden declared, “But I see now this one will require a physical intervention. He’s attacked you, he’s attacked me… who else will he try to attack, I wonder?” 

“I made it clear on the phone, I don’t want him-“ Lord Grantham started, but Alden cut him off. 

“Yes but you see, I’m the head of the Brigade.” Alden snapped, “I outrank you on this matter. The omegas of my nation are my charge… my mates… and I can’t have a mate acting out like this. It goes against the way of the rod. It goes against nature and the laws of the Supreme Alpha.” 

“But surely.” Lord Grantham flustered, struggling for the right words, “Surely it needn’t be so drastic. Can’t you just…?” 

“No, I can’t.” Alden cut him off again. Lord Grantham fell slack. He seemed… at a loss. 

“I’ll bring him back.” Alden assured Lord Grantham. “M’not taking him far. Just to London. I have an estate there, granted to be my his majesty… it’ll serve my purposes well, and allow me to keep a better eye on him.” 

“What are you going to do to him?” Lord Grantham demanded. 

“Whatever I like.” Was Alden’s calm reply. 

 

“But surely-“ Lord Grantham tried again. 

“Look, this is how these omegas get by. They weasel their way in using sympathy to gain a foot hold. The only way to deal with them is a proper show of strength, and that’s exactly what we’ll give him. When we bring him back, you’ll hardly be able to recognize him. He’ll be as docile as a lamb. Remember, Lord Grantham… you can’t allow sympathy to sway your senses.” 

Lord Grantham ran a hand lightly through his graying hair. This situation had completely spiraled out of his ring of control, and it was obvious now as he looked from Carson to Branson that he wished he could take it all back. Alden’s grip on Thomas’ neck never flinched as he drug Thomas to the library door. They were followed up by the other Brigade members, who seemed to be torn between gazing at Thomas or gazing at the library. Clearly they weren’t used to this show of wealth, and were mildly impressed by the expanse of posh books in the library. 

Thomas wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. To beg to Lord Grantham’s obvious sense of sympathy that was dangling in front of his nose like a sumptuous morsel. Lord Grantham was clearly close to losing his nerve. If Thomas could just open his mouth-! 

But he was being gripped. He could sooner punch his brains out with his tongue.

Thomas tried to get loose from the hold twice. Both times his muscles failed him halfway. He just couldn’t control his body anymore. He couldn’t do anything besides stutter, desperately trying to make out a simple; “Help me.” 

Mrs. Hughes was tearful. She had her hands over her mouth, Mr. Carson having helped her to her feet. She swayed at his side, clearly torn from the desire of wanting to protect Thomas. 

“Just do as they say, Thomas.” She begged as Alden’s men lead the way out of the library. “They’ll let you go if you do what they say.” 

Thomas, fighting tooth and nail to get through the grip on the back of his throat, could do little more than eject a broken scream. 

It was weak and small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to comment.


	3. Dover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas wakes up in Dover, but comes to realize he's actually in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter will contain violence and sexual assault. If this triggers you, please be aware that it is included in this chapter. Also please be aware that just because I write a character performing an action does not mean I in any way condone it.**

_Litigo 1:9: If we confess our sins, the Supreme Alpha is faithful and just to forgive us of our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness._

Heavy chains. 

Pinching, horrible pain beneath his kneecaps. 

Heat. Light— no, not light. Candlelight. Fire? Was their fire?  
He felt like he was on fire, that was for certain. 

His shoulders were aching. His back was aching. Everything was aching— why was everything aching? Thomas tried to remember, tried to piece things back from where they’d fallen over the course of the past twelve… twenty four… forty eight…? Hours? 

How long had he been here? 

Thomas sucked in a breath, feeling his aching lungs expand to their fullest. He was having trouble opening his eyes, but maybe that was for the better. Maybe it was better to hide behind the red of his eyelids. 

 

He knew certain things for facts. He’d best start there. 

He knew for a fact that there was gravel underneath his knees. The gravel had come from a driveway out in front of this… mansion? Prison? 

Thomas felt at the chains on his wrists and ankles.  
Definitely prison. 

He knew that he was in chains. He knew that the person who put him in those chains was an alpha, and probably close by. He knew that they were trying to break him using pain: par example the gravel underneath his knees. There was a leather gag in his mouth, keeping him quiet. It was overkill, like everything else. The chains were to keep him still, but honestly it wasn’t the chains that were doing it. 

It was the hunger. 

He hadn’t eaten in- god what was it? Five days? He’d heard of omegas having issues with their digestive tract. That they could go for a few days without food while enduring their heat. It was difficult to sit down to a three course meal when you were excreting bodily fluids and screaming for cock. 

I mean… he could try… but he probably wouldn’t succeed. 

He knew that he was naked, and that he’d been made naked by the same man that had put him in chains. Why did they have to put him in chains and naked at the same time? And on gravel? Honestly this was much too over the top. Didn’t people know when to stop? 

“Omega…” 

Someone was murmuring in his ear. A man. A man who had spoken to him before, not too long ago. Or was it long ago? How fuckin’ long had he been hanging…kneeling… 

_Existing._ How long had he been _existing_ here. 

“Omega… open your eyes…” 

“Go fuck yourself.” Thomas said. 

Actually, he didn’t say that at all. What really came out of his mouth around the leather gag was, _“G-….f….sel…”_  
And even that took effort. 

Someone was in his ear. Someone was kissing his neck and earlobe ever so softly, like they were laying rose petals on his skin. 

“Omega…” Sing songing. Sweet, gentle sing songing. 

Thomas’ eyes slowly fluttered. There was something… something… touching him… what was touching him? 

Then, quite suddenly he was slapped hard across the face. 

Thomas gasped, jolting awake. 

There was dried drool on his cheek and chin. His eyes were burning, raw from crying and light constantly near his face. His joints were stiff and locked. HIs fingers were numb. Thomas’ head hung between his shoulders; and he was given a view of his legs and penis, both of which were bruised. He could see horrible dark marks upon his kneecaps… dark blue, riddle with swollen purple marks. The gravel beneath his knees had flecks of blood on it. He’d have trouble walking for a while after this. 

There was a man before him. Thomas looked up, his neck cracking a bit.  
It was Alden. 

“Good morning, pumpkin.” Alden greeted him. He’d taken off his shirt at some point, and was now wearing nothing but his trousers and an old leather vest. With so little covering his top, it was easy to see his tattoos now. They spread all over his chest, shoulders, and arms. 

Thomas wondered if it hurt… to get tattoos. 

“Did we sleep well?” Alden was squatting on his calves, stroking Thomas’ face. He cupped his chin, thumb rubbing back and forth across his swollen bottom lip. 

But there was more.  
Thomas had been here a long time. Far too long. His body had given out, desperate for a piss and there was dried urine on his inner thighs and the platform on which he was chained. Humiliated, Thomas felt blood rush into his cheeks and neck. 

“Aww.” Alden tilted his head to the side, letting his hand drop to gently cup at the tender flesh inside Thomas’ upper left thigh. “Did we have a piddle?” 

“C…lever..” Thomas finally managed to get out around the leather gag. His voice was incredibly hoarse. 

Alden tutted with his tongue against his teeth. He was fond of making that noise. 

“You know, omega… if you were good and caring towards an alpha you wouldn’t be in this situation.” Alden offered, gesturing up and down from Thomas’ chained wrists to the urine stained platform. “You’d be in your nest, safe and warm. Happy. Loved.” The word was clearly meant to hurt, but Thomas was too numb for the target to hit its mark. He glared at Alden, imagining a hundred ways he could set the man on fire, starting with a match and a tank of petrol. 

“Ooh, goodness.” Alden grinned, “That is a face.” 

But there was more. So much more. Thomas had been so intent on focusing on Alden that he hadn’t noticed there were other people in the room. Three, actually. The dark haired man from before, the one with a hooked nose and glasses… the older alpha with wiry gray hair. And a woman now too. Maybe Anna’s age… with dark black hair wrapped in an elegant bun and crimson lips. Women who wore colors on their lips were hardly the chaste type. This one looked ready to butter him up and eat him alive. 

He had a feeling she wouldn’t need to chew before she swallowed. 

“Surprised, poppet?” The female alpha seemed to realize that Thomas was intimidated by her. Maybe she knew where to look; maybe she’d made it her business to assign human behavior to emotions. Maybe she was reading him like a book. “Did you forget there were alpha females too? Don’t worry. By the time I’m finished, you’ll never forget again.” 

Alden seemed to be growing bored. He reached out and took the clasp of Thomas’ leather gag in hand, pulling it away from Thomas’ face in one swift move so that Thomas was suddenly left gasping and wheezing with a sore jaw. 

“Where am I?” Was the first thing Thomas could think to say. 

“Dover.” Alden answered. “Dover Castle to be precise. I own it. Well… The Brigade owns it.” Alden shrugged, “But I’m head of the Brigade. I’m allowed to be proud aren’t I?” 

This made sense. He seemed to be in a dungeon of some type... not hard to believe he was in a castle. 

“Who knows I’m here?” Thomas swallowed multiple times, trying to wet his throat. 

“Your alphas.” Alden said. Names flickered through Thomas’ mind: Carson, Lord Grantham, Branson, Bates… they all would know he was in Dover Castle. If he went missing for long surely they’d… surely… 

But then again, would they? Would anyone even care? An icy cold feeling suddenly clenched his heart.

“Every omega under that dirty stone floor in the abbey knows you’re here, gagging for it.”  
Gagging for it? Who was Alden kidding? 

“Scare you?” 

“Not remotely.” Thomas refused to be swayed through torture techniques. If they wanted to rattle him they would have to try much harder, “I’m just curious who might call the police if I turn up dead in the Thames.” 

Alden let out a laugh, like the bark of a dog. He looked over his shoulder to where the gray haired alpha stood lounging against the stone wall. He was smiling, looking right amused. 

“Ey, that’s a good idea. Thane!” Alden called out to the older man. Thane gave a crooked grin, “Since you are Chief of Police and all… What would London’s finest have to say to this.” 

“Hmm?” Thane didn’t seem to care, tilting his head to the side so that wiry gray hairs fell in front of his bagged eyes, “Oh yeah…” Thane stood up straight, casually strolling about Thomas like he was looking at a museum monument instead of a human being, “Yeah that would be a little scary, wouldn’t it? But see, you’re an omega and we’re alphas. And your alpha gave you over to us." 

Thomas’ kept his eyes locked on Thane, watching as the alpha prowled just outside of his peripheral vision. The strain of it was starting to give him a headache. 

“See, when you signed that little contract back in 1910 saying you were gung-ho for employment, you also said you’d take it up the arse for your earl.” Thane came back around front, squatting in front of Thomas so that he was side by side with Alden. “Bet you didn't read the fine print, did you?” Thane seemed transfixed with Thomas, fingers drifting up to touch Thomas’ hairline to stroke his hair. Thomas shuddered, trying to shrug the man off. It was fruitless.

“Well, no matter.” Thane dropped his hands with a shrug, “Your ours now, at least until we give you back." 

“Oh how I wish we didn’t have to give him back.” The female alpha said longingly, using a crimson nail to trail a pathway up Thomas’ meaty thigh. The touch made him queazy, and he desperately tried to pull away though it was to no avail. He was trapped, pinned by his shackles, and the female alpha could do as she pleased with him. 

“Don’t touch me!” Thomas shouted, shocking them all with the sudden volume in his voice. The female alpha started, taken aback. She recovered easily though, and jaunted her hands irritably on her hips. 

 

"A little mouthy, isn't he?" She sneered, “I don’t think he realizes he’s not in control.” 

“Why don't you remind him.” Alden said. He took a step back, Thane going with him, and suddenly the female alpha towered over him.Thomas stared up at her in fear. For a moment she just smirked, tilting her head left and right to consider him like a piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s window. 

Then, quick as a javelin, the female alpha shot a hand out and grabbed Thomas' tight by the throat. 

She might have been smaller than the other alphas, but she was still just as strong, and her fingernails were like razors in Thomas’ skin. He couldn't breath; his tongue was swelling in his mouth! Thomas tried to jerk left and right, tried to force his throat away from her hand… but there was nothing that could be done. She was in control. He would only escape when she let him, and Thomas didn't see mercy forthc—

She let go. 

Thomas gasped wildly, black spots dancing before his vision. He coughed, forcing down a wave of bile that surged in his mouth. His heart and head pounded in unison; Thomas moaned aloud, his head sagging on his shoulders. 

“How’s that for tough love, ducky?" The female alpha stroked at Thomas’ aching throat, her fingers loving and soft in an eerie contrast to her choke. 

Thomas sagged his head, sucking in one breath after the other. Slowly, his head stopped pounding; he felt the leather tip of a flogger beneath his chin, pushing his head back up. Alden help the whip, crouching back down in front of Thomas to observe the bruises the female alpha had put on his throat. 

Thomas had no energy to fight him. No energy to talk back. 

“You think you’re so edgy, don’t you.” Alden mused. He tapped Thomas lightly on the cheek, first left then right. Left then right. Left, left… right. 

“A wild, domineering omega, just living on the lam.” Alden grinned, “Lies about being a beta, acts like an alpha, pretends they have nothing to hide. But you do, don’t you. You have so much to hide. Like the fact that you injected your body with dirty hormones…” 

“Right here." the female alpha touched the whitened scar upon Thomas’ right buttock. “Ouchie, that must have hurt." She said in a babied voice. It sickened Thomas more than her touch. 

“Like how your cunt needs attention.” Alden's hand slipped down Thomas’ chest, ghosting past his penis to the soft skin of his perineal. 

Thomas panicked, his breathes coming in sharp and fast as Alden's fingers itched towards his anus. He wasn’t in heat, his body refused to make slick, and so his skin was rough to the touch like any other man’s. He screamed, unable to stop himself. Unable to hold back the fear. He screamed and screamed, petrified of the people around him, of the room he was in. 

"Let me go!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Let me go- god let me go!” He howled, sobbing, frightened of even drawing breath as Alden’s hand crept around the swell of his rump. 

“I know all your secrets, Thomas Barrow.” Alden had to raise his voice to be heard over the din Thomas was making, “I’m not afraid to reveal them.” 

Through the hysteria that surrounded Thomas, through the fear and the pain, the last vestiges of his personal strength came out in a rapid rambling word flow: “It’s my body! It’s my choice! I don’t want to be an omega—!" 

But Alden was still running the pads of his fingertips around Thomas’ anus, the stimulation causing the ring of muscle to flex. 

“You’re quite right." Alden said, “It’s your body. But it's not your choice. You don’t get to decide your biology, ducky. You’re an omega, whether you like to be or not. The only thing you get to decide is whether you act right, or act up. D’you understand?” 

Alden looked down expectantly. Thomas met his stare, speechless.  
How was it possible that such arrogance and ignorance could be encapsulated in the same man. How. 

“No?” Alden grinned lazily, drumming his fingers carefully along Thomas’ cleft. Every so often he would squeeze, his grip firm and commanding, to pull at the globes of Thomas’ arse. He could feel other hands on him. Hands fondling the underside of his penis, hands running up and down his thighs. Fingers poking at his anus. 

_Breath_ , he reminded himself mentally, _Breath and disassociate. You are not here. You are not here_. 

Thomas closed his eyes, willing himself to be anywhere but in Dover Castle. To be on the beach, running amok and chasing seagulls. To be back in the servant’s hall still a disguised beta, having a cup of tea. 

"Let me spell it out for you." Alden grabbed Thomas’ jaw and squeezed. “Look at me." 

Thomas pinched his eyes tighter, breathing hard through his nose. Alden pinched his nostrils closed, placing a hard hand over Thomas' mouth so that for the second time Thomas could not breath. He thrashed, trying to shake Alden off, all the while hearing the laughter of the other alphas in his ears. 

“C’mon now.” Alden said reproachfully, “Look at me and I’ll let you breath. Look at me and I’ll let you breath!” 

But Thomas just kept struggling, till the pressure in his chest was squeezing like a python and he couldn’t stand it anymore—! 

He opened his eyes. Alden let go of his mouth and nose.  
Thomas gasped for air, then vomited straight into Alden’s lap. 

Shockingly, the alpha didn’t seem to mind, which suggested he’d been thrown up on before in his lifetime. Thomas just kept gasping for air, his eyes glassy but remaining open. Alden had the audacity to pet his hair, rubbing the soaking strands with gentle fingers. 

Fingers that had nearly strangled him no less. 

“Look at me.” Alden commanded again, his voice soft. He took Thomas' chin in hand, forcing Thomas to look up and into Alden’s face. Thomas’ eyes were misting over, causing the whole world to go blurry for several moments. 

“All you are is a fuckable hole.” Alden declared, his voice soft but menacing, “ To be filled with seed again and again. Your purpose is to bear children. So that's what you'll do. You’ll obey your alpha, bear his children, and nurture them both until the day you die.” 

Thomas could not help himself. He began to whimper. 

_Do not cry, you cannot cry in front of these men!_ he mentally attempted to distance himself again, desperately thinking of anything that could distract him from the pain he was in. Clocks, cigarettes, bottles of stollen wine, snuffboxes-! 

“Oh yes…" Alden seemed to soak up the tiniest noises that Thomas made, taking them for trophies like the thief that he was. He rose up, gently wiping at his lap so that vomit piddled to the floor between his legs. It made the air stink of bile. Alden walked around Thomas in several circles, strong hands reaching up to test the strength of the manacles that held him. “Now you’re scared. I can see it in your eyes.” 

“You can't make me obey.” Thomas said through numb lips. 

“I can. And I will. Easily.” 

“You- You can't make me bear children.” Because that was silly, wasn’t it? What was Alden going to do? Lasso him for nine months and—

“Can’t I?” Alden suddenly walked back around Thomas, “Elise, hold him.” 

The female alpha had returned- Elise, it seemed. She dropped to her knees upon Thomas' crowded podium, grabbing him tight around the waist to pull him to her chest. They were suddenly pressed nose to nose, Elise’ daring eyes boring into his own like brands. Thomas struggled, trying to get away, but Elise’s hands were like iron and he was weak from lack of nourishment. 

“Thane. Cal. Get his legs.” 

There were more hands, each pair suddenly grabbing a separate leg so that Thomas could not attempt to close this thighs together. His kneecaps scraped painfully on the gravel, making him cry out as he suddenly felt the hot burning sensation of fingers in his anus. 

“Stop!" Thomas screamed out at the top of his lungs, “Stop! God, stop! Let me go! Stop please- PLEASE!” 

The burning grew hotter, thicker. He was being fingered- he knew what this sensation felt like with spit or jelly easing the way. Without it, it was just hell. Pure fucking hell. 

“Want to run that one by me again, love?” Alden spoke up from behind Thomas, “What was that about me not being able to make you bear children?” 

Thomas was hysterical, screaming and thrashing though it did him no good. He was five seconds away from sobbing like a child if it made Alden stop. But he suddenly realized that nothing would make him stop. That Alden could do precisely as he damn well pleased. 

Alden's voice suddenly grew much louder, and Thomas’ body was oddly warmed as Alden pressed himself tight to Thomas’ side, one hand at his throat and the other still roughly fingering him. In and out his middle finger went, in and out. 

“Tell me,” Alden barked in his ear, “Could you stop me from fucking your hole till it gushed with seed? Could you stop me? Hmm?” Alden was getting worked up, angry, “I could keep you tied up here till your next heat. I could have an alpha fuck you through it, and bite your neck. That’d be the end of it, wouldn’t it? You'd have the babes and no choice but to bear more. Whoever I’d choose would be your alpha, and they’d take what they wanted from you. Is that clear?” 

The only thing that was clear to Thomas was that he was in hell, that his man before him was Satan. That there was no god, and no escape.

"Please, just let me go-!" Thomas knew it was pointless to beg but couldn't help to try, “Please, I’m no use to you! I’m old- I’m not attractive or anythin’, you could have anyone you wanted, there’s no reason to peck me so please! Let me go!” 

“Ah, love." Alden just seemed pleased if anything, running his hands up and down Thomas’ spine to linger dangerously close to the start of his cleft. “Beggin’ will get you no where. Least, not beggin’ of that kind. You're ours till we decide to send you back and that’s just the way it is. You ought to accept it now.” 

The other alphas began to laugh, amused at Thomas’ misery. For a moment, Thomas nearly began to cry, humiliated and isolated in such a gruesome and disgusting manor. But even as he pondered it, even as he felt his eyes grow wet, an ugly spark of rebellion filled him again. 

No. No he would not submit! He would not allow these men to control him! He was more than an omega! He was a man, with a heart and a soul. He wouldn’t change just to suit the sexual desires of another. 

“You bastards!” Thomas wriggled as Thane and Cal let go of his legs, causing him to unbalance Elise. She was forced to let go or else risk falling on her backside, and glared up at him quite offended. She could shove it up her arse, couldn’t she? 

Alden watched him with wary eyes, one hand lingering ever so cautiously on the back of Thomas’ neck. He was seconds from getting gripped, and knew it. 

"All you alphas are the same!" if they would have their prejudices, then so would he, “You dominate and take by force! You rape, pillage, plunder, anything you want! You’re no better than pirates, cruising the seas and setting ships aflame for not sailing under your colors! All you can see is a piece of meat, but I’m more than that! I’m a brain, heart, and soul! I have knowledge locked inside of me that you’ll never possess! But you're too stupid to see that!” He spit out the word with obvious malice, “Too consumed by the thoughts of your own dicks!” 

Elise looked affronted. Thane seemed slightly taken aback. Calhoun said nothing, and Alden merely waited quietly with a sickening smile. He was still in control and Thomas was still in chains, but somehow Thomas felt better… like he’d gotten one of his own. 

“So you think we’re all the same, eh?” Alden didn’t seem surprised. He folded his arms over his chest, relaxing casually against the wall. “That's your first mistake. See, there's two kinds of alphas: the kinds that listen, and the kinds that don’t. We listen-“ Alden flicked a finger about, pointing to each alpha in the room. 

Thomas scoffed, what utter horse shit. They listened did they? Listened to what? The screams of their victims while they raped them? 

“Don’t believe me?” Alden deduced, “Well… I don’t blame you.” He shrugged, “You’ve led a rather privileged life, surrounded all the time by alphas who listen. Sometimes you have to see these things to believe them.” 

Alden paused, eyes narrowing. He seemed to be contemplating his next move, and decided with a snap of his fingers. Thomas realized that far from being a man of action, Alden was a plotter and constantly one step ahead of the game. Maybe that was why he was the head of the Brigade. 

“Thane, Cal-“ Alden gestured to both men, each of whom stood framing Thomas by the posts to which he was shackled. “Get him up. We’ll put him in the dive.” 

Thane looked none too sure. Calhoun just seemed board if not the tiniest bit disappointed. Elise watched, wary of Thomas; like he was the damn threat in the room. She hung back, sulking along the wall as Thane and Calhoun began to undo the metal clasps holding up Thomas’ wrists. 

_I'll run for it_. Thomas thought, filled with a sudden surge of violent delight. This was his chance-! 

But as Thane and Calhoun let his arms drop, Thomas’ sudden ideas of fleeing were brought to the crashing reality of physical limitations. He dropped like a stop onto the platform, falling into the pool of his own drying urine and vomit. The noxious smells made him violently dizzy as his arms lay numbly at his sides. For a moment, Thomas felt absolutely nothing, and was momentarily terrified that he’d lost control of his arms forever. But then, a terrifying tingling sensation overtook him that turned into a horrible throbbing pain as blood rushed back into his limbs. Thomas groaned aloud, sucking in ragged breathes as he desperately tried to keep from inhaling the smell of his own dried urine. His hands were slowly regaining feeling, but Thomas knew it would be a while before he could functionally move his hands again. 

"Where are you taking me?” Thomas demanded at Thane and Calhoun both grabbed him up underneath an armpit. Thomas yelped in pain, the joints in his body aching massively at the sudden and swift change. He was being drug, his feet sliding behind him, out of the round dungeon room onto a stairwell that lead in tight packing circles. Thomas could remember this scene, if only faintly, and realized that he was in a tower of some sort as Thane and Calhoun started the trek down followed up by Elise and Alden. The stone was ancient, marked and dusty- this was not a commonly used part of the castle, Thomas was sure. He couldn't say why, but Thomas was certain he wasn’t alone. That at some point he'd seen other people. 

God, why couldn’t he remember? 

There had been... a car drive, yes— yes he was certain at some point he’d been in a car.  
Then, a long corridor— but where had that been? Somewhere else in the castle? That’s where Thomas had seen the other people. Maybe his memory would be jogged if he just kept pushing. 

“What's the dive?” Thomas demanded when no one would answer him, “Are you going to torture me, is that it? Bit unoriginal don’t you think-“ He was talking rapidly now, rambling in his agitation. 

Alden just laughed. The stairs were winding and winding- how far up was he? They went past a landing and a large door, where two men stood wearing uniforms akin to police officers. They seemed to be on guard, and did not so much as flinch when Thomas was drug past them naked. Still they went downward, ever going round in a circle. They hit another landing, likewise barred by two more guards, and just kept going down. 

The temperature was dropping, with a faint smell of mold suddenly taking over. The stone was growing increasingly dirtier, and the atmosphere of the stairwell soon reeked of basement. 

They finally reached the bottom of the stairwell, before another large wooden door that was guarded by two men. Thomas noticed that the door was locked with a heavy iron hinge which one of the men lifted so that the other could open the door wide. They revealed a long spacious corridor, along which doors lead off from the left side every five hundred feet or so. They were heavy, wooden, lodged with iron, and seemed impenetrable. 

Thomas' heart pounded in his chest as Thane and Calhoun reached the third door down. Once again it was Alden to open the door with Elise lingering in the threshold in a sulking mood. The room beyond was large and square, home only to a broad barren floor, and a door on the opposite end that was just as heavily barred. In the middle of the room was a cage, made of criss-crossed iron. It was small, perhaps for a large dog, but certainly not for a fully grown human. 

Still, it seemed to be his destination. 

Alden opened the top of the cage, where it hung on two heavy hinges, and Thomas was thrown unceremoniously inside. His legs were battered and weak, his kneecaps in need of serious medical care with bits of gravel sticking like thumbtacks to bloodied and bruised skin. His arms were still aching at his sides, causing him to curl into a fetal position to keep from injuring himself further. Alden slammed the lid of the iron cage down atop him, locking it with a simple metal hinge. Thomas struggled to reach up with tingling arms, grabbing at the bars of the cage. He was still too weak to try and pry at the heavy lock which barred him in. Even if he could manage to free himself how would he be able to run? His legs were useless to him. 

"Oh, I wouldn't get too close to those bars if I were you." Alden warned him, “You might want to stay in the middle.” 

"Why?" Thomas demanded. "Think think you can cage me that easily?” 

“Oh this isn't a cage.” Alden waved at the contraction with a hand, “It’s protection.” 

Thomas blinked, unsure of what to say. 

“You see, Thomas-“ Alden pointed to the door opposite the way they'd entered, “Beyond that door lays around- oh say- thirty alphas or so. All of whom aren’t listeners. Heat sickness, they've got.” He nodded sagely, “They’re in rut, desperate to knot anything they see. Their families send them here so we can help them through their time. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them, will it?” At this, Alden grinned darkly, thumbing his nose and taking a hearty sniff, “So why don’t we let you have a taste of these alphas who don’t listen. Say… a half hour or so? Maybe then you’ll appreciate a listener.” 

“That sounds very generous." Thomas said bitterly, “Sure you’re not overplaying your hand?” 

“Oh believe me.” Alden let out a hearty laugh, “Thirty minutes will have you crawling up the walls.” 

"Keep to the middle, ducky!” Elise jeered from the door. Alden, Thane, and Calhoun were leaving. 

Thomas watched them go, furious and frightened at the same time. He could not resist, making a rude hand gesture as Alden closed the door on him. For a moment there was nothing save for the horrible clanging noise of metal on metal, muted by a wall of wood. The locks which barred the door to the hall were clearly put back into place, leaving Thomas alone in a cold and dark dungeon. The only light which illuminated the scene came from high slats on the walls, beyond which pale moonlight shown. It painted the grimy room in a hue of blues and soft muted grays. Thomas shivered, frigidly cold as he wrapped his arms about himself. 

A soft, grinding noise caught his attention. It grow successively louder, and Thomas realized it was coming from the opposite door, beyond which he’d yet to see. Dirt seemed to be falling from the doorframe, like something inside the sill was being shook loose. When the grinding finally stopped, the door seemed to hang loose on its frame, like whatever locks had been holding it back were suddenly open. 

Thomas reached up, slow and with clear caution, intent on trying to unlock the meagre slide bar keeping his iron cage enclosed. His fingers were still too numb, but he could at least attempt to push the metal. 

But then he heard a shuffling noise, and paused.  
It sounded like feet on stone. 

Thomas shrank back, spine pressed against the unforgiving metal of the cage. His pulse pounded in his ears, his heart hammered in his chest— someone was coming through the door. Not _someone_ — a whole hoard of people! 

“Oh Jesus-“ Thomas rambled aloud, the words slipping from him in terror. 

He should have known, he should have realized- men like Alden didn’t have a limit when it came to depravity. The darkest of Thomas’ nightmares, the most sickening of his terror fueled fantasies couldn’t have dreamed this shit up… where a group of naked, savage, men came to prey upon him with only a few pieces of metal to keep him safe. 

They were depraved, ravenous, unshaven with matted hair and dirty skin. They were young, surely none older than thirty, and seemed absolutely insane as they rambled nonsense and pulled at their own skin. Each of their cocks was erect, jutting out from their lean bellies hard and red with copious amounts of pre-cum dribbling from the tips. An acrid smell soon filled the room, of dried urine and bodily fluids as the men realized an omega was near them. They converged upon Thomas at once, each of them battling the other as they tried to figure out how to undo the lock on his cage. 

Thomas screamed, throwing his numbs hands over his head and curling up in a fetal position in the middle of the cage. Even with all his limbs tucked in and his face pressed into the metal beneath him, hands were reaching at him. Sticky, humid fingers scrambled against his thighs, his buttocks, his penis, his thighs, his feet and hands. They couldn't reach him through the bars, the holes were too small. 

That didn't stop them from trying though. 

This was, by far, the most dangerous situation Thomas had ever been in. Even when chained before the Brigade, Thomas had imagined that the men contained some amount of control. These men, however, were different and would have no qualms with raping him giving half the chance. The only thing that stood a chance at defending Thomas was the flimsy iron lock that held the cage together. It seemed the alphas around him were so incensed with rut that they couldn’t figure out where the lock on Thomas’ cage was. They seemed incapable of doing anything save for masturbating, which they began to do rapidly gushing for streams of profanity from all angles. They seemed to be aiming for Thomas’, which only made Thomas curl up tighter into a fetal position. 

“C’mere baby, let me knot you it’ll feel so good-!” 

“—Gonna pump you so full of my seed you’ll drip like a faucet—“ 

“—Put my cock in all your holes, rip you open—!” 

“—Gonna strap you to a bed—“ 

“—Stuff your sweet arse—“ 

 

 

It seemed like an eternity that he waited in that position.  
Petrified.  
Frozen. 

This was why he'd never wanted to be an omega in the first place- and who could blame him? Who the hell would want to be an omega when this is what it meant? Anna’s little golden dream, Mrs. Hughes’ calm acceptance, Baxter’s gentleness… that was bullshit. That was the facade. That was the painting hung on the wall to hide the ugly crack beneath in the plaster. The crack that rotted and peeled apart to reveal rape, abuse, anguish, and terror at the hands of strangers. There was no fairy tale ending for omegas. No kind alpha to ride in on a white horse and carry them away to paradise. There was only monsters with their cocks, wanting to rub one out. Vile, vicious creatures that took and took and took until there was no more. 

Until the land was barren and empty. 

"D'you miss my touch, baby?” 

He had surely been here for hours. 

“Come to daddy, come on!” 

In that moment, numbness began to set in. Thomas suddenly found he couldn’t breath properly, no doubt from the confined space and his pinched position. But it was more than that— it was like he was detached from the scene. Like he was hovering over the dungeon looking down on his own body. He knew that he was alive, he knew that he was existing in a human form... but he couldn’t seem to make the connection that he was Thomas Barrow. That he was in this terrible situation. 

_This is what happens_. A soft voice whispered in his head. _This is what happens when you push someone to far_. 

 

He was losing his ability to remain lucid.  
Minutes were crawling by like ants marching in a line. Ages. Eternities.  
How long were they going to keep him here? 

"Pretty boy--! Such a pretty boy—!" 

One of the men reached orgasm, ejaculating so that Thomas’ thigh was suddenly covered in ropey splatters of his semen. Thomas felt disgusting, like an animal. Like he’d never be clean again. 

The light was almost gone from the windows now. Wherever the moon was, it was passing overhead. Alden had gone back on his promise. Thirty minutes had surely passed ages ago. 

In his mind, he suddenly found himself traveling to places of comfort. To his room on a warm autumn night with no one to disturb him and no one to cater to. If he detached himself enough, he could just imagine that he was curled up underneath his covers instead of a cage. He could imagine that the rumbling and thundering he heard was a storm outside beating against his window pane. 

… Beating? 

Thomas opened his eyes, listening intently. 

He wasn't the only one. Many of the once-hysterical alphas were now tense and quiet like deer amid a glen, ears swiveled and eyes bright as they listened for the sounds of a dog baying or a hunter approaching. There was a banging sound, coming from the door to the hall, the force of which was shaking the wood and causing it to rattle against its massive iron hinges. The rutting alphas, so intent on masturbating against Thomas' cage, were suddenly given pause. A few of them continued to wank, unable to stop; the ones that still could sense danger were beginning to back up from the door. Were panicking. 

Then, the door to the hall was flung open. 

Bright light dazzled Thomas’ eyes, momentarily blinded him as a cacophony of howls and snarls hit his ears. He could see bodies running, men moving- a few were trying to head out the door but something large and black was knocking them back. When Thomas' eyes cleared he saw it was Alden, Calhoun, and Thane. The three of them were massive and imposing, knocking back lesser alphas so that men fell left and right in a splay of dominos. The ones that had sense ran, abandoning Thomas and his cage to retreat back into their darkened tunnel. They left behind them a room acrid in semen and sweat, a petrified omega in the middle unable to make sense of the commotion. 

The alphas that did not flee were fighters. They ran for the open door, eager to escape their dank prison and make it back out into the sunlight. Their only obstacle proved to be their downfall: Alden. He crashed into each fighting man like a battering ram, slamming them to the wall or the ground where they lay in a writhing mass. Where a normal man might have grown tired, Alden only grew more delighted in his damage, and continued to fight long after the opposing alphas had grown weary. When even the most stalwartly had given tail and retreated, Alden stood tall, his rippling pectorals gleaming with sweat and his eyes manic. Thane and Calhoun took the opportunity to slam the door between the rutting alphas shut, and Thomas heard the bone grinding sound of a lock being lowered into place on mechanism from the door latching against the sill. 

"Christ what a wreck." Thane muttered, eyes drifting with disgust across the semen speckled floor and walls. 

 

Thomas became aware that he was breathing erratically. That his skin was pale and clammy. His fingers and toes were trembling, burning; he could squeeze and clench them now. He could move. 

And yet, despite having been confined and contained for the better part of two days, Thomas found that he could not budge as Alden unlocked his cage and threw open the top so that he could stand. Instead he remained completely still at the bottom of the cage, knees tucked to his chest and arms wrapped defensively around his head. 

Alden relaxed along the top spine of the cage, perching himself like a bird on its rim so that he could let an arm drape inside and trail along Thomas’ dirtied upper thigh. He was covered in bodily fluids, and felt like he’d never be clean again. 

"Have a nice time?” It was clear from Alden’s tone that he was sarcastic, “Did they listen to your little complaints about omega rights? Figure not... they don’t listen to much to be honest. Don’t let it hurt your feelings.” 

He drew his hand back, rising up so that Thane, Calhoun, and Alden were all standing around clearly waiting for him to try and crawl out. Still, Thomas remained still. 

"Come on out." Alden coaxed, reaching back into the cage again to try and pull Thomas up by his arm, “They're gone. They won’t hurt you.” 

He might have sensed how cold Thomas' skin had grown. Thomas doubted he cared. It was easier if he decided that Alden and his cohorts cared about nothing. That they were as ambivalent to him being in shock as they were to him being chained in a dungeon. 

“Thomas…" Alden sing-songed, his rough fingers turning surprisingly gentle as he rubbed the small of Thomas’ back before hooking his fingers meatily underneath to try and get him to sit up. “Com on out. Com on, little omega. Do as your alpha says.” 

He could not stand the coddling, the babying, treating him as if he were a four year old instead of a grown man. But it seemed that most alphas considered omegas as confused and needy as children, to be disciplined with a smack if they stepped out of line. 

But Thomas had never been one to beat children, and considered it a disgusting concept to harm the helpless. 

Thomas was lifted bodily from the cage, forced into a dizzying sitting position by Alden’s hands. Alden made him crawl out leg by leg, and wiped his hands upon his trouser leg when his fingers became dirtied with dust and drying semen. 

As his vision stopped spinning, Thomas tested his weight upon his legs for the first time in nearly a day. He flexed his toes, felt the blood flooded his calves and ankles in a beautiful pounding rush. 

Alden was speaking to him, his voice washing right over Thomas' head. Some dribble that Thomas cared nothing about. 

The door to the hallway was still open. Thane and Calhoun were closing the lid of the cage, both busied with keeping the room in one piece. Alden was talking, full of himself, not paying attention. 

Thomas looked back to the hallway door, he body betraying nothing with his breathing calm and his pupils relaxed. 

He waited a tick, watching as Alden grinned at Thane and Calhoun, turning his back to Thomas for a mere half-second. 

Then, Thomas struck. 

He bolted, like a horse from its stall, and fled the dive. He heard Alden call out for him angrily, but did not stop, wheeling left instead of right, knowing that the way he'd come was locked by a door. He could hear feet pounding behind him, could hear the alphas calling out to him, but Thomas did not stop to look. He'd be hanged for a penny or a pound either way, and darted through a maze of corridors with no true preparation for the end in sight. His split-second decision gave him the timing to get ahead, his lack of route giving him an advantage over the alphas who might be expecting him to follow a certain set path. 

Thomas reached the end of a small corridor, and found a small stairwell leading up. He took it, suddenly thrown into gloom without windows to give him moonlight. When he reached the top of the stairs, he'd only gone a floor, and found himself in what was surely a servant’s area with cramped hallways and dingy floorboards. He ran down the hall, having to divert left into a broom closet so as not to be spotted by three women walking past. It was clear from their dress and demeanor that they were omegas, carrying linens to some unknown destination. 

When they were gone, Thomas stepped out of the hallway again and continued running down. Jay naked, he was praying he’d eventually hit a linen closet that he could use to make a makeshift toga for himself. 

Sure enough, when another pack of maids came walking, Thomas dove into another closet and found that it was a linen room. He had to hide again, crawling into a deep cupboard and closing the door as the maids entered and picked up blankets from an open aired laundry bureau. 

“We’ll have to keep an eye on it.” One maid was saying softly. “But I don't think it'll be a problem.” 

"We're stretched thin enough as it is.” The second maid complained, allowing the first to pile her arms high with blankets, “We can't afford to care for any more guests.” 

“Well it’s better that they’re here than on the streets." The first maid said, loading up her own arms. “They’re not fit for decent society.” 

“Cor-“ The second maid was impressed, “Keep your voice down, you don't want an alpha to hear." 

"But it’s the truth, isn’t it?” the first maid sniffed, “Brutes the whole lot of them." 

“Emily, hush!” The second one begged. They left the room, their destination unknown. 

“God speed, Emily.” Thomas whispered, cramped into a ball in the linen cupboard. As soon as the maids were out the door, Thomas crawled out like a crab scuttling on the wood to fetch a suitable linen from one of the many cupboards. He tore a pillow long ways, so that it was ripped at both seams and hung twice its length. He tied it about his waist, taking savage pleasure in covering his loins with the cool sweet cloth. He didn’t waist much time after that, poking his head out of the linen closet to carefully time his exit back up the hall. From then on it was a case of ducking into rooms and finding out what lay inside, listening at each door with an ear pressed to the sill in case he'd be caught intruding. 

What became abundantly clear as Thomas continued along the way was that he was in the servant’s quarters and that all the servants were female and omega. They were petite, mousy things, some with bellies swollen in pregnancy and some sporting obvious signs of abuse. The common love and adoration that the Brigade seemed to rely upon was not found here. Multiple times Thomas overheard whispers of the term ‘bastards’ and ‘beasts’. No prizes for guessing who they were talking about. 

Thomas had to duck down as he passed by a large kitchen where a female alpha cook stood waving a spatula like a baton at a host of younger girls. It reminded Thomas of Mrs. Patmore with a vicious stab of nostalgia, and he was suddenly overtaken with a desire to weep that he had to brusquely push aside. As he continued up the hall, he eventually came to a door jangling with a set of keys, and knew exactly what lay beyond. It was the pantry, and the keys were no doubt the cooks or the housekeepers, left there for easy access to the jams and pastes. Thomas jerked the keys out of the lock, and barricaded himself in the pantry before locking the door from the inside. Now, no one could get in to stop him, and he had a proper minute to pause. 

The first thing he realized was that he was suddenly in a room full of food and he was downright starving. 

Fruit, relishes, breads, cakes, cheeses, and crackers surrounded him on wooden shelves. Massive pots on the floor, wrapped over by cheese clothe boded more dishes yet in the making, while rounds hanging from thick twine from the ceiling littered the air. A window on the far wall let moonlight shine through, but Thomas would worry about that later. First he wanted to eat, and eat quickly. He did not know how long he would be on the run, or when he would next have a decent meal. 

He started with the breads, grabbing a loaf right off the shelf and cramming it into his mouth. He ate without remorse, without stopping, uncaring for whose meal he was ruining. Seeing a sack of potatoes hanging along the back wall, Thomas grabbed it and dumped the whole lot out so that potatoes suddenly rolled every which way like marbles from a child’s toy box. He didn’t want to eat the potatoes- oh no. He was going to use the sack. 

Thomas shoved another loaf of bread in, then another. Then he took several apples but not before grabbing one and biting heartily into it. The flavors were succulent, thick in his mouth, and he almost moaned aloud from the sensation. He saw brie, cut into blocks and left upon a ceramic platter to be served. He grabbed a slice of it and sank his teeth into it before eating another. The cheese was more filling than the bread, but would be difficult to travel with. Determined to take at least some, Thomas fished around in the pantry until he came upon several bundles of cheese cloth that had been set upon a lower shelf and left for later. He tore off a long piece and used it to bundle the rest of the brie. He shoved it into his bag and wishing that there was something more substantial in the pantry than preserves. As it was, he put muscadine preserves into his bag and a jar of pickled olives. He’d not had olives in what felt like a century. Why not spoil himself? 

Thomas sucked the juices from the apple off his fingers, looking about the room for his next best plan. Hoisting the cloth sack over his shoulder, Thomas tied the string in a massive loop so that it could hang off his back. His eyes were now set on the window leading out. He wondered how high up he was, and if he could survive the jump onto the grounds. He wondered if there was even soft padding beneath the window, and if there would be any way for him to make it across the grounds without being spotted. There was only one way to find out. 

Thomas stepped on top of a barrel holding rice, using its lid like a step stool to get onto the top level of a shelving unit full of jams. It was a risky move, putting his weight on an old structure like this, but Thomas was determined to get out the window if he could. 

He managed to slide along the top of the shelves, and finally reached the window to peer through it. An elated feeling soared through his stomach as he realized that the jump wasn’t too high off the ground, hardly more than ten feet. He seemed to be on the first story, which would make sense when he was almost certain he'd been in the basement prior. It would be a tight squeeze, trying to get through the window, but at least when he fell he wouldn't have to fall far. Grass was waiting for him at the bottom, well manicured and stable. This was definitely doable. 

Thomas pushed open the pantry window, holding it open as far as he could. He started by wedging in his feet, working up to his thighs and eventually perching his bum against the harsh ridge of the sill. He unlatched his rucksack, tossing it out his window. It fell and crashed onto the grass, loping over onto its side. Careful to aim himself so that he wouldn’t fall atop his food, Thomas took a deep breath and pushed himself out the pantry window. 

He fell only a short distance, crashing onto his feet and knees so that he almost smashed his face against the grass. Pain twinged in his ankles and toes. He grimaced, laying on his back on the grass and flexing his feet. 

“Christ.” Thomas muttered, rolling his feet to hear them pop repeatedly. He tied the pillowcase tighter around his waist, making sure he adequately covered his genitals and backside. He hoisted the rucksack over his back, tying it tightly so that it wouldn’t flop when he ran. Before him lay an immense plain of grass, beyond which lay dark woods. Thomas had a feeling there would be a village nearby. Perhaps he could hide out in someone's shed- maybe even finds proper clothes and shoes if he was lucky enough. For the moment, though, he had to make it off the grounds of Dover castle and through the forest. 

He listened intently, waiting for a moment to sense the condition of the grounds.  
He seemed to be alone... but the silence could be a cover for men moving in the dark. 

He didn't have time to wait. 

Thomas started running, first going slow then picking up speed. The wind whipping through his hair and along the hem of his toga made him feel young and free; alive! Suddenly he wasn’t contained anymore. Suddenly he wasn’t an omega. Out here, sprinting for his life across the lawn, Thomas could be anything. He could be himself. 

And it liberated him. 

He crossed the lawn with ease, not even stopping to look behind him at the massive looming fortress. Suddenly he didn't care who saw him, alpha or omega alike. Let them all see, he decided! 

He made it across the grass, but not before hearing the far off baying of hounds. He had no way of knowing if they were for him or for someone else. He wouldn't be surprised if someone had tried to flee before. Fuck, he wished he could take some of the omega servants with him. If he’d only had more time, more resources, maybe he could have freed them all. 

He entered the woods, wincing as his feet hit dried leaves, burrs, and pinecones. In shoes, he could have run at twice the speed. For now, however, he would have to be careful about his pace. The wood was hilly, un-manicured by tender hands like the grassy knoll beyond. Several times, he ended up tripping over tree roots, and knew that his toes would be bruised by the end of it. The land started to slowly dip downward, and Thomas paused as he came alongside a narrow but heavy river. It was rushing, white peaks forming as the water fell over heavy boulders and stones. 

A sudden heavy feeling in his stomach gave warning that he should not cross such an innocent looking river. Not without caution at least. Who knew what the water was hiding. 

Thomas looked over his shoulder, listening for the baying of the dogs. It was difficult to tell with the water rushing, but Thomas had a feeling they were getting closer. 

He reared back, and in a moment of strength jumped clear across the river to land on the other side. The bank was slippery, and Thomas fell into the mud so that his left side from calve to shoulder was suddenly covered in dirt. His hands were caked in mud, but he didn't care. He just kept running, occasionally looking over his shoulder at the sound of angry voices. There were people following him, he was certain of it now, and suddenly the very real possibility struck him that he could be taken back under hostage. That he could even die in his attempt to escape. 

Thomas just kept running, his heart now pounding wildly in his chest. He scaled another hill, mounting it with speed to come over the top. He rounded an enormous oak tree, glancing—

_Snap!_

Thomas screamed out in agony, unable to keep his voice down as a fox trap snapped closed over his left ankle. He went down in a crash, but now before a second fox trap snapped shut around his outstretched left arm. Thomas screamed again, thrashing wildly in pain. The metal teeth burned into his skin, tearing at precious ligaments and muscles as he desperately tried to free his arm with his other hand. The trap was tight, he couldn’t get it loose! He pulled and pulled, but it only seem to make the coil mechanism clench tighter. Any second now he was certain the trap was going to snap through bone and decapitate his arm. 

He was loosing precious time, struggling in this trap, but more than that he was losing blood! Thomas could no sooner pull at one trap than he felt an awful pain tearing through the other. Desperate to gain some sort of relief, Thomas pushed all his strength into trying to free his left arm. 

It would not be enough. 

 

Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth, followed by the incredibly loud baying of dogs. Thomas panicked, going as still as possible in the vain hope that he would be passed by. 

A torchlight hit his face, and he winced, his heart pounding in his chest as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.  
He'd been caught. 

 

“…Well damn, that’s unfortunate.” Came the voice of Thane, the torchlight was lowered so that it was no longer blinding Thomas’ vision. Thomas’ eyes cleared to reveal Thane standing only a few feet off, holding a baying hound by a lead so that the animal jumped and barked wildly. 

“Sit- sit you daft beggar!” Thane ordered at the dog. It fell back at once, whining pitifully as it paced trying to get closer to Thomas. "Good girl…” Thane patted the dogs head, rubbing her ears and neck lovingly, “Very good girl. Sit.” 

She finally did as she was told, sitting on her haunches though her tail continued to pound heartily against the earth. 

Thane cupped a hand to his mouth, craning his neck high over the rounded hill, “Got him!” He bellowed, “He’s in a trap! We need you Cal!” 

Thomas could not help himself. In his moment of desperation and terror, he burst into tears. He’d wanted so badly to escape. He'd thought it so close. He could see his future, his freedom, all there before him again. To have it snatched away twice was just… was just… 

It was cruel. There was no other word for it. 

Thane squatted down on his haunches, next to his hunting dog. The dog seemed to take this as a cue that the hunt was now over, that she could play and relax. In a moment of compassion, the hunting dog came forward and tentatively licked Thomas' face where tears began to fall. She whined, her breath hot in his ear as she sniffed his neck and armpit. She seemed to sense his distress, his terror. 

“Shh. Good girl.” Thane ran a hand lovingly over his dog’s head again, “Good girl, Athena. Such a good girl.” 

Athena, the hunting down, merely continued to whine, laying down next to Thomas and nuzzling his chin again. 

The pounding of feet began loud and apparent again. Thomas kept his face pressed into the dirt, sobbing exhaustedly; he did not want to see who had found him. He did not want to bear witness to the looks of triumph and anger upon their faces. He wanted to sink into the earth and to never appear again. To forget what it meant to be free, or to be an omega. To forget everything, even his own name. 

Someone took a knee next to him, carefully placing a hand upon his smaller back. The touch was warm and heavy, making him jump. 

“Take the arm.” Calhoun was saying, “I’ll get the foot." 

“Foolish omega.” They were not alone. Alden was there. It seemed the three of them had run after him… probably using Thane’s hunting dog Athena as a nose guide. 

The biting in his arm and foot suddenly vanished as Thane and Calhoun pulled off the traps. It seemed there was a locking mechanism on the side, once pressed it released but required two hands to operate. Thomas immediately pulled both appendages in, cowering in the dirt as blood began to trickle down his arm and soak through his pillow case. 

“What did you get into?" Thane demanded, forcing Thomas to sit up. He looked from Thomas’ makeshift wrap to his satchel of food amazed. Thomas could see now that the men were far from angry, indeed Alden looked slightly amused. Calhoun was as quiet as ever, never one to make much of a show. But he was struck, Thomas could tell, his eyes intense on Thomas’ shaking figure. In a further show of his emotion, Calhoun reached out and quite suddenly scooped Thomas to his chest. 

Calhoun got to his feet, taking Thomas with him. Thomas wished he could struggle but the pain in his foot and his arm were blinding. He’d surely broken one of the two. His satchel was left on the ground, where Thane picked it up to open it and examine. 

He then burst out laughing. 

“Are you kidding me." Thane demanded airily, opening it wider to show Alden who rolled his eyes and snatched the bag away from Thane. “He even nicked a jar of olives. I like this kid!” 

“I’d like him more if he didn't ruin bedsheets.” Alden muttered. 

Thomas didn’t understand, they ought to be shouting at him by this point. They ought to be kicking him, dragging him back to Dover castle by his hair. Instead they seemed to find this whole debacle slightly funny and were walking calmly with Thomas safely in Calhoun’s arms. The doctor said nothing, eyes intent on their path ahead as the three men went back down the hill and over the stream again. In shoes and trousers, they simply walked through and up onto the other side. Thomas noticed that Athena jumped over, yipping and loping ahead of her group to break out into a run across the field. 

Thomas couldn't gather much through his exhaustion and misery. Only that Dover castle was massive on the outside, surely four times as big as Downton Abbey with glittering golden windows and bonfires burning on top of massive lookout towers. It seemed that as he'd taken flight, people had watched him from above. Perhaps he'd never stood a chance at all. 

Thomas could not keep from crying, the pain in his foot so intense that he imagined he might pass out. His arm burned ferociously, and he cupped it to his chest with his good hand. How on earth was he to escape now, with a bum leg and heightened security? He’d be lucky if he could catch a second wind. But even then, how would he sneak past the lookouts? 

The stream that had cut a path through the forest came in full gust around part of Dover Castle, so that the three alphas had to walk across a stone bridge in order to get in through the front gate. It towered over head, a glittering golden arch, and passed them through a row of alphas all in uniforms like the ones inside. They were snickering to each other, pleased with their capture, and some even outright laughed at Thomas’ toga. They pointed and jeered, making feminine expression to one another by swaying their hips and pretending to primp their hair. Thomas felt he would be sick to his stomach. 

For the second time that night, Alden surprised him. Instead of joining in with his fellow alphas, he paused in their ascent and turned to give them all a vicious glare. At once, the group fell quiet, each of them trying to suppress smirks and laughter as they straightened at their posts. 

“Is something amusing?” Alden barked. At this point the subordinate alphas were absolutely silent. Alden refused to let it go, looking to Calhoun. “I’m unsure what it is. Dr. Calhoun?" 

"Can't say.” Calhoun’s tone was dry and flat. The man rarely exuded personality. 

“Chief Thane?" Alden looked to the older man. 

“I’m afraid my sense of humor is dry and barren.” Thane shrugged, his hands in his pockets and his hunting dog sitting obediently at his side. 

"Must be our age getting to us." Alden let out a fake sigh, seemingly depressed to the passerby. All morbidity was shot away, however, as Alden’s eyes turned manical and he put on a wicked leer. “Chief, take the recruits out for a run. Let them stretch their legs. Maybe that’ll season our humor.” 

“It just might." Thane agreed, and without another word he turned back the way they’d come, jogging backwards so that he could beckon and force the younger men to follow. They were howling, groaning and gnashing their teeth as they bitterly followed suit. “Pack it up you slackers, follow me! All of you! Out!” 

The whole lot of them were off jogging, some flat out running to try and keep up with Thane’s great strides. Athena was delighted by the second chance for a run, barreling ahead to disappear like a shot in the night. Now alone, Alden snorted and lead the way up the front door where two great guardsmen silently allowed them entrance into a large and barren front hall. The only decorations to speak of here were heavy red and gold rugs upon the floor and a large banner that hung from the central arch bearing the crest of the brigade: a bull's head, with heavy pointed horns. It was here that Alden paused, turning to Dr. Calhoun to observe where Thomas lay crying against his chest. Thomas pressed his good hand against his mouth, trying to stifle the noise. He looked away, eyes pinched shut as Alden tutted at him. 

“Let's give him a full look over.” Alden decided, “Treat the wounds, check up, the whole nine yards. He's never been to the doctor, before." 

That of course was a lie. Thomas had been to the doctor plenty of times, and was certain Dr. Clarkson had a file of his exploits at this point. He’d never been for the sole purpose of his omega-status, however, and this didn’t seem to set right by Alden or Calhoun. The pair of them took Thomas through a series of long navigating tunnels, both seeming to know exactly where they were going though Thomas was certain he was in a maze. At this time of night, everyone was asleep, and the only other people about were guards who stood intermittently in the hallway. They came upon a door, heavily barred just like the cellar, and Thomas half expected to find another dungeon behind it. Instead when it opened they were shown into a hospital wing. Great cathedral windows were blackened with night, with only a few intermittent brass lamps bearing gentle light down on sleeping patients in simple beds. Each were screened for privacy, though as they passed down the main line towards a door at the far end, Thomas could see omegas fast asleep with covers drawn up to their chins. Some were obvious in their despair; one or two were so utterly beaten that they looked on the verge of death. One was hooked up to a blood transfusion, pale and still in her bed with heavy coverlets hiding the great swell of her pregnant stomach. Alden looked to each bed as he passed, seemingly aware of every omega he encountered and attentive to their fragile state. Thomas wondered how many of these omegas had been beaten by Alden. How many had been sent away from their families and left to die in this place. As they reached the far end of the hall, Alden paused to glance at one bed in particular which was screened by a heavy tri-sheet and left in privacy. Alone in the corner, a young boy sat staring listlessly at the wall with a teddy bear in his arms. He looked miserable, no more than the age of thirteen or twelve. Alden walked over to the boys side, reaching out to brush through his sweaty blonde bangs with careful fingers. 

“Oliver.” Alden murmured, “Are you awake?” 

The boy said nothing, though his eyes were open and glassy. 

“Drugged.” Calhoun spoke up for the first time. Alden caught his eye, “Couldn’t get him to calm down otherwise. He's almost through the worst of it now.” 

“Poor lad.” Alden didn't seem unsympathetic, carefully tugging the end of the tri-sheet to cover Oliver’s area more carefully. It was the first time that Thomas had ever seen an omega male, and stared entranced at the little boy to notice how slim he was, how silent and pale. What had these men done to him? He was a child for god’s sake- he shouldn’t be drugged and made to stay in bed. It made Thomas want to weep again.  
Alden opened the door, to reveal a lavatory divided by heavy stone arches. They passed by several toilets before pausing at a row of footed porcelain tubs. Alden turned one on, water suddenly jetting from the brass tap so that steam began to fill the air. Alden kept fiddling with the taps as Calhoun carefully began to lower Thomas to the floor onto Thomas’ one good leg. Thomas had half a mind to fall and try and crawl away, only to sway dangerously and collapse against the rim of the tub. He slid to the floor, sitting with his back to the tub as Calhoun crouched down at his side and observed his arm. Thomas was afraid for the man to touch it, afraid that he might break his arm or worse, but Calhoun seemed to truly be a doctor with the intent only to heal. He tutted, eyes flashing behind his wire spectacles. 

It was only then that Thomas realized Calhoun’s chest and arms were covered with splotches of drying mud from where he'd been holding Thomas close. 

"Easily fixed." Calhoun muttered. His eyes drifted to Thomas’ foot, now purpled and swollen with blood oozing from several weeping teeth wounds. “…not so much.” 

So clearly one injury was worse than the other. 

Dr. Calhoun rose up, walking along the lavatory hall back the way they’d come. Alden was now left alone with Thomas while Calhoun went god knows where to do god knows what. Alden didn't seem amused or angry, instead merely fiddling with the bath taps and camping upon a wooden tri-legged stood to open Thomas’ sack. He turned off the taps, the room uncannily silent as he carefully plucked through the contents of Thomas’ stow away. He pulled out each one with obvious care, setting them upon a shelving unit which housed towels and washcloths in wicker baskets. 

“Bread." Alden sat the loaves aside, “Apples, muscadine preserves, brie… olives!” Alden tossed the glass jar into the air, catching it with a swift hand. He set the bag aside to open it, plucking out a green olive from within to eat it with care. He licked his lips, nodding as he sucked his fingers. “Good taste, I applaud you.” Alden said, “But I doubt you’d have gotten far without protein.” 

“…Just kill me.” Thomas shivered. “Just kill me now, I know that’s what you're going to do.” 

“No.” Alden screwed the lid back on the olive jar, setting it aside to pick up an apple and shine it on his shirt. He bit into it heartily, juice dribbling down his square chin, “I’m not.” 

Thomas waited for the other shoe to fall, tears sliding silently down his face. 

“I suppose those alphas put you in a state.” Alden spoke up again, still as calm as ever, “That was the point of course, to frighten you. But you see now that there are two types of alphas, and we are the preferable kind." 

“It’s not that simple." Thomas whispered, shaking his head. 

“Would you rather go back to the Dive?” 

Thomas turned to look at Alden, not bothering to hide the malice in his voice: "I'd rather eat shit." 

“Then you see my point.” Alden bit into the apple again. 

He set the apple aside on the floor, reaching down to grab underneath Thomas' armpits with both hands. Thomas flinched, expecting to be hit, but was instead perched back on the rim of the bathtub. Alden fetched a simple washcloth, wetting it in thin water pooling below to wash the mud off of Thomas shoulder, chest, genitals, and thigh. He was thorough, wringing the washcloth out each time as he carefully wiped down Thomas’ inner thigh and around his limp penis. Once again, Thomas expected pain and violence but was left oddly wanting as Alden instead wrung out the wash cloth yet again to dab up the blood on Thomas’ arm and foot. 

Thomas watched him warily the whole time, half expecting Alden to snap without warning and break his arm in two. The violence never happened. 

It frightened him more than the pain of beatings. 

The door to the hospital wing opened, and revealed Calhoun rolling a padded gurney. He stopped before Thomas’ tub, and seemed pleased by the progress made from Thomas’ bath. He took Thomas about the armpits, just as Alden had done, and together the pair of them lifted Thomas up onto the gurney so that no more strain could be put upon his injured foot or arm. Thomas had little choice but to simply sit there in his dirty toga and allow them to wheel him back into the hospital wing. They did not stop at the beds, rolling right across the wing to the other side where yet another series of doors lay waiting. Instead of taking Thomas to a simple side chamber, they took him to a smaller hallway with many doors branching off. One in particular was open, and Calhoun rolled him in so that Alden could shut the door. There were locks to bar this entrance as well, and Alden slid them into place so that even a battering ram couldn’t have broken through. Thomas looked up from his gurney, leaning on his good arm, to see that he was in a small surgical room home to no more than several sets of rolling trays, cabinets, and a disturbing looking examination table with two padded leg rests. Its spine was elevated, so that it almost seemed like a bizarre chair. 

“Up.” Calhoun took Thomas by the waist, forcing him to sit on the examination table while Alden rolled the gurney out of the way. Calhoun moved Thomas’ legs onto the rests, his thighs perched atop the pads. Thomas tried to squirm away, a sudden cold horror washing over him as he realized that he was to be strapped down to yet another torture device. Alden was at his shoulders, his hands heavy against Thomas’ clammy skin. 

“Easy now.” Alden murmured in his ear. His voice made Thomas feel queazy. “Easy.” 

“What are you going to do to me?” Thomas demanded in a rush, tears making his voice crack. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to clean and bind your wounds.” Dr. Calhoun spoke up, striding over to the wall to turn on a light switch so that brass overhead lights flared to life momentarily blinding Thomas. He felt hot underneath their powerful rays. “And I’m going to give you a routine examination. Nothing more.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Thomas said in a rush. In response to this, Alden only forced him back against the examination table’s elevated spine, hands tight upon his shoulders. Thomas’ chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wide as Dr. Calhoun rolled forth a tray lined with gauze, surgical instruments, a brown glass bottle, and a large imposing needle capped with a wedge of cork. Dr. Calhoun washed his hands methodically in a deep sink in a far corner of the room. Soap covered his hands, thick yellow foam washed away by a jet of cold water. 

Thomas watched as Dr. Calhoun poured water into a shallow porcelain basin, clamping a square patch of gauze with sponge forceps to dip into the water. He shook the water so that loose droplets fell into the bowl, carefully using the cloth to wipe at Thomas foot. 

Thomas yelped in pain, his hands shooting forward to stop Dr. Calhoun. He was stopped by Alden, who took no further chances by strapping Thomas’ arms to the sides of the examination table. Thomas struggled, only to yip in pain again at the pressure the jerk put on his arm wound. Dr. Calhoun was methodical, but not cruel in his cleaning. Thomas had seen this sort of procedure on the other side before. First the wound was cleaned, then it was cured for infections, then it was stitched. 

“I suppose you’ve deduced that I’m the doctor here.” Dr. Calhoun began, perched upon a rolling stool between Thomas’ legs. The toga gave him meagre dignity at this point, and Thomas was under no illusions that it was staying. He bit back tears, slamming his head against the examination table and pinching his eyes tight as Dr. Calhoun continued to clean his wounds. “I’m a bit more than that, really. I’m a doctor that focuses on omega and alpha reproductive health. Of course, I can easily fix your foot and arm as well.” 

Thomas whimpered as Dr. Calhoun began to cut at torn flesh with a pair of iris scissors. “Ah, steady on. This isn’t so bad.” Dr. Calhoun muttered. He seemed entranced with his work. 

After a moment, the bleating pain diminished, and Thomas opened his eyes again in a haze to see Dr. Calhoun beginning to stitch up the wound on his foot. Dr. Calhoun was careful, his hands dexterous and smooth as he sealed up the gaping wounds stitch by stitch. He paused every so often, using his nimble fingers to elevate Thomas’ foot for a better view. The right side of his foot was more swollen than his left, raised up thick where the jaw of the trap had snapped shut. 

“Flex your foot for me?” Dr. Calhoun said. Thomas tried but found it impossible. It was as if two of his toes were numbed. 

“You’ve fractured two of your metatarsals.” Dr. Calhoun said. Alden watched everything from his position at the head of Thomas’ examination table, arms laid out in a gentle perch. “I’m going to wrap your foot and keep you off of it for a bit. You’ll recover in time, of course.” Dr. Calhoun patted Thomas’ good foot with bizarre affection. He glanced up at Alden. 

“Keep him off it.” Dr. Calhoun warned. “No straining his foot or he’ll have a limp.” 

“Oh I think we can manage that.” Alden sneered. 

Dr. Calhoun stitched Thomas’ arm next, assessing the damage before declaring that he’d never broken nor sprained the bone. 

“Just the meat.” Dr. Calhoun said, “I’m afraid it’ll hurt, none the less, but eventually the cuts will heal. Your lucky this didn’t hit bone. You could have had a fractured foot and a broken arm.” 

It took a lengthy amount of time, simply because Dr. Calhoun was dexterous in his washing and cleaning. Alden seemed to grow impatient, pacing about the room and touching things at random. 

“Don’t touch that.” Dr. Calhoun muttered every so often. Alden sulked like a child, rolling his eyes and stomping away to try and touch something else, “Don’t touch that either.” 

It might have been funny had Thomas not been so utterly fucked. 

When Dr. Calhoun was finished stitching both of Thomas’ wounds, he wrapped them in several rolls of clean white gauze. When he was finished, Thomas looked moderately put back together, save that he was wearing a dirtied, bloodied toga. 

“All finished.” Dr. Calhoun signaled to Alden. Alden came back around, that manic gleam once more in his eyes as Dr. Calhoun rolled the used tray away to wash his hands in the sink. 

“Well aren’t we pretty.” Alden muttered, a decidedly nasty tone to his voice as he reached out and cupped the bottom of Thomas’ fractured foot. His hands stroked back and forth, padded fingertips running from the balls of Thomas’ feet to his toes. It made Thomas’ shiver, and he barely held back the nausea threatening to rise up within him. 

Dr. Calhoun finished washing his hands and came back over, glaring at Alden until Alden reluctantly moved his hand away from Thomas’ broken foot. 

“So.” Dr. Calhoun said, “Since we’ve got you here, why not have our check up as well.” 

“Check up?” Thomas watched as Dr. Calhoun wheeled over another tray, laden down with a copious amount of surgical instruments. Alden’s maniacal grin was back, and he came to stand behind Dr. Calhoun’s shoulder as he reached up to carefully tug loose Thomas’ toga. 

Thomas grimaced, looking away as his genitals were bared to the room once again. Dr. Calhoun threw the ruined pillow case away, “You’ve never had your womb assessed. It’s common omegan health. You should have had it done ages ago, at least by your teens. Foolish really, you could be quite ill and oblivious. Let’s see what the damage is, eh?” 

Dr. Calhoun was back to his warped state of mind, completely focused on the task at hand. He bedded a sponge forcep with another wad of gauze, dipping it into another shallow bowl of water so that he could carefully wipe at Thomas’ exposed anus. Thomas yelped, shocked at the cold sensation. He watched, in shock as Dr. Calhoun took a thermometer and dipped its silver tip carefully in a brown glass jar. It re appeared, dripping in a clear liquid that glistened in the harsh overhead lights. 

Thomas knew exactly what he was going to do. 

“No, no, no, no—“ Thomas babbled, squirming against his examination table. He couldn’t get away; he was pinned by his arms and thighs and his foot was fractured! “No, just use my mouth! Why can’t you use my mouth—“ 

“It’s more accurate this way, and I’m almost certain you’re going through shock.” Dr. Calhoun’s voice was calm and clinical, far from a warning as a sudden sensation shocked Thomas’ system. He gasped, remaining absolutely still with wide eyes frozen upon the ceiling overhead. 

“Easy.” Dr. Calhoun murmured. For a moment, the three of them were absolutely still before Dr. Calhoun drew back, taking the thermometer with him. Thomas fell back against the examination table, a cold sweat dripping along his brow. “Ninety five degrees.” Dr. Calhoun looked at Alden warily. “He’s in shock.” 

“Congratulations.” Alden said airily, “What do we do.” 

“Keep him from going into shock, obviously.” Dr. Calhoun’s voice was just as acerbic as Alden’s. “Fetch me a blanket. Bottom cabinet, on the left.” 

Alden did as he was bade, coming back with an obnoxious orange flannel shock blanket which he threw over Thomas’ body so that it covered him from chest to thigh. It caused a tent effect between his legs, obscuring Dr. Calhoun’s hands from view. This only served to make Thomas more paranoid, even if the blanket did moderately warm him up. Thomas watched, frightened, as Dr. Calhoun picked up a monstrous long nosed instrument with a ratchet handle and a double jointed hinge. 

“W-w-what is that?!” Thomas demanded as the instrument slipped out of sight beneath the cover of the shock blanket. 

“It’s a rectal speculum.” Dr. Calhoun answered in that same calm clinical voice. 

“What are you doing to do with it?!” Thomas demanded, though he had a very good idea of what was actually about to happen. 

“I’m going to insert it into your anus to hold open your muscles so that I can observe the health of your inner channel.” Dr. Calhoun paused to push his glasses higher up on the bridge of his hooked nose, “If I find it wanting, I’ll give you medication.” 

Alden was watching right over Dr. Calhoun’s shoulder, which seemed more intrusive and rude to Thomas than anything Alden had done as of yet. It showed a clear lack of decency for Thomas’ privacy and body, not that he’d ever been under illusions that Alden possessed decency in the first place. 

“Jesus!” Thomas screamed aloud at the sudden foreign intrusion. The metal was slicked but cold, and it made him feel clammy all over. “You bastards!” 

“Relax.” Dr. Calhoun said calmly. “The sooner you allow me to examine you, the sooner this will all be over.” 

Alden reached forward, and Thomas grimaced through gnashed teeth as he felt a hot fingertip gently stroking the rim of his flexing anus. Dr. Calhoun batted Alden’s hand away with a firm smack. 

“Don’t touch that.” He said yet again. 

“Why not?” Alden demanded, “I have a right to touch him, same as you.” 

“Because I’m examining him.” Dr. Calhoun said, adding something nasty under his breath that neither Alden nor Thomas could properly hear. 

 

Thomas winced, his distress growing more audible as Dr. Calhoun opened the speculum wide on its hinge. The more he pushed, the more Thomas was stretched, until he was certain that his insides were on display for all to see. Dr. Calhoun leaned in, picking up a long thin instrument from the table only to move it under the blanket. 

“Stop!” Thomas begged, “Please just stop! There’s nothing wrong with me!” 

“I disagree.” Dr. Calhoun said, and Thomas gasped aloud as he felt something push experimentally up inside of him. Something thin was stroking his walls, no doubt that long thin instrument he’d just seen. It went far deep into him than was comfortable or necessary, making Thomas panic as he thought of his colon rupturing. But something didn’t feel right, like the instrument was pushing into a part of Thomas that had never been explored before. It burned, causing him to cry out. 

In a shocking move of compassion, Alden reached out and stroked Thomas’ sweaty brow. 

“Easy.” Dr. Calhoun said again, “You’re a much braver boy than that, I’m sure.” 

“What are you doing?” Thomas begged. “It hurts-! Please, for god’s sake-!” 

“I’m examining your womb.” Dr. Calhoun did not sound happy with what he found. He removed the instrument, taking off his glasses to rub his brow against his shoulder. He put his glasses back on, rolling back on his stool and rummaging through vials on his tray. 

“Your walls are raw.” Dr. Calhoun explained, “You’re not producing enough slick. No doubt a by product of those foul hormones you injected. Bad boy.” He muttered to himself, picking a vial at last to uncork it and pour its contents into the mouth of jawed instrument. Thomas could only get where that was going to get jammed. “You need to produce more slick, to get your hormones back in balance. This will stimulate you, and I’ll give you a few more injections later next week. Between the two, we should be able to sort you out.” 

He rolled back over between Thomas’ legs, holding the long jawed instrument aloft. Its mouth was closed, only opening when Dr. Calhoun squeezed its heavy pistol handle. 

“Please.” Thomas begged, knowing that it would do him very little good, “Please I beg of you just let me go- just let me go-“ 

Why was he even saying this anymore? What good was it doing him? 

“Relax.” Dr. Calhoun’s voice was methodical. It might have genuinely relaxed him had he not been scared out of his mind, “Easy now.” 

Thomas could feel something in his passage again. 

 

In his helplessness, in his terror, he burst into tears yet again. 

“God- please- SOMEBODY HELP ME!” Thomas screamed at the sudden burning sensation that flooded his passage. “PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!” 

But nobody was coming.  
Nobody even cared. 

 

 

Nearly three hundred miles away, however, Robert Crawley suddenly jerked from what had felt like a gentle and calming sleep, his heart pounding in his chest. 

For a moment, he could not say what had overtaken him, only that it had been the most terrified he’d felt in ages. Like a nightmare come true, a hound from hell barreling after him intent on tearing him limb from limb. 

He tried to slow his racing heart, taking deep breathes one at a time.  
He looked over at Cora, wondering if she’d been woken by his shout. Mercifully she remained asleep, her brown hair in a ribbon over her sloping shoulder. 

Her beauty gave him pause, allowing him to remember what was important in life and what was not. Robert drug a hand over his face, amazed to find that he was dripping in sweat. 

Irritated, he rose from bed and shrugged on his dressing gown, pausing again when he noticed Tiaa in her bed, fast asleep by the fire. He did not want to wake the dog. 

Robert slowly walked to his bedroom window, carefully opening it so that no noise was made and opening it to the outside air. The temperature was much cooler at night, refreshing to the skin after the August heat during the day. He found his eyes drifting to the direction of the south. 

He knew the Brigade had houses all over England, with their main base of operations in Dover. There was no telling which house Thomas was in though. 

But whatever house he was in, whatever he was doing… he’d been put there by Robert.  
And that made Robert sick to his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to comment. I will respond as much as I can.


	4. Playing Possum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas discovers a new way to get out of Dover Castle, and promptly uses it to his full flagrant advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be so much different but you know what fuck it I can't save this fic and I'm probably going to lose followers for it. This is what I get for writing something 'weird'.

_Litigo 17:7: Eloquent lips are unsuited to an omega without an alpha— how much worse lying lips to an omega with!_

 

Thomas decided quickly that the only way out of the Brigade and Dover Castle was to die or to get so undeniably ill that they would have to move him elsewhere; he came upon this decision with apathy, but found himself incredibly frustrated when it came to carrying out the attempt. As good as the Brigade were at making omega’s want to die, they were twice as good at forcing them to live. Thomas had gotten used to slipping by in the shadows, to hiding in the remote corners of the abbey where none would think to look for him. No such corners existed in Dover castle, for no sooner had Thomas slipped out of the clutches of one alpha that he’d fallen into the corner of another. In particular, Alden and Thane seemed to be making it their lifelong goal to give Thomas absolute hell. 

Thomas had thought originally that his little rounded cell in the western towers had been his room; it turned out in fact that that room was nothing more than an inquisition corner. His actual quarters were disturbingly decent, with a soft bed and a window that looked out over the grounds from four stories up. Thomas’ stomach sank when he’d realized that the outlaying forests of Dover Castle had been concealing an enormous concrete wall which wrapped around the entire property. It seemed that his initial attempt at escaping had stood a small chance of actual success. Maybe this was why Alden and Thane had seemed so calm when Thomas had been roped back in. They probably hadn’t taken his escape attempt seriously, and why should they? It was clear that they held all the cards. 

_For now_. Thomas promised himself, _Only for now_. 

Thomas’ escape attempts were unfortunately postponed with a bum foot, but that did not mean he’d in any way given up on his original ideas of getting out. He’d started wandering around the castle, looking for weaknesses and backdoors. Instead he’d found a flock of omegas, some ill and some healthy, but all of whom were completely and utterly brainwashed. It had sickened him to watch as he’d passed the library where a few members of the Brigade had congregated after dinner. Omegas of all sorts were fawning over them, giving them massages, chittering jokes, praising their ‘intelligence’ or playing music. They’d seemed happy on the surface, but Thomas couldn’t help to wonder which ones were actually content and which ones were screaming on the inside. It must take incredible will power, he wondered, to pretend to be happy. 

And he should know. Thomas had done the same for over a decade at Downton, but instead of being bright and cheerful he’d just been… a predator. 

_Like an alpha!_ his brain supplied, only now that expression made him feel nauseas. 

He could see it in the eyes of men and women that passed him: the alphas wanted him and weren’t shy about showing it. One or two had outright approached him, making passing comments about the beauty of his body and how they’d like to breed him. If it was supposed to be a compliment, they were clearly saying it wrong, because all it served to do was make Thomas want to be sick. 

He'd actually tried that tactic several times, vomiting on the floor in front of him to make other alphas go away. It worked fairly well, which had served him to make a habit of pretending to wretch every time an alpha approached him. If only it worked on Alden and Thane; alas neither of them seemed to care. This was hardly out of character though. they were completely immune to Thomas’ discomforts. 

When outward attempts on the castle had failed, Thomas had started to try internal. He’d tried to make himself sick, but had found that security on cleaning products inside Dover Castle was tighter than anything he’d encountered in Downton Abbey. He'd tried to sneak around maids, but had been caught. He’d tried to sneak into the hospital wing but had been drug out by the ear. So then he’d started peeking into any closet he could find, praying that he’d stumble on some type of cleaning agent. Instead he'd found only sheets, and had at first thought to try and attempt mild strangulation or maybe a rope out his window until (once again) Alden had caught wind and had thoroughly chastised him in front of a group of omegas. 

So Thomas had decided to look at his assets, to see what he could and could not control, and had found that his best powers lay not in what he could obtain but from what he could abstain. 

Such as food. 

So Thomas had stopped eating, point blank, and by the end of the day had been absolutely miserable in his bed. He’d thought the second day would be easier. 

He’d thought wrong. 

Thomas had lain sweating and feverish in his bed slightly unsure of the world around him. His stomach had become like curled iron, an unmovable clench fist that kept him completely still in the early morning dawn. The only change of his body, the only movement, was the steady rise and fall of his chest. His mouth was sticky; his head pounded. 

His fast seemed to have become a terrible idea, but Thomas knew of no way to stop it now. He was certain his bedroom door had opened a while ago- but time had become relatively fluid in his bizarre state. He felt incredibly lightheaded, even constipated, and realized even as he whimpered that there were no tears to be found in his eyes. 

That was a warning sign. He knew he needed to drink soon. 

When the door opened again, the only reason that Thomas was aware of it was because it cause a cone of golden light to illuminate his far bedroom wall. Thomas had drawn the curtains a few days ago to remain constantly in the gloom. 

There was the sound of footsteps, and an unexpected finger stroked the bottom of Thomas’ bound foot. 

Thomas jerked away as best he could, the touch shocking him after days of quiet and calm. 

“Please…” He croaked, “Please leave me be-" Couldn't they see he was ill?   
Damnit that was the whole point of this blasted experiment- 

“Jerking away from me.” Alden tutted, “That will never do.” 

He grabbed Thomas’ leg about the calve and tugged his foot back down, his grip quite strong on his clammy skin. “When a Brigade alpha touches you, you allow the touch. Consider it a privilege if not a blessing. It’s an honor to be trained by our like.” 

“You haven’t been eating any of your rations.” Came the austere voice of Dr. Calhoun. So it seemed that Alden was not alone; rather fitting that the man had brought a doctor. Perhaps Thomas’ point had gotten across after all. “You need to eat to be strong. The health of your womb depends upon the health of your body.” 

“Thought it the other way around." Thomas croaked, for he was certain if he was found infertile that he would be brought even lower in the eyes of society. 

“The womb cannot sustain itself without strong transport.” 

“Am I a womb or a transport for what a womb could hold.” Thomas grumbled. His head was beginning to pound again, why couldn't they just leave him alone? 

“You’re an omega.” Alden cut in. “And you’re also very snarky.” He had the nerve to tap Thomas’ upon the tip of his nose. Thomas flinched. “You’re also very afraid. Which is as it should be. I’m not a nice man, am I Thomas?” 

“Nice men don’t set traps to sprain people’s feet.” Thomas felt he might slip into sleep at any moment. 

“And nice omegas don’t run away.” Alden countered. Thomas could see his face swimming in and out of view, his beard looked newly trimmed. “So perhaps we're even.” 

Thomas closed his eyes. Alden tapped him on the nose again, the bastard. 

Thomas refused to open his eyes. 

“You're going to eat today." Alden ordered. “You’re going to eat a nice full meal, take a good proper bath, and socialize by god. I want you to see how normal omega’s act; good omegas. Not this scuttling about nonsense you’ve been doing. You’re going to behave and if you don’t, you’re going to be punished in front of your elk. Let them see what your behavior is. You might find a few of them have good suggestions.” 

If Alden thought he was going to get his way that easy, he was in for a rude Sunday. 

“I can’t walk.” Thomas muttered, eyes still closed. 

“I will carry you.” Dr. Calhoun said it as if it were a terrible inconvenience. 

“No need, Cal.” Alden cut in with good spirits. "I'll carry him.” 

Thomas cracked open an eye and found Dr. Calhoun looking quite disappointed. He was grumbling, shifting from foot to foot and avoiding Alden’s keen eyes. Was there something Thomas did not know? 

Dr. Calhoun said nothing else, merely rubbing his brow for a second before turning away and leaving Thomas’ room. He closed the door to the hall, causing a sudden gloom to retake Thomas’ room. Alden almost vanished into the dark, until he walked over to the window and carefully pealed back the moth eaten cranberry curtains. 

“…He wants you.” Alden said, looking out of Thomas’ window towards the grounds. Perhaps a mist would still be creeping across the ground, or maybe the sun would have burnt it all away by now. 

Thomas didn’t much care who wanted him. 

“His ward is full of omegas he’s fucking. Well…" Alden rolled his eyes, “Not the little ones of course, but the older ones. The ones our age. Plowing them like fields, the whole lot of them." Alden sneered with distaste, “Thinks I don’t know, but I can hear him when he fucks them. Pants like an ox in a yoke. I should know; I used to be the one directing the ox around.” Alden chuckled, "Farmer's son, that’s me.” He thumbed his chest, only to turn and grow entranced with Thomas again. The laggard even had the nerve to sit on Thomas’ bed at his side, as if the pair of them were chums or something of the like. 

“But your master gave me explicit instructions for you not to be touched… not at all.” Alden seemed to have forgotten he'd done quite a bit of touching in the beginning. “Bet he has other plans for you, eh? You might birth a Toff before it’s all said and done.” 

Thomas could not say why, but the image planted in his head was more offensive than any of Alden’s crude touches. 

Before, when he’d been at Downton he’d thought Robert Crawley horribly imposing and rude. The fact of the matter was that while Lord Grantham was spoiled, he was not a bad man; the Brigade had shown him the difference well enough. 

Thomas could somehow see himself being courted by Lord Grantham; Thomas wondered what he’d do. Would he give Thomas flowers? Would he send him ridiculous love notes behind Carson’s ram rod back? Would he take him to the races or for a walk around the park? 

Would he dare to kiss Thomas? Would he taste of port or fine tea? As bizarre as his situation was at Downton, Thomas missed it desperately. He'd take Downton any day over Dover. He’d take Downton on his knees, on his stomach crawling through the dirt like a snake. Anything to escape the Brigade. Anything to be away from Alden. 

“When are you going to let me go?” Thomas wondered aloud, thinking longingly of his home in Downton. 

“When you’re tamed.” Alden declared. Thomas was not a bucking horse; the thought made his nose crinkle. "Oh don’t make that face. It depends upon your behavior, you know. It could be a week. It could be a month.” 

“This is slavery." Thomas whispered, for there could be no other word for it, “Pure and simple slavery.” 

“Oh Thomas…” Alden looked quite exhausted by the word. What a pity for him, “You’ve not known true slavery until you’ve been bound to a cruel alpha. I care about you-“ 

“You?” Thomas could not help himself, his voice grew sharp with reproach and he actually sat up in bed though it made his head spin and pound. “You heartless brute, you care about nothing but yourself. Care about me— “ Thomas was baffled by the concept, “You think I'm a fool?” 

Alden wouldn’t be put off, “The day you accept that I know better is the day that your life gets much easier!” 

“I’ll never accept that.” Thomas said with pride, “Because I’m smarter than you.” 

Alden had the indecency to laugh outright. “I know I am.” Thomas added coldly. 

“Hows that then?” Alden sounded downright infatuated, grinning blissfully at Thomas as he cocked his head to the side. 

“Because I don’t think with my dick.” Thomas sneered. Alden laughed again, more delighted than before. He seemed almost impenetrable to insults, but Thomas knew this wasn’t true. Somewhere beneath that disgustingly thick skin, there was a pressure point that Thomas could use. He didn’t know it was yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find out eventually. And god help Alden when Thomas did, because he wasn’t planning on being merciful. 

Quick as a flash, Alden shot a hand out and gripped Thomas’ chin in a pinching snare. Thomas glared at him, too far gone in his imposed fast to give a damn anymore. 

“I like you, Thomas.” Alden said, “You’re funny.”   
And with that, he patted the top of Thomas’ head. 

He rose off the bed, yawning and stretching obscenely as if he hoped Thomas would be impressed by his built physique. Thomas rolled his eyes, pursing his lips and trying to swallow several times in an attempt to wet his tongue and throat. It didn’t work. He desperately wished he had a cup of tea, or even just a glass of water, but knew that the sooner Alden took notice of his fast, the sooner he would have to throw his hands up and pass Thomas off to someone else. It was Thomas’ prayer that that person, whoever they might be, would be easier to work with than Alden. Easier to slip by and escape. 

“How’s about we find you something fresh to wear and take you to my quarters?” Alden said, “I have a nice bath that you can use. You can even take a tray if you don’t feel like coming down—“ 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“I think you’d look good in blue.” 

Alden was rummaging through a chest of drawers that Thomas hadn’t cared to look through. It had been two weeks since he’d come to Dover Castle, and he was still wearing the clothes that he’d been taken in; his black work trousers and a white button down shirt that was now missing three of its clasps. He’d point blank refused to wear the clothing offered to them, deeply offended they were all dresses of very muted shades with draw string waists and raised hem lines. Thomas certainly wasn’t a prude- he wasn’t one of the masses shaming women for enjoying modern clothing. But he didn’t want to wear one of those dresses, with hair all over his legs and chest. It wouldn’t serve to make him feel confident or sexy, which was obviously the point for modern women who were sick of the drab dour fashions of the past. It would only serve to make him feel obscenely stupid. 

Alden pulled out a navy dress, and tossed it at him. It promptly hit Thomas in the face when he didn’t raise a hand to catch it, and fell limply into his lap. 

“Put it on.” Alden commanded. 

“No.” Thomas said, not even bothering to look at the dress, “Me legs aren’t shaved, are they? Would be quite unseemly.” 

Alden burst out laughing again, touching the corner of his eye as if he was close to tears from the humor of it all. Thomas licked his lips again, still unmoving with the dress on his left. 

“Ah, you tickle me.” Alden shook his head. “I can shave your legs for you if you like. Need a bath, you do.” 

“…. No thanks.” Thomas said tightly. 

“Y’can’t tell me you don’t actually want a bath, with how filthy you are? You’re a servant. Your type are always clean. ” Alden said. 

This was unnervingly accurate, but Thomas wasn’t about to give that away. 

“I suppose you’re going to take it with me?” Thomas snapped. His head was beginning to pound again. 

“I think you’d benefit from a bath with me.” Alden said. The only thing Thomas would benefit from was extreme distance between himself and Dover Castle. And a cup of tea. 

The silence seemed to dismay Alden more than talking. He carried right on. 

“I don’t bathe alone you know,” Alden boasted. Thomas all but ignored him, laying back down on the bed to try and still his pounding head, “All my omega’s bathe with me. I keep a good check on them. You’d enjoy it.” 

“How many do you have.” Thomas sneered, “Twenty?” 

It was an offhanded comment, meant as nothing more than a bit of snark, but Alden took more offense to it than Thomas realized. He wasn’t given much of a warning before Alden reached out and grabbed his chin again. It was unnerving, to be completely submissive to Alden’s will, particularly when Thomas knew that any second now Alden could reach just slightly south and squeeze his throat. 

Thomas remained absolutely still, wary of setting off Alden’s temper when his hands were so close. 

“I’m not a fool.” Alden’s hands were oddly moist as if he were sweating. “I know that was meant as an insult. And as you well know, only the King can have more than ten omegas.” 

Thomas in fact did not know that. 

“Only a toff can have more than five.” 

Once again, Thomas did not know that. 

“My father was a common farmer.” Alden said, “And I’ll have you know that I’ve got three omegas. It’s not about the size, it’s about how you use it.” 

Thomas’ stomach twisted with nausea at the concept. Three women, bound to this awful awful man. God could there be a worse fate? 

“Oh don’t give me that face.” Alden seemed to be growing used to Thomas’ lips quirking up into a sneer, “My little brood is quite happy to have me provide for them.” 

“Your brood.” Thomas felt a sense of anger for the three women he’d never met, “Do they have names or do you just call them ‘sluts’?” 

Alden grabbed his throat. 

_Ooh, bit not good-_ Thomas thought, _Shouldn’t have said that with his hand so close._

“Now listen here you little cunt.” Alden’s tone had taken on a cold and bitter edge, “You can sharp me all you like, your tongue can’t pierce my hide. But the first foul word that falls out of your mouth about my omegas is the last word you’ll ever say.” 

He let go of Thomas throat. Thomas found it amazing that Alden had missed the point entirely, for by demanding if Alden called his ‘brood’ sluts, Thomas hadn’t been insulting the women but insulting _Alden_. 

Christ this man was an idiot. 

“My brood are sacred to me.” Alden said, with such reverence you’d think the prick was in a church, “I will not allow them to be insulted. Not even by you.” 

Alden had the nerve to reach out and stroke Thomas’ hair. Thomas shrank back, disturbed by the caress. 

Alden seemed more turned on than turned off by Thomas’ repulsion, smiling gently as Thomas tried to shy away. 

“Ey-“ Alden murmured, drifting his hand along Thomas’ shoulder and daring it to drift lower. “Don’t be afraid of me. Power and prestige go hand in hand for a Brigade alpha.” 

“I wish you’d get it over with and kill me.” Thomas bit out. 

“Now, now. If you die, I don’t get paid.” 

 

Thomas knew he would have no choice about the bath. There was no getting out of shaving either, but Thomas was dismayed to learn that his legs were just the tip of the package. Alden wanted him to likewise shave his chest, which was right difficult and even dangerous when getting close to the nipples. Thomas had very little say in the matter, since denying Alden might mean strangulation. He told himself that it was only hair. That hair would grow back. That he’d shaved his face and that didn’t make him any less of a man compared to men with full grown mustaches and beards. 

The dress, however, was another matter. 

There was no denying, as Thomas pulled the navy dress over his head, that Alden was trying to make him feel as insecure as possible. His hips were too square, his chest too broad. He didn’t look feminine. He looked like a bloke in a dress. It would be nice to have his hair clean again, though, and being in fresh clothes whatever their cut was a step up from the grimy trousers he’d been wearing for two weeks. He felt certain his former clothes wouldn’t be salvageable, after all they’d been put through. 

The icing on the cake was Thomas’ method of transportation: Alden’s arms. He attempted to walk but was thwarted, both by his malnourished body and by Alden’s insistence. He was unceremoniously scooped up, like some kind of naughty child, and carried out of his rooms down the hall to Alden’s rooms. The Brigade alpha lived a floor above Thomas, on a hall with wide windows Thomas had supposed that he would be forced to attend some sort of banquet hall, but clearly Alden wanted Thomas all to himself. He also assumed that Alden’s rooms would be lavish and horribly gaudy. 

This too would be found wrong. 

Alden’s rooms were easy to spot simply because the door was heavily locked. It almost looked like the pantry door at Downton Abbey, secured by a deadbolt and two other lam locks. Alden carefully kicked at the bottom of the wooden door with his foot. 

The door was promptly opened by a stern looking woman with black hair; she wore a golden necklace, and an olive dress that tied around the waist. 

She looked cross, and glared at Thomas upon seeing him in Alden’s arms. 

“Alpha.” The woman said.   
So clearly she was one of Alden’s brood. 

“Fran.” Alden seemed pleased to see her, in that calm loving sort of way that Lord Grantham often looked to Lady Grantham. “I’ve decided we’re to eat dinner in our chambers today. I have a bit of a hard case on my hands. You wouldn’t let me down, now would you darlin’?” 

Fran, if that was really her name, just gave a small little smile and stepped aside so that the pair of them could enter. She seemed to hold a sort of authority, even for an omega. She was certainly the first that Thomas had seen in Dover Castle wearing jewelry. It was by her leave that they were allowed to enter, and Thomas found that Alden’s quarters were slightly smaller than he’d originally imagined. Instead of having many rooms, Alden instead had a room about the size of Lady Mary’s. In its back corner was a round bed, larger than any Thomas had known before. It took up a good amount of space, heavily padded with several flannel quilts and soft goose feather pillows. It was by far the most lavish part of the room, which was sparsely furnished besides a couch against the opposite wall, a low laying mahogany coffee table, and a wardrobe that nearly touched the ceiling. There were several rugs on the floor too, so that you could hardly touch the bare stone beneath. A fire was quietly churning in a marble hearth, keeping the castle room warm. 

There were two other women in the room, or rather a woman and a girl. 

A brunette in a maroon dress was watching from the bed, swinging bare feet over the side. She had her hair bobbed in the modern fashion, and wore a floral clip in her hair to keep it back from her face. She seemed curious and bright. 

Behind her, laying upon the bed seemingly asleep, was a pale and feeble blonde, who seemed a bit like a fairy with small hands and feet. She was practically a child, save for the fact that her stomach was swollen late in pregnancy. She was listless, with watery blue eyes resting somewhere on the wall. She seemed to still be wearing a night dress, possibly too tired or sick to go about her normal day. 

The oldest omega, Fran, rang a bell rope along the wall. Clearly there was a maid on the way. Fran then walked about the room coming around the bed to sit on the opposite side of the pregnant girl. 

“Are you taking another omega, alpha?” The brunette asked, curious. 

Alden carefully sat Thomas down on his foot. Still recovering from the fox trap injury, Thomas had to regain his balance before standing firmly on his own. He folded his arms over his chest, wary of these three women. He doubted they would be his allies. They seemed brainwashed, particularly the oldest who was glaring at Thomas outright. 

“Eh, no.” Alden shrugged, “This is just my project. Bit of a handful but a delightful squeeze, innit’ he?” He then had the gaul to reach down and grope grossly at Thomas’ backside. 

Thomas gasped, blood flushing his face in anger and embarrassment. In a pop reaction, he turned, attempting to shove Alden away. 

“How dare you!” He couldn’t stand being treated so basely particularly in the presence of others. He also was rather riled up, particularly by the sight of the pregnant youth on the bed. She looked younger than Daisy, younger even than the housemaid Gertie, and it sickened Thomas to know that Alden had had sex with this girl when by all rights she ought to still be enjoying her childhood. 

“You see what I mean?” Alden barked a laugh, grabbing at Thomas’ offending hand so that he could neither push Alden away nor strike him on the chest. 

“How dare you!” Fran looked scandalized, drawing herself up and puffing her chest out, “Raising a hand to our alpha!” 

“I’ll raise a hand to anyone that dares to grab my backside!” Thomas snapped. It seemed that Fran in particular was not a fan of strange omega coming near her nest, “Let me go!” At this, Thomas began to struggle, determined to get away from Alden even if only for a moment. 

“Ah, don’t take him to heart, Frannie.” Alden grabbed Thomas about the waist, dragging him in once again so that he could plant a disgustingly wet kiss upon Thomas’ cheek. It made an obscene sound when he pulled away, “He’s just difficult.” 

“You bastard!” Thomas wiped angrily at his cheek, grimacing at the wetness he felt there, “I hate you! I hate you with all my heart an’ soul I swear it!” 

“Don’t be angry!” The brunette bounded from the bed, wearing a cautiously optimistic smile upon her face. “Alden doesn’t mean it in a bad way. You should take it as a compliment! Alden’s a good man.” And clearly trying to prove her point she stood up on tip toe to kiss Alden firmly upon the lips. 

Alden held Thomas with one hand only to scoop the brunette up by the other. He even picked her up off her feet, which she kicked back and forth a bit grinning blissfully. 

Thomas watched them, slightly disturbed. When they drew back from one another, the brunette looked at Alden much in the same way that Fran had before. That odd sweet smile which spoke only of calm love. Alden sat the woman back down on her feet, though she did not make to pull back from his arms. 

“Marcy’s a right treat.” Alden said proudly. Just like before with Thomas, Alden’s hand slipped from Marcy’s waist to her backside, which he squeezed passionately. She cried out, beaming even as she pushed Alden lightly upon the chest so that he let her go. 

“Alpha!” Marcy put her hands on her hips. 

“Ah, you love it-“ In pursuit of the chase, Alden let go of Thomas entirely to grab Marcy again with two hands. He pulled her in, her back to his chest, and ravaged her slim neck with peppered kisses. 

“Alpha-!” She squirmed, giggling. Alden was making disgustingly wet noises, sucking on her skin and teasing her with his teeth, “Please!” 

Alden reached around and groped Marcy’s bound breasts. She squeaked, clapping her hands over her mouth to giggle feverishly. 

“You bad boy!” She seemed amazed by his behavior. Clearly having had enough, Alden relaxed and let her go. His face was flushed, his eyes blazing delightedly. 

Finally free, Marcy toddled away and sat back down on the bed next to the pregnant girl. Having been quiet up until now, the girl whimpered and pressed her face into the pillows beneath her. Both Fran and Marcy took a moment to look in on her; Marcy laid a hand on the girl’s head to stroke her blonde hair while Fran pulled a flannel up over her bare feet. 

“What’s a matter, Daphne?” Marcy murmured, “You still feelin’ unwell?” 

The pregnant girl, Daphne, merely mumbled a single word, “Tired”. Even her voice sounded frail. 

“Ah, my poor turtle dove.” Alden’s once blazing humor was evaporated. He walked over to the bed, and reached over to carefully lay his hand upon Daphne’s frizzy blonde hair. Daphne didn’t make to move, merely laying quietly upon the bed. It seemed that at any moment she could drift off to sleep. 

“See this, omega?” Alden paused, catching Thomas’ eye. His hand had drifted down to Daphne’s side, touching her swollen stomach. She shifted, slightly uncomfortable. 

Thomas felt slightly sick. 

“Seven months along now.” He said, “Her first babe.” 

Thomas paused, taking a moment to breath and fight off his rising nausea. His head was beginning to pound again. 

But he just had to know. 

“How old is she?” Thomas asked. 

“Eh?” Alden was slightly confused at first, “Fifteen.” 

The nausea was back. “She’s a child.” Thomas didn’t know what else to truly say, flabbergasted, “She’s a child and you’ve…” He gestured, “You’ve taken her childhood from her. Five years ago she was ten. How can you possibly—?” 

“Ah.” Alden waved this notion off, “Omegas mature fast.” 

Was that all the excuse he could give? “I think I’m going to be sick.” Thomas had to swallow several times, certain he was about to vomit. 

At that moment, a knock came upon the door. Fran got off the bed, walking pointedly around Thomas to open it for a maid. The sight of a uniform soothed some frayed part of Thomas’ soul, and made him sick with longing for Downton. The maid’s uniform was starched, clean and ironed. It made him think of Anna, for whatever reason, though the maid’s hair was dark brown and her eyes held none of Anna’s sainthood. 

“Alpha.” The maid addressed Alden alone. 

“We’re to dine in my chambers today.” Alden gave her the same line as he’d given Fran, “Have trays brought up for me and my omegas. Plus one.” He added, looking to Thomas. 

“Very good Alpha.” the maid dipped a bit in agreement. 

Her voice sounded incredibly familiar, and it came as a surprise to Thomas that she was none other but the maid he’d heard talking in the linen cupboard. Her name had been something with an E… Elsie… Emily! Emily had been her name, and she’d been none too friendly about Alpha’s either. 

Thomas stared at her, amazed. What a shock that they should run into one another again. 

“I’ll also want a bath drawn.” Alden reached out to touch a lock of Thomas’ greasy hair. Thomas grimaced, pulling back, “I’d like to clean this one off myself.” 

“I think Emily can help me along.” Thomas muttered irritably. 

Emily looked taken aback, perhaps wondering how Thomas knew her name when to her knowledge they were nothing more than strangers. It seemed that truth was odder than fiction. 

“Who?” Alden asked. 

“Her name is Emily.” Thomas explained, nodding to the maid before them. Emily blinked, wary. 

“How do you know that?” Alden asked. 

“Oh, I have my ways.” He doubted explaining he’d met Emily in a linen cupboard would do him any good. 

But instead of being sated, Alden grew more wary. He walked over to Thomas and pressed his mouth into Thomas’ ear so that he could whisper without being heard by the other women. Thomas bristled at the close contact. 

“How did you know that?” He repeated again. He sounded close to losing his temper. 

“… Is it a crime to hear the name of a maid?” Thomas asked. 

“No.” Alden said, “C’ept you having been around any maids. Have you.” 

Thomas squared his arms over his chest, bitter and sullen. “I don’t require your aid to bathe, and I don’t appreciate your attempt to get me to socialize with your omegas.” He added nastily. 

“I’m merely trying to show you how pleasant life can be—“ 

“Oh yes!” Thomas sneered, pleasant was the perfect word for this little jail cell, “Why not put a collar and a lead on her?” Thomas gestured to Daphne laying quiet on the bed. She made no move to correct him. “A flock of sheep and you the only ram!” 

Alden put a finger in Thomas’ face, his eyes beginning to blaze again. “You are walking dangerously close to the edge.” 

“Then I shall fall with grace and honor.” Thomas replied stonily, “Neither of which you—“ 

“Alpha.” Emily the maid cut in, tentative. Alden grimaced, close to snapping with Thomas but forced to give up the fight, “Shall I draw a bath for the omega in his own room? To allow you privacy with your brood?” 

Alden differed on it back and forth, until he finally said, “Do that. When he’s finished bring up our trays.” 

Emily seemed to have intervened for Thomas’ behalf, and Thomas was not one to look poorly upon a favor. 

“Of course, Alpha.” She curtsied, and when she left Thomas followed on her heels. He did not dare address Emily in thanks, instead keeping absolutely quiet as she walked down the hall and towards the stairs. They took a corner, and ran into another maid with an empty tray balanced upon her hip. 

“Fetch up trays for Alden an’ his three.” Emily commanded the junior maid, “They’ll want to dine alone today. Have a fourth tray sent up for Thomas Barrow. He’ll be joining later after a bath.” 

“Very good ma’am.” She curtsied, “Should I wait to bring them up at the same time?” 

“Go to Alden’s chambers and ask him.” Emily said, “He’ll be waiting for you there.” 

“Yes ma’am.” The maid did not hesitate, going back the way she’d come to head for Alden’s quarters. 

Her errand completed, Thomas and Emily walked to Thomas’ room. It was in a state compared to Alden’s with his bed in disorder and dirty trousers upon the floor. Emily didn’t seem to mind, or she didn’t comment on it, instead stepping to Thomas’ bathroom and turning on the lights so that she could run him a bath. He watched her from the doorway, unsure if he’d be in the way or not to try and help. Emily rolled up the puff of her sleeves, fetching dried herbs from cabinets to sprinkle them in the claw footed tub which was beginning to steam promisingly. She paused, searching for bath linens, and folded one several times over her arm before putting it upon a foot stool which sat underneath the sink. When she straightened up, she found Thomas watching her. 

She smiled after a moment. She was cautious and Thomas could appreciate that. 

“Where did you hear my name?” Emily asked. 

“… I was in the linen cupboard a few weeks ago. You were talking with another maid. You were angry at alphas.” 

Emily nodded, coming to terms. 

“Why didn’t you tell Alden what I said, then?” she asked. 

“…Because I want to gut him like the fucking pig he is.” Thomas said. 

Emily smiled. Beamed, rather. She was amused. 

“… C’mon then.” She had a Cockney accent when relaxed, “Get your dress off. Have a bath.” 

She shut the bathroom door, and gave Thomas his privacy as she turned her back to fiddle with the bath. Thomas took a moment to put himself to rights, slowly pulling his navy dress off over his head. The action made him feel like he was going to be sick, but the nausea went away again as Thomas lowered his arms. His body was dirty and bruised, covered in cuts and filthy to observe. He looked homeless with greasy, tousled hair. If Mr. Carson could see him (a man who’d always prioritized cleanliness), he’d have another heart attack. 

Thomas stepped into the bath, hissing violently at the temperature. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until now! 

“Easy.” Emily urged. She took him by the upper arm and helped him to sit in the bath. He was awkward, naked in front of a woman, but Emily didn’t seem to mind. Thomas had a feeling she’d seen it all before, and took a long exhaustive breath as Emily finally shut off the taps and poured more herbs in the water. The smell of rose hips was beginning to waft in the air. 

“You’re being put through your paces and no mistake.” Emily tutted, washing the hot water over his shoulder and behind his neck, “It’s a travesty what they do to our lot.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Thomas mumbled, closing his eyes. What he’d give for a cigarette, “What I’d give for a cigarette.” 

He felt Emily tap him on the shoulder and opened his eyes again. 

“Oh bless!” He gasped at the cigarette she offered him. It was thin, hardly a woodbine (his usual smoke). It was a black cat, usually meant for ladies, but Thomas didn’t care. He took it greedily, and bent his head as Emily drew him a match and struck it on the claw of his bathtub. He puffed for a moment, catching the light to draw a deep breath of tobacco. He expelled it like a dragon, thick through his nostrils. 

“…thas… better.” Thomas mumbled, closing his eyes again. Emily made an amused noise and began washing his shoulders again. 

“Bit of a smoke makes it all better.” Emily agreed. She lathered a wash clothe with goat soap and began to wash him. Thomas would have taken the cloth away and done it himself if he wasn’t so horribly tired. 

“How do you stand it?” Thomas wondered aloud, “Working here? I’d die.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Emily was careful not to press on his nicks and bruises “I’m doing quite well. I’ve figured out the secret to living with alphas.” 

“Do tell.” Thomas had to angle his head back as Emily started to wash his hair. It was incredibly soothing to be cared after. He wondered if this was what Lady Grantham felt like all the time. “Y’ don’t have to wash me.” Thomas added, “I can do it. M’just tired.” 

“S’fine. We have to watch out for one another, don’t we?” Emily said. For a moment she was quiet, focusing on Thomas’ hair which was quite tousled and disgusting. 

“So what’s your secret.” Thomas mumbled. 

“Alphas are incredibly stupid.” 

“I’m afraid that’s not a secret.”   
Emily laughed. 

“Oh hush you.” She grinned, washing his hair before beginning to lather in a coconut and rose oil that would soften his hair to the touch “I’ve learned that, so long as you act sweet and docile, you can easily have your way.” 

Thomas stilled, listening intently. 

“You don’t have to actually believe it.” Emily carried on, “Just con them into thinking you’ve changed. Then they’ll let you go. They have no desire to waist their time on someone who’s docile. The more you fight the more they hang on.” 

Thomas had seen the same in a pack of hunting dogs going after a fox. A possum often got away when it went belly up, while a fox was run into the ground for sprinting away across the field. 

“Play dead.” Thomas mused. 

“Like a possum.” Emily agreed. 

On the one hand, Thomas could agree with this theory, particularly after having to deal with Alden on a daily basis. Playing dead could easily sweeten the time, and get him out of trouble sooner, but it also went against Thomas’ principles. He wanted the alphas to know that he was going to fight to the end. That he wasn’t going to comply or be a ‘good omega’. If he pretended to be a good omega (while actually not being one) he was still giving the alphas a win over him. They’d think that he was in the bag, that he was ‘good’… even if he wasn’t. 

Thomas didn’t know if he was sold on the theory. He’d have to test it in action. 

She washed Thomas’ hair again and this time rinsed out the oil so that a natural curl began to take hold at his ends. She began to rub at Thomas’ skin again, particularly taking care of his foot which was still recovering from its fracture. The skin was mottled with green and yellow, slightly swollen, but Emily cared for him as much as any doctor, tenderly washing the bites of his wounds and dabbing a comfrey salve on his bruises. 

“I admire you, you know?” Emily spoke up after a moment. Thomas blinked. 

Thomas had never been admired before. He didn’t know whether it was a compliment or not. Long ago, Baxter had insisted that she thought he was ‘very brave’. Jimmy had done the same. Whether he was brave or just a numpty, that remained to be seen. 

“You’re so strong.” She murmured, continued to massage his foot with comfrey, “So brave. To stand up for the weak and the helpless. You’re an inspiration to us downstairs.” 

For a moment, Thomas didn’t know what to say. He almost let his fag drop into the bath by accident and quickly took another puff before it went dark. His throat seemed to be swelling up; he wondered if he was getting a cold. 

“..Really?” He mumbled, unsure. Emily nodded. 

She reached over, fiddling with several bottles of oil upon a rack by the bathtub. From the lot of it, she picked up a ladies razor, which she fashioned with a new blade. Thomas had has bad experiences with razors and bathtubs, and shuddered as he drew his foot away from Emily to crawl at the other end of the bathtub. 

When the razor wasn’t in his hands, wasn’t under his control, he felt small and weak. Like he was one second away from turning the water red. 

“I… I don’t like… not holdin’ it.” Thomas mumbled. 

Emily didn’t bother with a argument, merely handing the razor over. He took it tentatively, staring down at his legs, arms, and chest. 

How on earth was he supposed to shave it all. 

“…Do I have to?” He wondered aloud. 

“It’ll be easier this way.” She offered, “Easier to play dead if they think you’re actually agreeing to what they say. It’s not so bad. I promise. I can shave your legs for you if you like.” 

There was a favor he’d never heard of before. He didn’t know what to make of it. 

“I…” On the one hand Thomas didn’t want to let go of the razor. On the other, he didn’t know what to do with it. “If you want?” He finally mumbled, confused. 

Emily smiled, and took back the razor. 

“…You can’t imagine.” Thomas swallowed, attempting to sooth the burning in his throat. “You can’t imagine after all I’ve been through these past weeks, what it means to hear an omega say somethin’ like that. T’insist I’m… brave… an’ not stupid” He tried to keep his lip from quivering. 

“Ey’ now.” Emily reached up endearingly and touched the tip of his chin, “ Don’t take on so. They’re just tryin’ to break your spirit, and you’re makin’ it easier by showin’ them that you have one. Lay low, fly under the radar. You’ll soon be free and can make your way back to your family. That’s what matters, innit?” 

Thomas thought of the quiet and comfort of the attics. Of the warm smells of the cellars and pantries, “O’course.” 

Emily was a marvelous help, making it easier to shave his legs and arms. He’d never done such a thing before, and found the sensation bizarre, but he didn’t have much leg hair to speak of so the job was easily managed. The real trouble came from shaving his chest and stomach, particularly around his nipples and bellybutton. He nicked himself once or twice, and Emily had to help him apply more comfrey paste on his irritated skin. 

It was all a load of bollocks and as soon as he could, Thomas was resolved to grow out twice as much body hair as before just to spite Alden. 

As she shaved, soothed, washed, and massaged, Emily gave him clear wisdom: “Just lay low, Thomas. Pretend to be… I dunno… changed. When you eat with Alden and his brood, find something to be your change of heart, and maybe have a quick cry and beg for his forgiveness. Try to act meek and unsure.” 

“But it’s not right. It’s undignified.” 

“You’re right. But there’s nothing else to be done, and you know it.” 

So Thomas thought about what had to be done, as Emily applied a lotion to his drying skin and parted his hair. The real problem was that Alden had it in his head that Thomas hated alphas, and really he did so that wasn’t much of a surprise. 

Thomas had to find a way to change Alden’s point of view without changing the obvious details of his story. 

The only time Thomas had been away from the abbey where none could see had been during his brief stint in America and during the war. The stint in America was out, because by that time Carson had been under the full impression that Thomas had been a beta. The war was prospective but… what could be done? How could Thomas create a lie worthy of Alden’s scrutiny? It wasn’t that Alden was in any way intelligent, so much as he was just stubborn. 

During the war he’d endured ungodly amounts of bloodshed and chaos, but all soldiers had. It didn’t matter if Thomas had seen twice as much horror because Alden didn’t respect omegas anyways. Alden respected alphas- 

And then it dawned on Thomas, piece by piece. 

As he realized the lie he was going to tell, he ironed out the final details, absent as Emily helped him back into his navy dress and put a rose smelling powder on his neck. He’d seen Lady Grantham wear the same powder before, and knew it was meant to help with oils that secreted at the base of the omega scent gland. To many alphas, the smell was intoxicating and delightful, varying from omega to omega in undertone and bite. But to omegas, the oil was irritating and often resulted in a rash. 

Thomas felt as if his skin was crawling anyways, knowing what he would have to do. 

It was wrong, horribly wrong, when Edward Courtenay had been such a good and honest alpha. Parts of his story would not be a lie; he had cared deeply for Edward and part of him wanted to believe that Edward had cared for him too. Edward had been coaxed into suicide, or so Thomas believed. Being told his life was over, that he was crippled, that there was no use for him on his families estate when his younger brother Jack was more able and ‘whole’. 

Spin a few extra details, and suddenly Thomas had a very good reason for denying the way of the rod. 

They returned to Alden’s quarters, with Thomas silent the whole way. It wasn’t for lack of company, with Emily at his side, merely that he was so enraptured with his newly birthed story that he’d wholly forgotten about being a good guest. Emily didn’t seem to mind. 

When they arrived at Alden’s door, Thomas took a moment to compose his face. He needed to look bitter, and broken. No more anger. No more temper. His story would hang on his ability to act like a man broken and not a man incensed. 

Because in order for his story to work, he would have had to have been a good omega at some point. Edward Courtney’s omega. 

The door opened. Thomas stiffened. 

Alden had his shirtsleeves rolled up, his eyes relaxed and his posture calm as he leaned in the doorway. He looked upon Thomas like he were a sumptuous feast, with his eyebrows slowly going up along with the corners of his lips. 

“Ey, now there’s a pretty sight.” Alden murmured appreciatively. “Did ya do as I asked?” He reached out to stroke Thomas’ lower arm, finding it bare of hair. Thomas grimaced, eager to shrug off his touch. 

He could easily play it off as not wanting to be touched by another alpha. Call it loyalty to Edward or something of the like. 

“Ah, you did!” Alden grinned. “You didn’t cut yourself did you?” 

“Just a bit on his chest, alpha.” Emily played her part of submissive omega with ease, “I took care of it.” 

“Not too bad, I hope?” Alden asked. Emily shook her head. 

“No alpha.” 

“Very good.” Alden stepped aside, allowing Thomas to come inside his chambers. He found Daphne, Marcy, and Fran all out of bed, each sitting on the floor by the couch around the low laying mahogany table. It was laid out with supper, a display of veal with cucumbers, avocado and celery salad, and plum pudding. For Alden, however, there was turkey with chestnut dressing and cranberry sauce. Clearly alphas got the finer cuts compared to the omegas. They likewise were given wine instead of juice, which was bizarre to Thomas who had grown up drinking beer and had (at one point in time) developed a taste for his lordship’s finest wine. 

Emily curtsied before closing the door for Alden, and suddenly Thomas was alone again. He felt cold, his stomach twisting and groaning in pain without food. The sight of such a sumptuous feast in front of him made him even hungrier than before. He wanted to knock over the other women and engulf the entire table. He would have gladly shoved the entire display of turkey into his mouth if it made the gnawing in his stomach stop. 

He salivated, his head pounding. 

“Why don’t you sit down and join us?” Alden offered, taking his seat on a small poof. It gave him an elevated status agains the women who were sitting on the floor. Daphne in particular looked quite small with a wrap about her shoulders and bare feet peeking out from underneath the table where she’d sat on her calves. Her swollen stomach made it impossible for her to sit close to the table. She had a handkerchief laid upon the top of her stomach, covering her night dress from stains she might make in her feast. Fran sat opposite of Alden, glaring at Thomas. Across from Daphne, Marcy sat with her back to Thomas. She had to crane her neck around to look at him. A place had been set between Marcy and Alden. It was clearly meant for him. 

Going over the details of his story one more time, Thomas decided his best move was to sit down quietly, and act… heartbroken. Perhaps reproachful. Maybe remembering what it might have been like to eat with Edward. 

So Thomas sat, his legs underneath his arse, and stared at his plate. To keep his emotion going, he thought of Mrs. Patmore’s feasts and how he’d often enjoyed a meal at Downton Abbey. His mind inevitably began to wander to what it might have been like for Thomas if he’d been a mated omega living with a loving alpha. 

“Feast, omegas.” Alden said, thumping his hand softly upon the mahogany table. Thomas’ juice jolted a bit in his glass mug. It was foggy from poor cleaning. “We’ve been given a beautiful meal.” Alden paused, carefully rubbing the skin atop Daphne’s dainty hand. “Eat up little one. Don’t be shy.” 

Daphne wasn’t shy, immediately reaching forward to begin picking at her veal and cucumbers. She ate with her fingers, a sure sign that she’d been brought up among the poor. Marcy started with her salad. Fran merely took a long sip of her juice, staring warily at Thomas. 

“Eat, Thomas.” 

Thomas looked down at his plate, neatly laid out with cuts of meat and vegetable. 

He desperately wanted to feast, but didn’t know how to. It was like he’d forgotten how to eat.   
But the rumbling in his stomach wouldn’t let him alone. 

Thomas reached out for his silverware, pulling out his fork.   
He pushed it through the veal and cucumber, till his fork was loaded and ready to be eat off of.   
He brought it up to his lips. He felt the tang of pickled cucumber salt his lips, the steady sauce of the veal. 

He shoved the whole fork in his mouth, nearly biting the head off the utensil. 

Suddenly he was taken with an explosive fever to eat. To devour everything on his plate and then some. So Thomas did, shoveling load after load into his mouth until his cheeks ached and he had to swallow. Alden watched him, humored, as he tore through his entire meal and took up a slab of buttered bread. He sopped up the juices from his plate, eating those too, and began to start on his salad. He paused, taking huge mouthfuls of his juice, mindless to the way the others were staring at him. 

“Thomas decided not to eat yesterday.” Alden explained. 

“And why would he do something as silly as that, alpha?” Fran sneered. It was clear that she’d made Thomas out to be some kind of imbecile. 

“Oh I’m sure he was trying to make some sort of statement.” Alden said. In a bizarre moment of charity, Alden cut off a slab of his turkey and passed it over to Thomas’ plate. Thomas forked it at once, shoving the whole thing into his mouth, or at least trying to until Alden forced his hand down. 

“Slow.” Alden warned. “You’ll make yourself sick. Eat some fruit.” He put a bit of plum pudding on Thomas’ plate. Thomas just kept eating, although he did chew slower. 

“So.” Fran began to cut into her veal and cucumbers, taking measured bites with bizarre grace. She didn’t know how to hold her fingers and elbows though, so it was obvious she wasn’t from the upper class. Maybe she’d been middle class, the daughter of a shop owner or something of the like. “Why are you with us, Thomas?” 

This was the moment where Thomas would have to work his angle and develop his story. Instead of popping and acting in anger, Thomas began to put on the mask of a dutiful omega, broken hearted by the loss of their alpha. He paused, keeping his eyes low and his voice soft. Anything to solidify his act. 

“I’m unsure.” He said. 

“Mm, that’s not true, is it Thomas.” Alden said through a mouth full of turkey. What a prig, couldn’t he swallow before he spoke? “You know full well, you just don’t want to say.” He took a sip of wine before he addressed Fran head on, “Thomas denied his womb for twenty years. Pretended to be a beta. Took pills to ward off his scent. When he was found out he attacked his alpha lord.” 

Fran’s lip curled. “Disgusting.” She sneered, sipping his juice. 

“Wow.” Even Marcy seemed slightly taken aback. 

Daphne said nothing, merely continuing to eat. Of all the women, she seemed the most meek. 

“Thomas is here to discover what it means to be an omega.” Alden explained. 

Thomas just kept eating, now onto his second helping. He kept his eyes down, and determinedly did not think about strangling Alden and Fran with his bare hands. 

“And have you discovered what that is, Thomas?” Fran clearly thought he couldn’t discover what two plus two was. 

Thomas slowly sipped his juice, feeling the dull ache in his stomach pitter out to a mere slight twinge. His hunger was dissipating. Even the pounding in his head was beginning to diminish. With it, Thomas could suddenly think again, and put his active mind to the process of making a believable back story.” 

The fact of the matter was, he didn’t know shit about being an omega. So he’d have to bluff. 

“I don’t think it has terms you can name.” Thomas said softly, keeping his eyes on the table. 

“It’s a difficult topic.” Alden said. 

“Only to the ignorant.” Fran said loftily, eating her avocado and celery salad with care. Her holier than though attitude was about to make Thomas chew on a nail. “Tell me, when living as a Beta did you learn anything at all? Or did you just bury your head in the sand?” 

Thomas said nothing to Fran. 

“It’s not so bad, being an omega!” Marcy cued in, a slightly easier target than Fran. She was more upbeat. More optimistic. She could probably be wooed easier by his story. “We’re very important to society.” 

Thomas sat his juice down, looking for his angle in. “…why.” 

“We serve our alphas, who shape the country and the world.” Marcy said, “It’s our job to make sure that they’re healthy and happy.” 

_Healthy and happy_ , thank you Marcella for the perfect avenue in! 

“Well said, Marcy.” Alden grinned and toasted her with his wine glass. 

Thomas tried to look wounded and lost. He sat down his fork and looked away. Now was the time for acting, “How can we do that.” Thomas murmured, “How can anyone do that.” 

“It’s easy.” Marcy was confident. “We love them, support them… Make sure they remember to brush their teeth and change their socks.” She teased. Alden scoffed. 

“Don’t know what you’re referring to.” Alden muttered into his wine glass, taking a long sip. Daphne smiled, looking amused. Even Fran’s lips twitched. 

Thomas took their happiness like candy, and used it to his advantage. “And that’s all it takes?” He said, making sure his tone was as sad as possible. 

He tried to think of Edward. Of how Edward had bled out in his hospital bed alone in the middle of the night. Thomas doubted that helping Edward to change his socks more would have saved him from his eventual suicide. 

Marcy paused, taking in Thomas’ miserable expression and his lack of appetite. 

“You look unsure.” She noted, “Do you not believe me?” 

_Perfect angle_ , Thomas thought victoriously. Now would be the time to employ his former ‘experience’. 

“It didn’t work before.” Thomas shrugged. 

“Before?” Alden caught the word. 

“I find it hard to believe you have any experience in caring for alphas-“ Fran started to say. Thomas thought of Edward, and his bleak desperation to be near Thomas. How he’d been shot down and denied by Dr. Clarkson without any regard to Edward’s feelings. The anger consumed him at once, and he directed it with pin point accuracy at Fran. 

“You know nothing about me!” He snapped. “You know only what you see before you. You stare at a page in a novel and think you can figure out the whole story!” 

“And oh what a tragic tale it surely would be.” Fran rolled her eyes, clearly disbelieving. 

_Checkmate_ , “Don’t you dare mock my alpha.” Thomas growled, then pretended to stiffen as if caught off guard. 

Alden set down his wine glass, staring intently at Thomas. “Your alpha?” He asked, “Lord Grantham, you mean-“ 

“My alpha is not Lord Grantham.” Thomas pretended to look embarrassed, as if caught. He stared down at his plate, fake grief taking over his features which slowly turned into honest grief as he thought of Edward cold and dead within the ground. “…My alpha…” He paused, taking care to swallow as if suddenly fighting back tears, “My alpha is dead.” 

Silence fell over the table. 

Daphne looked up from her half finished plate, obvious fear on her youthful features. She stared at Thomas with wide, blue eyes. “Dead?” She fretted, “What do you mean dead?” 

Thomas swallowed again, looking down at his plate. He said nothing else, knowing when to milk the cow and when to leave with the pail. He pretended like grief was consuming him, no longer touching his plate. He turned way, staring back at the door through which he’d come. 

Alden watched Thomas carefully for a while, perhaps watching Thomas for something. Thomas kept up the guise constantly, knowing that if he were to drop it now he would lose his chances forever of having a firm story. 

He seemed to pass the test, for he suddenly felt Alden’s hand upon his own and jumped as if startled. The fact of the matter was that he wasn’t startled. He’d been expecting that touch, waiting for it even. 

He looked around at Alden, his eyes misted by collected moisture which he used as tears. He pretended to be ashamed, staring down at the table again. He noted the calluses on Alden’s knuckles, as if he’d punched something repeatedly and formed bruises. Alden was rubbing the skin atop Thomas’ hand, feeling the individual bones beneath the dermal layer. 

“Let’s not talk about it now.” Alden decided, putting more plum pudding on Thomas’ plate. “Eat.” He said. 

After a moment, Thomas picked up his fork again. 

 

For the rest of the meal, Fran watched him warily with narrowed eyes. She did not attempt to mock him again, and Thomas did not start a row. Indeed, he didn’t say a word to anybody, allowing himself to be constantly consumed with grief so that he seemed quite miserable even though his actual mental state was somewhere near giddy as he realized he was making progress with his story. If all went well, he might be able to get out of Dover Castle and away from Alden. In his mind, Edward was either dead and gone beyond all knowledge (and therefor could not be pained by Thomas’ lie) or was aware of everything in the realm of the spirit and wouldn’t mind Thomas using his lie to get out of his current situation. 

After their meal was over, a maid took away their trays and the girls went about their separate activities. Daphne returned to bed, laying her head down once more to indulge in a rest. Marcy took up reading a book of poetry on the couch next to Fran who was sewing an image of a bird onto what would eventually be the cover of a pillow. 

Thomas decided to sit on the opposite corner of the couch as Fran, and palmed his chin in contemplative silence. Alden was taking his time looking over Daphne, often putting a hand on her forehead or rubbing her stomach. If you didn’t know anything about Alden’s other behavior, you might have found him protective and caring. But Thomas had been abused relentlessly by this man, and Daphne was practically a child. He knew better than to be taken in by the guise of a ‘caring alpha’. Alden was an abuser, and a violent man. If Daphne disobeyed him, Thomas was sure that Alden wouldn’t hesitate to punish her too. God only knew what fate awaited their babe. If it was an omega… its life would be doomed from birth. 

That thought alone helped him to put on a reluctant and bitter face. He was so consumed with horror that he even fooled Alden, who stood from the bed and walked to the door to open it. 

“Let’s take a walk.” Alden decided, “I want to stretch my legs before dark.” 

“As you wish.” Fran said at once, setting down her sewing and rising up. 

“Mmm.” Alden looked over at Daphne again, ‘Fran, I want you to say here and care for Daphne. I’m worried about her.” 

“Should I call Dr. Calhoun?” Fran asked at once, walking over to the bed and laying her hand on Daphne’s brow, “She is a little hot.” 

“I’ll talk to him when I go down.” Alden decided. 

“I can go with you.” Marcy offered. 

“Eh you say too.” Alden decided, “I want to talk to Thomas on my own. Go see Cal and tell him Daphne’s been lethargic. I’m worried something’s off.” 

At this, Fran peppered Daphne’s ear with gentle words, whispering something to her as she began to fan at her perspiring flesh. Even if Alden was uncaring, it was clear that both Fran and Marcy looked on Daphne as a sister. 

“Thomas.” Alden jerked his head, nodding to the outer hallway, “Come with me.” 

_Show time_ , Thomas thought, putting back on the face of sorrow as he walked out into the hallway with Alden. They left Marcy and Fran both caring for Daphne, with Marcy getting ready to go fetch Dr. Calhoun. 

With dinnertime passed, it was getting close to sunset. The sky was stained pink and orange, dotted with passing clouds. Dover was close to the coast, and the sea was constantly blowing in cooler air so that, as they eventually hit the bottom floor and went out onto the lawn, Thomas felt a chill go up his legs. No wonder women wore stockings- otherwise your legs would freeze! 

“Bit different in the calm, isn’t it?” Alden said after a while. Guards were changing shift, with the day crew leaving and the night crew arriving. Thomas watched a few of them wave to companions, shake hands and share cigarettes. It made him think of the cigarette Emily had given him, and how her wise advice might just send him home. “Not being chased by Athena… walking at a leisurely pace? It’s nice isn’t it.” 

Thomas just shrugged. 

They walked all the way across the lawn to an area known as the King’s Gate. Thomas only knew this because a sign near the ancient stone archway referred to it as such. Perhaps in olden times when the King had visited this massive castle, he’d done so through his own private entrance. It made sense with the way Toffs thought. 

There was a stone bench just inside the archway, sheltered from the wind and slightly warmer. Alden made to sit there, and Thomas knew that he was supposed to sit next to Alden although he’d not been told as much. He did so, keeping a good two hands distance between himself and Alden. Despite his newly developed plan, Thomas still felt very unsafe around Alden and didn’t want to get too close. 

For a moment they were silent. Thomas watched how the guards viewed Alden, for though none approached him it was obvious that they were wary of him. The guards closest to Alden at the entrance to the Kings Gate stood stiff as if they thought Alden would yell at them for slouching. Guards all the way across the lawn were making fun and jesting with one another. A few were even lighting up fags or shouting obscenities at maids through windows. Thomas had a feeling if Alden wasn’t sitting on the bench, the guards would have been slacking off too, maybe playing cards or having a smoke. 

It must get deadly boring having to be on guard through the night. He supposed his attempted escape had been the most fun for the guards in several months time. 

“So.” Alden spoke up, sounding quite calm. “You had an alpha.” 

Thomas nodded. 

“I thought there was something off.” Alden said, “Twenty years bein’ a beta. Didn’t make any sense. I knew something had to have happened to you. To make you… the way you are.” Thomas bowed his head trying to look repentant. “Will you tell me?” 

_Give em the old razzle dazzle_ , Thomas swallowed, deciding that his best vantage would be to stare away from Alden and fold his arms over his chest as if chilled from his terrible tale. In a way it made him sick to remember the war… to remember Edward’s downfall. The action comforted him. Warmed him. 

“It was… during the war.” Thomas made his voice weak and soft. Submissive. Docile. “I’d enlisted to try and get out of the abbey. I hated it there. I felt pinned, and no one understood me. I was a medic…” He remembered how he’d once been a doctor’s aid, sprinting about the trenches with a canteen at his hip and medicine in his pockets. Men had practically flung themselves at Thomas, desperate for a smoke or a hit of morphine. 

“I liked it.”   
He’d hated it. 

“I liked being useful. I cared for the sick and the wounded.” He killed men who begged for death and tried not to vomit more than twice a day, “I helped those alphas that were away from their omegas. Sometimes they’d cry for them, you know?” 

They’d never cried for ‘omega’s. They’d called out the names of lovers, mothers, children. The’d never said ‘omega’ or anything of that nature. The divide between the sexes had vanished during war, and that was how it should be. 

“I’d care for them. I’d hold them. It helped.” It never helped. Nothing helped but the morphine and they’d constantly been running out. 

“But then, more men started dying than I could care for, and suddenly it was just me swimming in a sea of bodies. I tried, for three years, to make it work. To hold on. To be strong. But in the end I couldn’t do it anymore. I felt… useless. It wrecked me to my core.” Now that wasn’t a lie altogether, though Thomas hadn’t been wrecked by the fact he couldn’t care for the men so much as the fact that they _wouldn’t stop dying_. 

Everywhere. All the time.   
Right on top of him. 

“… I…” Thomas paused, looking down at the leather glove which had managed to remain on his hand despite his trials at Dover. Maybe the men in charge hadn’t bothered to look or care; maybe they had an inkling as to what it was and hand’t wanted to take it off to see the garish wound underneath. But Alden was a garish wound all his own, so Thomas undid the two wooden snaps at his wrist to pull off his glove for Alden to see. Instead of being disgusted at the sight of Thomas’ warped palm, Alden merely took his hand and turned it back to front so that he could better view the wound. Maybe he’d seen so much carnage in his life that bodily accents didn’t bother him anymore. Maybe he even got a kick out of it (Thomas had heard those sorts of men existed). 

Thomas pulled his hand away after a moment. Alden let him, in a shocking move of generosity. 

“I help up my hand in the trenches just to get shot at.” Thomas admitted and for the sake of his story he pretended to sound very sorry indeed. “Just to escape that awful hell.” 

Alden picked up his hand again (ah, there was that good old lack of self control) and stroked Thomas’ palm. Maybe he was trying to be comforting, though he was failing miserably. 

“I was transported to a hospital near home, to care for the wounded there. Couldn’t do much on the field with my hand.” Work up the waters, Thomas, here comes your big moment, “And that’s when I met him.” 

He sniffed, bit his lip, thought of every sad thing in the world just to get a tear to his eye. 

He thought of Carson bullying him, of his father throwing him out, of Jimmy screaming at him, of O’Brien betraying him, of Bates mocking him, of Lord Grantham dismissing him— but it was the fact that he was stuck in Dover with Alden that made Thomas want to cry above all, till suddenly his bloody bottom lip was quivering and he could barely hold it in. 

He didn’t want to lie about Edward.   
He didn’t want to sully Edward’s memory, even if he was the only one who’d know about it.   
But… he just didn’t see any other way forward, and that was the real misery of it all. 

 

He was trapped, and his only way of becoming free again was to tarnish the memory of a beloved friend. He couldn’t imagine a worser fate. 

“Your alpha.” Alden supplied, after a long bout of heavy silence. 

Thomas promptly burst into tears. 

 

He didn’t want to lie about Edward, not when Edward had been so very kind and understanding in a world where everyone else had not. Edward had needed him so desperately, had relied upon him for everything from his food to his sleep, and Thomas had honestly enjoyed being someone’s lifeline. Being seen as a caretaker. He’d wanted to care for Edward for the rest of his life. He’d wanted to be with Edward always. 

But that hadn’t worked out, had it. 

Thomas just cried and cried, hardly even noticing when Alden put an arm around his back and pulled him in close. 

“Easy now- careful now-“ but Thomas was to the point of hysterics, wishing Alden would just bloody climb the fuck off and give him some space— but he couldn’t say that could he? He had to pretend like he wanted it. Christ, the things life had forced him to do! 

Alden, in a bizarrely gentle move, pulled out a rather frayed handkerchief and passed it over for Thomas to use. Thomas didn’t give a shit about Alden’s property, so he promptly wiped his face even though he was still shuddering and sighing with tears. 

“There’s a good love-“ Alden brushed Thomas’ hair back, so that a cool bout of wind could finally touch his heated face, “Why don’t you tell me what happened.” 

Grateful to get this fucking story over with, Thomas promptly spilled into his tale with such speed that he doubted Alden could get out all the details: “He was blinded by the gas, but we knew we were meant for each other. We could feel it in our souls. He adored me, an’ I him. I’da done anything for him. He was my alpha. My perfect alpha.” 

Christ if he could hear himself now. 

“An’ I didn’t care a fig about the blindness of or the gas. It didn’t matter to me. But he couldn’t get past the stigma that society put upon him. People told him that he was weak. That he was useless. His stupid, stupid, brother!” Thomas cried out the name like a curse, “An’ I tried to heal him but he just… he was unable to pick himself back up. He didn’t want me to tell anyone he was my alpha, because he thought that he couldn’t protect me. So when they said they were takin’ him away to some special place for the blind, away from me, they didn’t realize I was his omega. They tore us apart an… an… he said that if they took me away from him he’d…” 

God it seemed like only yesterday… how Edward had looked at him so frightened, so afraid, not realizing that the was staring right at Thomas. 

_“Please don’t send me away. Not yet.”_

“I begged him to be strong. To be brave. To be a good alpha to me. But… but he didn’t think he could be. He thought he was doomed.” 

_“It doesn’t help to lie to me you know. I’m finished and I’d rather face it than dodge it.”_

“He thought he could no longer be an alpha if he was blind, an… an so..” 

And suddenly Thomas was transported back to that awful morning hour when Lady Sybil (Nurse Crawley, rather) had come sprinting up the hallway to his rooms with her hands as red as… well… 

_“Thomas, you’ve got to come quick!” she’d cried out in fear, “It’s Courtenay. He’s slit his wrists!”_

Thomas jerked up from the stone bench, feeling just as bitter now as he had then. 

“He killed himself!” Thomas shouted, “Cut his wrists till the floor an his bed were painted red! An you wonder why I denied the rod? What good did the rod do? It didn’t save Edward! It damned him! It told him a blind alpha was useless, an’ he believed it an’ it killed him! The rod killed my alpha, and you wondered why I didn’t want to be an omega? Why I didn’t want some toff havin’ his greens over me? I was for Edward! Edward alone!” And Thomas made a point of wiping hurriedly at his cheeks with his back turned to Alden even though no tears could be found on his skin. “Of course I denied my womb!” He started to pretend to sob again, “My womb wasn’t good enough to save him!” 

_And that ought t’do it_ , he thought triumphantly to himself. 

He collapsed to the stone beneath his feet, and began to pull at his hair, rocking back and forth on his knees. He sobbed as loudly as he dared, hiding his face in the dirty stone so that Alden couldn’t see he wasn’t actually crying. Of course, the one problem with pretending to hyperventilate was that eventually you could actually trigger a panic attack on yourself. Suddenly Thomas was incredibly dizzy from the rush of oxygen to his brain, and felt vomit rise in his throat from his newly digested meal. 

“Easy omega—“ Alden was beside him, clearly having dropped to his own knees to take Thomas by the shoulders again, “Easy! Easy now, or youre’ going to make yourself sick!” 

But they were far past that. Thomas couldn’t control his gag reflex, vomiting off to the side with dirt rubbed onto his face and his head spinning. “Easy now!” Alden barked, holding him about the chest so that they were pressed back to front. The bastard even had the nerve to rock him a bit, like Thomas were some kind of distressed child and he the loving parent. 

A guard was walking over, clearly disturbed. “Sir! Should I get aid?” 

Alden made an angry gesture that Thomas felt rather than saw. Clearly Alden still thought he could take care of Thomas by himself. The idiot. 

Thomas took deep shuddering breaths until his head stopped spinning and the bile fell from his throat. He felt like he was coming off a high, completely drained from this dramatic performance and the emotion he’d been forced to feel. If he’d only been in the movies, he told himself, he could have made a killing. 

“I wish to god I were dead.” Thomas whispered. It was not a lie, “At least then I’d be with Edward.” _And away from this place_. 

“Ah…” Alden pressed a hand to Thomas’ forehead, Thomas was surprised to find he’d broken out into a cold sweat, “There now. You have to understand, it’s hard for alphas when we come to terms with our mortality. We’re told that we have to defend our omegas, t’be strong. If we can’t do that, then we can't ensure their safety. It makes us feel week. Useless.” Alden let go of Thomas' forehead to carefully rub his back. Perhaps he thought Thomas might be sick again, “Edward didn’t love you any less. An it wasn’t that your womb couldn’t save him. Nothin’ could save him when his mind was made up.” 

And suddenly Thomas just had to wonder: “How can you be so awful and so human at the same time?” He mumbled. Could it really be that the man who’d savagely assaulted him was the same man now caring for him in sickness? It was enough to make him want to throw up again. If this wasn’t the epitome of an abusive relationship, he didn’t know what was. 

“Why am I awful?” Alden asked calmly. 

“Y’imprison me. You beat me. You torture me. You’re awful.” Thomas shuddered. “You treat omegas like their dirt.” 

“I’m not trying to imprison anyone.” Alden said at once, “I keep you in here for the same reason that I keep those alphas in rut.” 

“Do I really strike you as that insane?” Thomas wondered, remembering his awful hour in the Dive like some form of a horrid hallucination more than reality, “I guess I am.” He muttered, for in all fairness he wasn’t exactly a solid man. 

“No, you’re not mental." Alden said, “You’re not suffering from heat sickness, you’re not in heat, you’re not broken. You’re just… damaged.” He said the word with greatest care. “Difficult. And you nearly hurt someone. Now, how do you think Edward would feel if he were to see you attack a man.” 

_You fucking idiot, he was blind_. 

Thomas hid his anger and instead decided to pull the water works episode again, for what was a present without a pretty bow on top? The job wasn’t done till your work station was clean. 

“I’m… I’m sorry alpha.” Thomas hid his face in his hands, mostly trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t actually crying, and feigned a relatively weak and high voice just to seem more docile, “I really didn’t mean to be so bad, I just got scared. I’m not brave like you.” 

_Oh, Thomas, you are a genius_. He praised himself internally. 

“I’m sorry I’m damaged. I want to be good, I really do. But how can I? When Edward’s…. dead.” He had to all but bite out the word in a muted whimper. 

“Thomas,” Alden’s tone turned quite serious as if the implications were just now dawning on him, “Did you attack your lord because you felt a duty to Edward?” 

Thomas nodded, feeling certain that this would be his turning point. 

“Thomas…” Alden sounded damn relieved for whatever reason, and even turned Thomas around so that Thomas hurriedly burried his face in Alden’s handkerchief to hide his lack of tears. He scrubbed at his face, forcibly making his lip tremble as he kept his eyes down. He sniffed once or twice for good measure. “Thomas, Thomas, Thomas-“ Alden was smiling now. 

Was this a bad sign? Thomas didn’t dare look up. 

“This changes everything.” Alden had his hands on Thomas’ shoulders, squeezing him endearingly, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Thomas just shrugged, keeping his eyes averted. 

“I thought you attacked him because you hated alphas.” Alden said. Oddly enough, this wasn’t the reason Thomas had actually attacked Lord Grantham. But of course, Alden would be self-centered and unwilling to see the world through an omega’s eyes. 

“I just…” Thomas whispered, keeping his voice broken with mangled consonants, “It just f-felt so wrong. Because he’s n-not Edward. An’ you’re n-not either.” 

“I’m glad that you told me this, Thomas.” Alden was obviously relieved now, smiling and stroking Thomas’ cheeks with his hands. If there was a lack of moisture there, Alden was too thick to notice, “This changes a lot of things. I know that it feels wrong, but it isn’t. Edward is gone now, and he can’t protect you from beyond the grave, now can he?” 

Thomas shook his head, wondering if he’d done a bang-up job and would now be allowed to go home. 

“I know this sounds insane, but there isn’t just one alpha for an omega. Did y’know, Daphne had an alpha before me?” At this Alden grinned as if reminiscing. “She was betrothed to some Toff who wanted to breed her when she was ten years old. Didn’t like the sight of it. Didn’t seem right. She wasn’t mature yet, wasn’t ready to take a knot. So I told her that she could be mine instead an’ I wouldn’t touch her for five more years. She practically ran to me. Her mother called me a savior.” 

_Her mother needs to be evaluated mentally_. Thomas thought bitterly. 

“There’s another alpha out there for you too, Thomas.” Alden urged, “There’s another alpha out there just waiting for you to come out of your shell.” 

Oh jesus not this tripe again. Thomas shrugged, eager to get Alden back on topic… such as when he could fucking leave this place. 

“Oh, I know there is," Clearly Alden thought he was just shy. “Look at you, look at how beautiful you are. You’re young, vibrant, healthy… you’re ready Thomas. You’re ready to breed. To be bound. An’ Edward wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone. Surely you know that.” 

Thomas sniffed, wondering when it could all be over. 

“Smile for me.” Alden murmured. Thomas felt bile rise in his throat again. “Smile for me, beautiful.” 

Thomas wanted to tell Alden to shove it up his arse, but knew that he’d ruin all his hard acting work if he did so. So instead, he put on a tiny false smile, using the memory of Mrs. Patmore’s salted cod cakes as fuel. Maybe now he’d be able to go home and have them again. 

That made him actually smile, honest happiness beginning to bloom in his aching chest. 

“Ah, there it is.” Alden touched the corner of his mouth. “There’s that beautiful smile.” 

And then the shit had the nerve to hug him like they were best friends. Squashed uncomfortably against Alden’s hard chest, Thomas remained absolutely still, playing dead like a possum. Emily would be proud if she could see him now. 

“You’re going to be just fine, Thomas. Let me call your lord, an tell him what you’ve told me. We’ll talk it through an’ see what’s to be done. But don’t go starvin’ yourself or attackin’ alphas out of defense to Edward. Edward’s gone; you’ve done your bit. It’s time to move on, start afresh, and find a new alpha. An alpha who can actually protect you and see how beautiful you are.” 

But that sort of comment had been just the thing to inspire suicidal thoughts in Edward, and it made Thomas nauseas to hear Alden say it. 

“I don’t feel well.” He croaked out. 

“An no wonder too.” Alden got to his feet, taking Thomas by the hand and pulling him up. Thomas felt dizzy, and hid his face in his hands as Alden put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go see Dr. Calhoun, eh? Bit of rest will do you good.” 

They started to walk back in the direction of Dover Castle. 

“You know, I think you might be up for goin’ home soon, Thomas." Alden said, “Maybe even in a couple of days.” 

_Oh thank god_ , Thomas thought, _Oh thank god, it’ll be over soon_. 

But as they fell into the shadow of Dover Castle and entered into its warm confines again, Thomas found himself looking up at the last hint of purpling sky beyond the edge of the doorway wondering if Edward could see him now. 

In a moment of piety, Thomas realized that his atrocious lie had been a terrible slander to Edward’s memory and a sin he’d never be able to pay for. 

_Forgive me, Edward_. He thought in true repentance, _I hope you’ll understand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to comment.


	5. To Condone and Condemn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas returns home to Downton Abbey at long last, only to realize that he needs to get out as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. This was significantly easier to write. The last one just seemed to take forever... fuck knows why. Enjoy, and know that this universe is about to get **wild**

_Litigo 3:5-6: “Trust in the Supreme Alpha with all your heart and lean not on your own understandings. In all ways submit to your alpha, and they will make your paths straight.”_

 

He’d awoken in the middle of the night, feeling decidedly off color. 

With his stomach having given him a summer from hell, Robert Crawley was not a stranger to the sensation of shooting abdominal pains. The sensation he awoke with on a balmy August night, however, was decidedly not from his gastrectomy. He felt tense, disturbed, even on the verge of anxious, and decided that the only remedy would be to sit in front of the library hearth and consider his options. 

Robert was, after all, an educated man. 

Cora was sleeping, and Robert did not make to wake her. She had that sort of angelic daze that all omegas kept when they were deep in the throws of slumber. It had often captivated Robert, to watch her doze. To smell at the nape of her neck where a gentle lavender scent had tempted him to join her on the golden shores of twilight. 

His father had shown him how to court an omega, not by his actions but by his lack of them. With the lack of romance that he had shown Robert’s mother, Robert had learned that omegas liked to be courted with care. To be treated delicately and patiently. 

That was what was burning in Robert’s chest.   
He’d not treated Thomas with either of those things. 

Sitting before the dwindling hearth of the library, Robert found himself considering Thomas Barrow, considering how he’d treated the man throughout his time in Robert’s service. 

Now that he really thought about it, it was obvious that Thomas was an omega. He desperately craved the company of the children, and had a petulant ungenerous way of treating people when he was spited. He likewise was incredibly needy, something most omegas had in common for want of their alpha. There was also this raw, unadulterated lust that often followed Thomas in a haze. His lips, his hips, his narrow waist… his eyes were like hooks for the soul. They drew people in. 

They’d drawn Robert in before. 

Robert had to consider, could not help but dwell, on what the universe would be like if Thomas were a _good omega_. 

He could see a swimming mirage, of Thomas in a fashionable dress lounging upon his library couch, reading a book and taking tea. If he were Robert’s, Robert would give him free reign for the most part. Let him relax, for once in his life. Let him know the bread of idleness. More than that, Robert would like to see him given options. What would he choose if he was offered a life outside of service? Would he paint? Would he write? Would he garden? Would he do charities? 

Of course, it wasn’t for Robert to wonder these things in any event. Thomas was young, and beautiful. Robert was old… and not. 

He’d considered, before, taking an omega besides Cora. But it hadn’t seemed fair. It hadn’t seemed right. She’d been a dutiful and loving bride, wife, omega, mother… she’d cared for their three girls. She’d uplifted them on their paths to womanhood. She’d supported their community and their house. He’d never been for want. When a rut had befallen him and turned him less than gentlemanly, Cora had been there with open arms and loving legs, wrapping them around his waist and allowing him passage to a place that only omegas knew the road to. When she’d been in heat, she’d never locked the door on him. She’d let him into her suite, into her nest, and had trusted him implicitly to love her tenderly. Truly. Kindly. 

Robert had to wonder if Thomas would do the same. 

Part of him was yearning to say ‘yes’; to imagine Thomas during his heat. He’d no need for fancy, he’d smelt Thomas through the crack of the suite door, listening to the sounds of panting and moaning from beyond. Thomas had not unlocked the door for him, simply because he hadn’t been in a right enough state of mind to know how to do so. Robert had felt like a horrible pervert, listening to Thomas whimpering as he tossed and turned in an empty nest. He had a feeling that Thomas would be just as needy in heat as he was without. That he’d keen and beg and cry to get his way until Robert was wrapped around his little finger and willing to do whatever he wanted. 

But that made other images come to his head. Of Thomas pregnant; what a bizarre sight that would be. He could remember like it was yesterday, learning the delighted news of Mary and Matthew expecting. From the beginning Matthew had been unwell. The trip north had been the final breaking point, the exhaustive travel and dancing unraveling his last bit of strength. Mary had always been an indulgent alpha; Matthew had never had to argue for his way. When he’d wanted to ride home to the abbey, she’d allowed it. 

He should never have been behind the wheel. He’d been too weak. Too disorientated. Too exhausted. 

If Thomas were to be pregnant, he’d do nothing. He wouldn’t so much as lift a tray, with Sybil’s eclampsia and Matthew’s car accident making Robert solidly paranoid. 

But this was folly. Babble talk. Thomas was not his omega. Thomas would never have his babe. If Thomas were to become pregnant it would be by his own alpha, someone surely younger and stronger than Robert. Someone who still had the stomach to bear his insanities.

Quite literally. 

Robert rose from his sofa, glancing at the mantle clock. It was 11:45… close to midnight. 

He’d had enough of this foolishness. Thomas was coming home. 

He walked to his roll top desk, fetching the candlestick phone from atop it and waiting for the connection to the operator. It took several waiting women to patch him through to Dover Castle, each extension pushing him to wait a few more minutes. By the time that he’d finally made the leading connection and was waiting for Alden MacNair to pick of the phone, it was past midnight. 

When the connection finally came through, Robert waisted no time. 

“Alden MacNaire, I need to speak with you on a most serious matter.” 

_“I’ve been meaning to call you as well.”_ Alden sounded calm. Perhaps he was two whiskeys in and getting ready for bed. How Robert would have loved to drink whiskey again. 

“I’ve decided I need Thomas to come home. Immediately.” Robert said. “I’ve changed my mind about the whole affair. He came to you under my command, so he’ll leave just the same.” 

_“He had an alpha.”_

Robert paused, unsure of what to make of that. 

“…What?” He realized he’d been silent for much too long. Alpha- how could Thomas have had an alpha? That was impossible. The time line didn’t add up. Thomas had worked at the abbey for all his years. He couldn’t have had an alpha before the abbey, surely? Had he been on the lam when he’d come into service? 

_“You ever heard of an Edward Courtenay?”_ Alden asked. 

“No.” 

_“Blind Lieutenant. Convalescing at the hospital where Thomas worked during the war. They fell in love, and were to bond. He offed himself.”_ There was a long exhale as if Alden was smoking a cigar. Once again, Robert felt an ugly pang of jealousy. _“Wasn’t able to hold his own with an omega. Weak.”_ He coughed, _“You know about that?”_

Robert of course knew that during the war Thomas had been a medic. It made sense now, his desire to sooth and comfort as an omega pushing him to a profession where he could easily do so. He’d been at Downton Hospital, but Robert had never heard of an Edward Courtenay. He knew of course that there’d been a suicide during the war. 

A blind…   
Oh god. 

Robert put two and two together, suddenly feeling an ugly cold sensation flood his warped stomach. He could remember Sybil weeping over the death, insisting that it was due to negligence on Dr. Clarkson’s part. That Clarkson had been forcing the blind soldier to leave, and the blind soldier hadn’t wanted to go. He’d never insisted on a reason but… he’d been adamant to stay. 

To know now that the reason was Thomas, his omega, made Robert want to be sick.   
Had Thomas been hiding to remain the blind Lieutenant’s beloved even beyond death? Somehow that dramatic sort of turning out fitted Thomas’ character. His passionate sense of loyalty and his petty spitefulness. 

_My god_ , Robert wondered in a daze, _I have condemned someone else’s omega. What have I done?_

“I want him home. Now.” Robert snapped, no longer putting on the air of patience. 

_“Are you jealous?”_ Alden’s tone was toying on the edge of humor and Robert decidedly did not appreciate it. 

“I will not bandy words with you anymore.” Robert snapped. “Send him home to be by tomorrow night, or I shall ring the police under the guise of stolen property.” 

_“Alright, alright. Calm down.”_ Alden was annoyed. Robert did not care, _“Don’t take on so. He’ll be home sweet home soon enough. I’ll be sorry to see him go. I’ve been enjoying having him here.”_

“What do you mean?” 

_“He’s been entertaining. He’s a beauty really. Are you sure you won’t part with him? I have a good brood he’d fit into well enough… I’d pay you for him. Handsomely.”_

An ugly sort of animalistic feeling jumped into his throat. Robert to bite onto his tongue to keep from cursing. 

“Now look here,” He warned, “Thomas Barrow is not for sale, in any way shape or form. If I find that you’ve treated him inappropriately-“ 

_“Oh don’t be like that.”_ Alden kept trying to rub elbows with him, the sort of locker-room talk that had always put Robert’s stomach in a twist even before his gastrectomy. _“Omegas can handle a bit of roughhousing. He’s in one piece. He sprained his foot but we’ve patched him up nicely. He shouldn’t need a wrap for much longer.”_

“How did he sprain his foot?” Robert demanded. 

_“Tried to run away. Got his foot caught in a fox trap.”_

Robert hissed on instinct, thinking of the garish cuts and bruising that would come from a bodily appendage getting stuck in a fox trap. He’d never been a fan of such horrid fixtures, preferring dogs and horses for a fox hunt. Traps just felt… unfair. At least a fox could run from a dog. 

_“Ah, he’s fine.”_ Alden tutted, _“Tried to be a bit of a bother but we got through to him in the end. He’s a right piece of work, but that’s why I like him. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of fucking him-“_

“I will not be spoken to in such a way!” Robert snapped, now quite angry. 

Thought of fucking him? Never. Absolutely not.   
Imagined him mating him? …Perhaps. But never something as crass and vulgar as… fucking. Robert had never fucked anyone in his life. Not even his own omega. At most, he’d made passionate love. Fucking was for animals. For alphas in rut. For the uneducated. For the cruel. For the vulgar. Not him. 

He was a Crawley for god’s sake. 

_“I figured you were one of those types.”_ Alden said dismissively. 

“…I am an Earl, if that’s the sort of type you’re insisting upon.” Robert drew himself up, full of an indignant anger, “And you will return my property to me by tomorrow night or expect the full wrath of my house.” 

_“What would you do if I were to keep him?” _Alden asked. He seemed to be toying with Robert now. _“What honestly could you do-?”_ __

__“I’d call out the army.” Robert snapped, not so much an authentic threat but a terrible implication, and hung up the phone._ _

__

__

__He did not go to bed until three hours later, much too angry to let his mind rest._ _

__

__~*~_ _

__

__When Thomas woke, it was to the smell of woodbine smoke._ _

__He heard birds twittering and opened his eyes, his focus glazed over until it came to settle on the image of Alden sitting in his day chair next to his bed. He had a packet of cigarettes on his knee, and was knocking off his ashes from a lit fag into Thomas’ drained nightly tea saucer. He looked oddly disgruntled, but Thomas couldn’t figure why. He’d only just woken up. What kind of shit could he have possibly done in his sleep to deserve anger?_ _

__“…What are you smoking?” Thomas asked, sniffing the air hopefully. His nicotine habit was screaming for a fag._ _

__“Woodbine.” Alden said._ _

__“May I have one?” Thomas held out his hand, not even bothering to sit up in bed._ _

__“You smoke?” Alden grinned, amused._ _

__“When I can.”_ _

__“Mmm… that’ll never do.” He knocked a few more ashes into Thomas’ tea saucer. “S’not good for an omega image.”_ _

__“I won’t tell if you won’t.”_ _

__Alden seemed convinced, perhaps a ‘one and done’ sort of man, and handed Thomas over one of his fags so that Thomas sat up in bed to light his end off of Alden’s. It was the most intimate gesture he’d taken from the man, though to be fair Thomas had done the same with runaway German soldiers in the trenches during the war. They’d been frightened shaking things, hiding from the fighting, unsure of who they were fighting or why. Cigarettes had been a shared bond, as had untimely deaths by stray bullets._ _

__It was delicious to smoke in the morning, particularly before food. It made Thomas feel… full. Rich. Like he could eat smoke instead of kippers and beans to get the day going._ _

__But then his stomach growled. Loudly._ _

__“You’re still hungry.” Alden said. Thomas about applauding him for his ‘genius’ “You need to eat more. Drink more. I want you to have a full breakfast.”_ _

__“Fine.” Thomas said bitterly. There was no point fighting him anymore. Not if he was trying to put on the guise of a good omega. The sooner he could go home, the better, and that would only happen if Alden thought him docile._ _

__He rolled out of bed, cigarette perched between his lips, and walked to the bathroom. He left Alden sitting by his bed, and shut the bedroom door so that he could garner a bit of privacy for himself. The first thing he had to do was take a piss, and at once, and did so while smoking with his other hand so that he could tap his ashes into the toilet bowl._ _

__He heard the door open and groaned aloud, the cigarette nearly falling from his mouth as he flushed the toilet to hurriedly drop his dress._ _

__“For god’s sake.” He muttered, turning around to find Alden at the door watching him carefully. “Please give me some privacy when I use the bathroom.”_ _

__He went to the sink and began to wash his hands, splashing water on his face as soon as he’d done so to try and wake himself up. He wet the end of his cigarette but, and tossed it in the trash by the towel rack._ _

__Alden came to stand right beside him, so that their reflections were barely inches apart in the mirror over the sink. Thomas decidedly did not look at Alden, instead rubbing his stubbled jaw to begin lathering his face in soap for a morning shave._ _

__“You’re upset because I’m not Edward.” Alden said._ _

___No, I’m upset because you won’t let me piss without having a look in_. _ _

__“Yes.” Thomas lied, washing the lather from his hands to take up his borrowed shaving razor. He was starting to use a woman’s razor instead, finding the handle and grip much more pleasant than the barber’s blade he’d grown up with._ _

__“I understand.” Alden said gently, and suddenly put a hand on Thomas’ lower back so that he almost jumped with the razor dangerously close to his jugular vein, “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t hurt you. I’m a good alpha.”_ _

__Thomas wished he could roll his eyes. Instead he remained absolutely focused, continuing to shave his face with forced calm._ _

__“I’m not your darling, and you’re not my alpha.” Thomas warned him, “Edward is.”_ _

__“Of course.” Alden did not fight him on the topic, instead treating him like he might burst into tears if confronted._ _

__Thomas started on his upper lip, taking care not to nick the bottom of his nostrils._ _

__“I talked with your Lord last night.” Alden said, “He wants you to come home. Today.”_ _

__Thomas paused, the razor in mid-drag across his upper lip. He stared at Alden in the mirror, waiting with baited breath to hear the rest._ _

__Could it be? Was it really happening?_ _

__“We’ll take the noon train.” Alden said. “We’ll get there around seven.”_ _

__Jesus God; Thomas was on the verge of collapsing into tears at the prospect of finally- _finally_ \- going home and getting out of this horrid man’s clutches. _ _

__“You told him about Edward?” Thomas asked breathlessly._ _

__“I did.” Alden said. When he didn’t make to do anything else, Thomas washed the littered foam from his face, and toweled off his chin and lips to find he was clean shaven again. He picked up his comb and carefully put his hair into a side part, till there were no stray frands to make a mess._ _

__“He wasn’t happy.” Alden grinned for whatever reason, relaxing against the bathroom tiles._ _

__Thomas was in his night dress, with the navy dress he’d worn yesterday hanging over the clothes horse near the tub. He glanced from Alden to the dress._ _

__It was clear Alden wasn’t going away._ _

__Huffing, Thomas turned away so that his back was to Alden, pulling off his night dress till his bare skin was flush in the morning cold._ _

__“My god you’re a beauty.” Alden murmured. Thomas quickly grabbed at his navy dress, shoving it over his head without care. “Truly, you’ve got an arse that would wet the appetites of gods.”_ _

__“And you’d know.” Thomas muttered, for if there was anything with a god complex, it was Alden._ _

__“I think your Lord wants you.” Alden said as Thomas fiddled with his drawstrings, synching his waist tight. When Thomas said nothing to Alden’s comment, Alden drew in close and placed his hand on the small of Thomas’ back again. He was dangerously close to groping Thomas’ arse. “Listen to me, Thomas.” He said in a rush, “He’s a pompous prick. He’s not worthy of you.”_ _

__Thomas looked way from Alden, doing up the buttons of his front so that his bare chest was covered in a swath of navy flowers, bathed in a light blue backdrop. “I can save you from that.” Alden pressed him. “I can give you an incredible life here. I can father your babes, and I’d at least be able to see them. To see you… To watch you ride my cock like the angel that you are.”_ _

__Thomas shuddered, unable to keep his horror inside. The thought of being forced to have sex with Alden was… was… more than he could bear or stomach. The stuff of nightmares._ _

__“I need to…” Thomas swallowed several times. “I need to be by myself, please. Alpha.” He added in an attempt to save face._ _

__“Of course.” Instead of forcing him onwards, Alden just stroked his lower back, the tops of his fingers dancing over the clothed cleft of his arse. “Of course. Just remember, turtle dove.” He reached out and took the tip of Thomas’ chin in hand, turning his face so that Thomas was forced to look Alden eye to eye._ _

__He was terrified of the false warmth he found there._ _

__“My offer will always stand.” Alden said.  
He kissed Thomas softly on the lips. _ _

__

__

__It was nearly impossible to have a good morning after that, even with the knowledge that he was to return home today. Thomas ate a full english breakfast, stuffing his face with fried egg, sausage, white pudding, mushrooms, and baked beans. He sopped up all the remaining juices with toast, feeling like a right king as he downed three cups of black tea._ _

__It was rare that such feasts were given to servants at Downton. Usually breakfast was porridge, toast, and tea._ _

__He of course, was not given back his trousers and shirt. They’d been incinerated apparently, no longer fit for being worn, and though Thomas had plaintively asked again and again to wear trousers and a shirt back home, Alden had merely laughed and told him that it was a silly thing to even insist. The law stated that omegas were to wear dresses, and while some male omegas (like Matthew Crawley) had been able to hide from the law by a respectable house and an understanding mother, Thomas had neither. He was a servant, he was an omega, and he was going to wear his navy blue dress. Alden even gave him a mint green one that had a large ribbon to tie the waist, and a coral one that featured an undertone of peach. If he thought that this act of ‘generosity’ was going to inspire Thomas to stay with him, he was living in a delusional dream comparable to that of the Arabian Sheiks. Thomas would rather eat cow shit than agree to stay with Alden. The sooner he could leave Dover Castle, the better. When he was back at Downton, he would be able to wear trousers and shirts again, he was certain… he could wait another day._ _

__And he was determined to grow more hair on his chest than a burly sailor._ _

__At eleven o’clock, Thomas waited impatiently by the front door with a borrowed valise packed with dresses he was intent on chucking. It seemed an exhausting thing, to keep putting up a disguise when by eight o’clock tonight it would no longer be necessary. He’d been offered a traveling cloak by Emily the maid, a simple black thing that wrapped around his shoulders and clasped at the neck. He felt a bit like a vampire, though he doubted many vampires wore navy dresses with little flowers. He’d likewise been made to go barefoot, which would never do at Downton and would probably result in Carson having a small heart attack._ _

__Then again, when Carson saw him in a dress, who knew what was going to happen?_ _

__Thomas thought that his adventure to Downton would be a quiet one, marked only by Alden himself, but he was surprised to find that Thane was walking up the main hall with Alden at his elbow. They were not alone; Fran was with Alden at his other side, holding his hand with clear pride._ _

__So it seemed there would be two alphas to escort him home. And possibly Fran._ _

__Thane looked quite pleasant, but Alden seemed bitter. Despite Fran being on his arm, he wasn’t content, and shifted from foot to foot while never meeting Thomas’ gaze._ _

__Fran looked moody. She was glaring at Thomas again._ _

__“So!” Thane said as he approached Thomas, “Ready to go?”_ _

__“I am.” Thomas said._ _

__“We’re to catch the noon train.” Thane said, “It’ll take us till seven to reach Downton, we’ll pop you off, then we’ll take another train into York at nine, and we should arrive at our hotel by ten.”_ _

__But at this, Alden cut in, and suddenly fixed Thomas with a firm and heavy gaze. “I want you to know that my offer still stands…. and if you want, we can go together to the hotel in York. I’ve spoken with my omegas about it… and they are in agreement with me.”_ _

__Fran definitely did not look in agreement._ _

__“…I…” Thomas’ mouth felt terribly dry. His heart was pounding in his ears, “I need to go home.”_ _

__Alden looked crestfallen. Fran harrumphed loudly. Thomas did not look at either of them._ _

__“Yeah. Well.” Alden coughed a bit, “Should have expected as much after getting an ear full from your Toff.”_ _

__He took a coat from a maid at the door, shrugging it on. Fran helped him with an olive scarf, buttoning up his coat._ _

__“You’re ten times the man that Toff is.” She stood on tip toe to kiss him, stroked his bearded cheeks. “And don’t you forget it.”_ _

__“I doubt you’ll let me.” Alden grinned. He kissed Fran again just for good measure. “Take good care of Daphne. I’ll be home in a few days.”_ _

__“Come back to us.” Was all Fran said, kissing him one last time upon the lips. She offered Alden a few letters, which he took and put into his coat pocket. “Tell the boys I love them. Make sure they’re eating well.”_ _

__“I will.” He said. It seemed the pair of them had children together, which wasn’t really surprising now that he thought about it. Fran was his omega, clearly his first. Daphne was his third and she was already pregnant. Thomas wondered if Alden had had any children with Marcy._ _

__Fran left, not offering another word to Thomas or to Thane. It seemed she didn’t like most people, but Thomas didn’t care an inch. If he was lucky, he’d never see her again. But just as Thomas thought that he was off the hook, and free to go, Thane pulled out a large amount of chain from his overcoat, ending in two pairs of handcuffs. Thomas stared at them, taken aback._ _

__“Shall we?” Thane asked, holding the linked handcuffs in both hands.  
And suddenly Thomas realized they were for him. _ _

__“…I’m to go in chains.” He said aloud, slightly disturbed by it._ _

__“Standard procedure.” Thane assured him._ _

__“I thought we were past this.” Thomas said in dismay, “You know my story now. Do you really think I’d run away?”_ _

__“Yes.” Thane said, and with that looked pointed at Thomas’ wrists._ _

__Thomas let out a massive sigh, deciding that he was really only going to be in these chains until he got to Downton so did it matter if he wore them one last time? He sat down his valise, and offered his both his wrist to Thane who snapped a handcuff over each wrist only bend down on one knee so that the long bit of chain dropped all the way to the floor. He then handcuffed each of Thomas’ ankles, so that while he could walk and pick things up, he certainly couldn’t run or stretch his arms above his head._ _

__It was ridiculous and Thomas wanted to scream in frustration._ _

__Thane stood up, and picked up Thomas’ valise. Alden was fishing through his pocket, pulling out a white clothe and a small vial. He wrapped the vial within the cloth, then squeezed, so that Thomas heard the obvious crunch of glass being shattered within the folds. He then rubbed and squeezed the cloth methodically, so that whatever liquid had been inside the vial was being soaked into the fibers of the rag._ _

__Alden held the rag out to Thomas, as if to put it over his nose and mouth. At once Thomas took a step back._ _

__Alden advanced, grabbing Thomas’ arm with one hand so that he could not retreat further._ _

__“Wait, wait, alpha-!!” Thomas cried out the word to stop Alden even as he made to putt he cloth against Thomas’ mouth. “What are you doing? I thought we were through this! I thought you trusted me!”_ _

__“It’s to keep the layout of the grounds a secret.” Alden explained, still sounding very bitter towards Thomas, “We do it to all the omegas. We can’t have you sharing secrets, now can we?”_ _

__Thomas realized they were about to drug him, and grimaced._ _

__“… Do I really have no choice? Can I not take a blindfold or- or something-?” Thomas begged. Alden just shook his head._ _

__He let go of Thomas’ arm. Thomas did not run away, or make to hide behind any furniture. This seemed to inspire faith in Alden, and he extended both his arms as if he thought to hug Thomas._ _

__“Come to me.” Alden said._ _

__“…Why?” Thomas asked._ _

__“Because when you smell this, you’ll faint. This way I’ll catch you and you won’t hit your head or bruise yourself.” Alden said._ _

__Now that he thought about it… that was rather good logic._ _

__So, Thomas tentatively stepped forward, all but backing into Alden’s arms as Alden wrapped a secure limb around Thomas’ waist. He inched backward, his head jerking instinctively as Alden brought the cloth back up to Thomas’ face. He could smell something bizarre, something incredibly sweet, and knew instinctively it was chloroform._ _

__“Christ-“ Was all Thomas managed to get out, pinching his eyes shut. The rag was pressed tight to his mouth and nose. He sucked in a breath; it was like inhaling a square of York Milk.  
And then….? _ _

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__The crunch of gravel underfoot.  
The sound of crickets chirping softly.   
The faint breeze of a summer night wind, shifting through heavy trees. _ _

__Thomas kept his eyes closed, tucked against something very solid and very warm. He was being cradled like a child, an arm beneath his knees and behind his neck. He could hear talking, soft and deep. Two men._ _

__“—Course, it’s big and gaudy. Like a damn cathedral. Who needs a house this big?”  
That was Alden. _ _

__“The way they all are. The bigger the better. Dover used to belong to a Toff.”  
And there was Thane._ _

__“Yeah well, we remedied that didn’t we?” A soft bit of chuckling occurred._ _

__The crunching stopped. It seemed they were still. Thomas did not dare to open his eyes.  
He had a feeling he knew where he was, and his heart was beating wildly. It was like his body was attempting to ‘wake up’ after being so heavily drugged. _ _

__“Where the bloody hell is the doorbell anyway-“ Alden did not sound happy.  
“Right here.” _ _

__He heard nothing to suggest a tri-tone.  
That meant the doorbell was rigged to a pull system. _ _

__

__There was silence for a solid minute.  
“…Is there anybody home?” Thane wondered. _ _

__“Oh trust me. They’re home.” Alden was very bitter indeed. “Practically bit my ear off last night.”_ _

__And then the door opened._ _

__Thomas heard a sharp inhalation of breath._ _

__“You wanted him.” Alden snapped, “Well here he is.”_ _

__“… Right this way, gentlemen.” Carson replied.  
Oh thank god. He was home. _ _

__

__For a moment Thomas lost sense of the noises around him, too excited and relieved to remember to be on guard. He could smell the perfumed carpet of the foyer, could hear the sounds of a record player somewhere in the distance, spouting muted jazz tones. He opened his eyes, daring to believe it, and sure enough saw the glistening lights of the main hall before him. Carson was ahead of them, leading them to the library door. So relieved, so wounded, so fragile was Thomas that he had to pinch his eyes closed again for fear of others seeing him weeping. As it was, an obvious wetness hit his cheeks._ _

__The door opened,_ _

__“Mr. Alden Mac-“ Carson began, only to be cut off by Alden._ _

__“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Alden snapped, “He knows my name.”  
All pretext of warmth or hospitality was gone from his voice. _ _

__There was an unnerving silence in the library, only broken by the sound of the hearth crackling in the fireplace. Thomas did not open his eyes, too angry at the family to want to see them. He wanted to be taken to his room, to be laid down to bed, and to never be bothered again. He was resolved to keep his eyes closed for as long as-_ _

___Woomph!_ _ _

__Thomas was unceremoniously dropped like a sack of flour, and hit the floor of the library with a hard _thud_. _ _

__“I say!” Lord Grantham cried out, affronted. Thomas was certain he’d heard a woman yelp._ _

__There were hands upon him, slim and cool, the smell of mint and bayberry was on his nose. It was undoubtably the perfume of Lady Mary._ _

__“Thomas?” He heard her voice soft in his ear. “Thomas can you hear me?”_ _

__He remained still, refusing to open his eyes._ _

__“I think he’s been drugged, papa.” Lady Mary sounded very nervous. “Carson, you better ring for the doctor-“_ _

__“Oh don’t bother.” Alden snapped, “It’s just chloroform; it ought to wear off any minute now.”_ _

__“Chloroform is dangerous!” Lady Grantham’s voice sounded out. “I’ve studied it very recently and it can cause breathing disorders if-“_ _

__“Get your omega under control, do you not know who I am woman?” Alden barked.  
Thomas’ eyes snapped open, an instant reflex to hearing someone talk so sharply to the lady of the house. _ _

__Lady Mary was right next to him, her face inches from his own. She looked fretful and nervous, but instantly relieved as she realized he’d opened his eyes. She was wearing a red beaded dress, the heavy fringe ghosting across his brow and tickling his skin._ _

__“Thomas.” She said, “It’s alright, you’re home again. Can you sit up for me-?”_ _

__Thomas needed no offer; he began to stretch his aching limbs, still shackled, and began to right himself one inch at a time. First he sat up on his arse, cracking his aching neck, and then he accepted Lady Mary’s hand to pull himself finally to his feet where he swayed ominously for a solid minute before his vision stopped spinning and he could look around._ _

__He was in the library of Downton Abbey. Lady Grantham and Lord Grantham were standing by his lordship’s roll top desk. Lady Grantham seemed incredibly nervous, standing obviously behind her husband. Lady Mary was the only other member of the family present. Carson was next to her, a decidedly worried look upon his face as he took in Thomas’ pallid complexion, chains, and dress. Thomas turned about, glaring at Alden and Thane who were behind him. Alden looked angry and petulant like a spoiled child who’d been denied a treat, with his tattooed arms folded over his barrel chest. Thane just looked… tired. And unsurprised. Clearly he’d gone through this song and dance before. He was still holding Thomas’ valise._ _

__“Did you have to drop me?” Thomas asked, his tone cold._ _

__“What, didn’t appreciate the wake up?” Alden grumbled, “Would you prefer a mint on your pillow next time?”_ _

__“Oh I shouldn’t dream of troubling you for it, alpha.” Thomas had to reach up with both hands since they were tethered, in order to rub at his neck._ _

__“Well here he is!” Alden spoke loudly to Lord Grantham, who bristled at the harsh tone. “You gave me a right piece of work, you know that? I had to use the dive on him the first night he woke up. Nearly starved himself to death just out of spite a week later! Fuckin’ delight he is. No wonder his alpha was blind, if I had to put up with him I’d gouge my eyes out too!”_ _

__Thomas flushed bright red, tempted to remind Alden that not even hours ago he’d been offering Thomas a place at his side as an omega of his brood._ _

__Clearly he didn’t handle rejection well._ _

__“I highly doubt that his behavior was undeserved.” Lord Grantham countered, “Seeing the way you have treated him before me just now. He looks absolutely awful. I don’t know what sort of torture you’ve been putting him through, but none of it was necessary. I told you that I didn’t want him touched!”_ _

__“I didn’t fuck him if that’s what you’re implying.” Alden snapped. Lady Grantham let out a horrified noise of shock at Alden’s foul language, “Alright, maybe I fingered him a bit but-“_ _

__Thomas put his face in his hands, absolutely humiliated._ _

__“Now look here!” Lord Grantham barked, outraged. “I don’t know what kind of language you deem acceptable in another man’s home, but I demand that you remember yourself at once and take those manacles off him, he is not your slave! He is my servant, and an omega of my staff! You will treat him with the respect that he deserves!”_ _

__“I’ll take off those chains when I’m good and ready!” Alden countered at once. “I haven’t handed him over to you yet.”_ _

__And as if to spite Lord Grantham further, Alden shot an arm out to grab Thomas tight around the waist so that he was yanked sharply back into Alden’s embrace and nearly off his feet. Thomas staggered, his vision still swimming, but he wasn’t blind to the way Lady Mary gaped in anger nor to how Carson looked ready to have an aneurism._ _

__Alden reached up, and though it was unnecessary he stroked a curled finger up and down over Thomas’ cheek. Thomas gritted his teeth to keep from shrieking aloud, staring straight at Lord Grantham as if he could silently express his horror at his situation._ _

__Lord Grantham was absolutely scandalized, shocked to see how Thomas was treated like an animal even in the presence of the upper class._ _

__“So. You’re back home in your little castle, safe and sound. Just the way you wanted.” Alden turned his face into Thomas’ ear, his breath heating the skin of Thomas’ neck and cheek._ _

__“It doesn’t have to be like this Thomas.” Alden reminded him with gentle care, as if he hadn’t just let Thomas fall three feet in a stone cold drop to smash to the floor. “This Toff is gonna run out of money at some point, Thomas. I could give you eternal security. I could give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” And at this Alden let his hand trail down Thomas’ right side till it was dangerously close to groping his arse through his navy blue dress._ _

__“Loyalty isn’t bought, Alden.” Thomas bit out, “As a farmer’s son, you should know that.”_ _

__“I suppose I can’t change your mind then?”_ _

__“No. You cannot.”_ _

__Alden let him go, almost shoved him off so that Thomas stumbled forward and nearly tripped with his eyes lost on Lord Grantham’s face. He shuddered, nauseas, but remained upright. He wondered if now, he would finally be free of Alden’s burning caress._ _

__Thane came forward, setting down Thomas’ valise to fish through his pockets for the keys to Thomas’ manacles. He unlocked Thomas’ wrists first, and Thomas immediately rubbed against the skin of his wrists where they’d chaffed. Thane dropped to bended knee, and unlocked Thomas’ feet._ _

__He was free._ _

__Thomas immediately walked several paces more into the library, turning so that he could finally face Alden and Thane instead of having to have his back to them. In a way he wanted to run. To flee; but he feared that to do so would bring about another wave of punishment and a chloroformed ride back to Dover Castle._ _

__“Right.” Thane folded up the manacles with care till they were in a bundle that could be stowed in his overcoat pocket again. He, unlike Alden, was clearly keeping a more professional edge to this meeting, “Now, remember you little runner-“ He pointed a finger in Thomas’ face, “Your late alpha knew you to be a loving and tender omega. You treat that Lord behind you just the same, or you’ll be letting down Edward in more ways than one. It’s your duty as an omega to care for alphas. Edward’s dead, so put it out of your head that you need to be loyal to him. Your Lord is alive, and so are the other alphas in the house.” Thane gestured to both Carson and Lady Mary._ _

__When Thomas did not reply, Thane flashed him an ugly look of warning, “I’m gonna need to hear an answer on that, omega.”_ _

__“Yes, alpha.” Thomas said at once._ _

__Lady Mary bristled when she heard the words slip past Thomas’ lips. It was like they’d burned her ears._ _

__“I think you’ve got what you came for. You can leave now.” Lady Mary said in an ugly voice._ _

__“Until next time, Thomas.” Alden warned._ _

__“There won’t be a next time.” Lady Mary said._ _

__“Touchy.” Alden sized her up, and clearly found her without want. Thomas had to admit, if he was forced to go against someone he wouldn’t want it to be Lady Mary. “If it’s your intent to breed him, you better do it soon.”_ _

__Lady Mary looked taken aback._ _

__“He had an offer from another lord on our train ride over here. Almost gave him away too, for the cash I was offered.” Alden sneered._ _

__“Get out of my house!” Lord Grantham thundered.  
Alden glared at him, opening his mouth as if to make another retort, but Thane held up a hand clearly marking the interaction over. Alden would chew at a toy till it fell apart in his mouth. Thane knew when to back off. _ _

__Thane picked up Thomas’ valise and put it pointedly down in front of Thomas, turning away to lead Alden out of the library. Thomas would have been a fool to miss the way Alden looked over his shoulder, as if longing to take Thomas with him._ _

__Thane shut the door to the library.  
They were gone._ _

__It took Thomas a good solid minute and a half to stop feeling afraid.  
When that feeling left, the only thing in its wake was burning anger. _ _

__

__The sound of the door closing was as dooming as that of a church bell pealing for a death._ _

__Thomas slowly turned glared at Robert Crawley, with all the heat of a thousand suns, and felt no shame. So much of his life had been spent around kowtowing to this man, that Thomas had built up a bizarre wall inside of himself that curbed off bad behavior in Lord Grantham’s presence. He didn’t know if it was physically possible within the boundaries of the laws of the universe to curse in front of Lord Grantham… but he was willing to give it a good old fashioned try._ _

__“Barrow…” Lord Grantham composed himself, looking righteously ashamed, “Thomas.” He folded his hands behind his back, “I hope that you’re alright.”_ _

__Thomas said nothing, a stiff silence encapsulating their audience. Lady Mary watched them all through sharp eyes, noticing everything. Her dominance was wielded like a knife during tensions such at this._ _

__Mr. Carson on the other hand looked very disturbed._ _

__Amazing how alphas could… differ._ _

__When it became clear that Thomas was not going to answer, Lord Grantham continued on just as soft and elegant as before, “I confess after you were taken away, I felt that I might have reacted poorly. Perhaps I could have done something else, taken you somewhere else. To another type of facility.”_ _

__“There is no other type.” Thomas replied, and he did it with such sharpness that Lord Grantham was obviously taken aback._ _

__“You will watch your tone.” Mr. Carson warned him, angry that he should dare to speak in such an unrefined way to his employer and Lord._ _

__“Or what?” Thomas snapped, much louder than one would usually permit for a library or in front of a member of the upper class. “You’ll call the Brigade on me?”_ _

__Lord Grantham looked away, obviously guilty._ _

__“I think they’re still out on the driveway if you want to call them back. God knows Alden would love one more chance to SQUEEZE MY ARSE AGAIN!”_ _

__It had started at a loud tone, but by the time he was finished with his retort, Thomas was flat out screaming. He’d not shouted so loudly since he’d been shouting for mercy in the Dive, and his heart was pounding just as fast in his breast. Hammering. Wanting to escape from between his ribs and beat Lord Grantham relentlessly in the face._ _

__No comment followed his scream. Mr. Carson just seemed to shocked to speak. Lord Grantham, too guilty. The others, too transfixed._ _

__“… I was wrong.” Lord Grantham finally replied, trying to make an apology._ _

__“Oh you were more than wrong.” Thomas shuddered at the implications of it all. If Thomas was wrong, a table linen got folded incorrectly. If Robert Crawley was wrong he got sent to the fucking dive._ _

__Was there a word for men like that?  
Yes. Yes there was. _ _

__“You were a bastard!” Thomas said with a vindictive finger in the man’s face.  
Lord Grantham was shocked, taken aback. It was clear that no one had ever called him a bastard in his life. _ _

__Lady Grantham came out from behind her husband, absolutely scandalized. “How-!” She cried out, clearly about to give Thomas the tarnishing he so ‘rightly deserved’._ _

__“A bastard!” Thomas would not let her continue, would not hear her words. Not when he had so many of his own to claim. He would be thrown out now, and thank god for it. “The things they did to me!” He did not know where to start, “The things they said to me. D’you know, they drugged me on my way there. I woke up in a torture cell, bound to two different poles. Kneeling on gravel!” The memories were staining the inside of his head, breaking him, making it difficult to breathe, “Do you know what they did to me?!” Thomas could still feel that hand, worming its way up inside of him. Could still feel the others holding him down, “They left me there, for god knows how long, to fucking rot in my own filth! An’ you put me there! Signed me away!”_ _

___“Like how your cunt needs attention”_ he could hear Alden’s voice in his head, stabbing him wildly in the brain so that he suddenly brought his hands up to his head, shocked. _ _

__“They…” Thomas took a jagged breath, disturbed. It was almost like he was back in Dover castle._ _

___“All you are is a fuckable hole”_ _ _

__“Christ the things they said.” Thomas was back to whispering again, somehow. His throat was raw. Oh right… he’d been screaming. “They… they wanted to rape me. They talked about it… they were delighted in it. They did whatever they wanted, and said you gave them the permission to do it.”_ _

__Lord Grantham was speechless.  
Lady Grantham was still quiet, but seemed to have lost her nerve. Her lips were pursed tight, trying to keep all of her anger in.   
Lady Mary wasn’t even blinking, her eyes locked on Thomas. _ _

__Carson… god only knows what state Carson was in right now._ _

__“I do not, have not, will never condone the methods of the Brigade.” Lord Grantham said. In a way, Thomas believed him, but still…_ _

__“Then why did you send me there?” Thomas demanded, “Knowing what they would do?”_ _

__“Because you attacked me!” Lord Grantham said, “Because you lied to us all-!”_ _

__“Good! I’m glad I got a little of my own back after so many years here!” Thomas would not budge an inch, “But there is nothing that could ever make us even after the dive! You can never heal what they did to me there! What they let happen to me! What they let-“_ _

___“Could you stop me from fucking your hole till it gushed with seed?”_ _ _

___“—Put my cock in all your holes, rip you open—!”_ _ _

__Thomas stumbled back, clapping a hand over his mouth. For a second he was almost certain he was going to be violently ill, and shuddered as he tasted bile in the back of his throat. He took a deep breath, disturbed to feel a misting in his eyes. Why wouldn’t the voices in his head go away? What could he do to make them stop?_ _

__“…You condemned me to hell.” Thomas swallowed, his voice terribly raw, “For inconveniencing you. That was your doing. That was your… decision.”_ _

__Lord Grantham pursed his lips, then met Thomas dead on with calm eyes full of acceptance, “I know that it was the wrong decision now.”_ _

__“That’s not good enough.” Thomas replied at once._ _

__“Well I don’t know what else can be done.” He said._ _

__“I could think of one or two things.” Mostly involving a revolver and shooting a man dead._ _

__Lord Grantham shifted, obviously uncomfortable. Thomas wondered how more uncomfortable he would be with gravel under his knees_ _

__“What about the family of your alpha, the Courtenay’s-“_ _

__Thomas burst out laughing. It was a frustrated dry thing and he didn’t entertain it for long, almost screaming again as he huffed and puffed. “Oh for gods sake, did you actually swallow that?!” He demanded angrily._ _

__Lord Grantham looked taken aback again, “But-“_ _

__“It was a lie!” Thomas snarled, “I said it to get out of their fucking clutches! To get away from being raped by them! I said what I had to to survive! They’d never respect me, what am I to them but a hole- their words not mine!” He cried out. Lady Grantham clapped her hands to her mouth, absolutely scandalized to hear Thomas say such a thing. Lady Mary blinked several times, shifting in her stance as if having to swallow something acrid. “That’s all I was to them. They made sure I knew it, but an alpha they would respect so I plucked one up and flung it at them for sacrifice!”_ _

__“I know that you are suffering greatly but I would appreciate it if you could curb your language-“ Lord Grantham warned, “You are offending my omega, and everyone else in the room.”_ _

__“Oh.” Thomas reeled in back in at once, talking in a calm volume, “I’m so sorry, is my mentioning the fact that they were sexually assaulting me for sport making you feel… offended?” He blinked, tilting his head to the side, “My, how very inconvenient for you.”_ _

__Lord Grantham ground his jaw back and forth, closing his eyes only to rub at his brow with an errant hand._ _

__Thomas took a steadying breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. “Not all of it was a lie.” He said bitterly. “But parts of it were, yes, and it worked. I’m here, I’m free, I’m away from my _rapist_ ,” Thomas spat the word bitterly, “By my own hand. By my own doing. Not yours.” He sniffed, and wiped at the corners of both his eyes. “And now… you are going to let me go. Because I’ve said the word ‘fuck’ in your presence, and have spoken about indecent things in an ungrateful tone.. and you have no room for an underbutler or anything so superficial. So you will give me what I am due, and let me go without a fuss.” Thomas spoke with deadly calm now. “Because you know that you have no other way out of this shame.” _ _

__“No.” Lord Grantham dropped his hand, fixing Thomas with a calm stare again, “I cannot do that.”_ _

__“Oh, not finished with me then?” Thomas summoned up vulgarity one more time, “What could you possible want from me, unless…” He tutted, “Unless Alden was right, and you really are interested in breeding me—“_ _

__“For god’s sake man!” Lord Grantham exploded angrily at the word, “Don’t be vulgar with me, I’m on your side!”_ _

__Thomas refused to believe such nonsense, but stopped all the same. He folded his arms over his chest, waiting impatiently to hear Robert’s verdict._ _

__Robert Crawley- he would never think of him as Lord Grantham again.  
He’d lost that title in Thomas’ eyes. _ _

__Lady Grantham reached out, timidly touching her husband’s elbow. She stroked the muscle she found there, offering him her silent support. What a sweet sweet omega, she was._ _

__“Robert, your stomach.” Lady Grantham murmured, so soft one might not have even heard, “Don’t upset yourself.”_ _

__But Thomas was suddenly remembering other sweet sweet omegas. Like Daphne, the pregnant child._ _

__“…Alden has a mate that’s fifteen.” Thomas spoke up. Lady Grantham looked about, quite disturbed. Thomas didn’t even speak to her, looking out the library window. “She’s seven months pregnant, and she’s younger than Gertie the scullery maid.” Thomas bowed his head, remembering how pale and limp Daphne had been upon the bed. The last time Thomas had seen an omega as distressed as that… it had been Lady Sybil before her horrific death. “She’s a baby, an’ she’s bound to him forever. His prisoner. He has three omegas, and all of them are utterly brainwashed.” God his head was beginning to pound. Thomas massaged his temples a bit, “One practically a child… about to have a child herself.”_ _

__“That’s utterly disgusting.” Robert said. Thomas agreed._ _

__“They locked me in a cage… in the basement.” He looked to Robert at this, making sure their eyes connected as he spoke. He did not know what Robert would see in his eyes, but Lady Grantham certainly looked disturbed. “For two hours, in a room with thirty men…. all of them alphas… all of them in rut.” Thomas spat the word._ _

__Robert started a bit, his eyes widening. Lady Mary shifted again on her chair, disturbed._ _

__“Alden let them do as they pleased with me.” Thomas said, “Course, my cage kept the alphas from truly gang raping me, but they could get me if they stuck their hands far enough through the bars. And most of them didn’t even have to do that.”_ _

__Most of them had just masturbated onto him, covering him with acrid cum._ _

__“… That’s what the dive is, if you’re curious. Do you know why they call it that?” Thomas decided on the spot, suddenly seeing the poetic justice in it all, “Because it’s the omegan dive from grace.”_ _

__“My god.” Lady Mary seemed the only one in the room truly understanding the implications of the dive.._ _

__“…Thomas, I can never take back what has occurred to you, but I can at least make your transition slightly easier.” Lord Grantham said._ _

__“Let me go.” Thomas demanded. “Let me leave.”_ _

__“No, I’m afraid you’ll be harmed,” Lord Grantham admitted, “I can’t guarantee your safety beyond these walls and… frankly.. I don’t want you to leave.” He sounded ashamed again, “You’re part of the old crowd, and those days are dimming around me.”_ _

__Thomas rolled his eyes, unmoved, “From Dover to Downton, I’m imprisoned all over again.” He declared. “Christ, at least this time I won’t be stuck with rutting alphas in a cage.” So that was something, wasn’t it?_ _

__And he was ashamed to admit the rest, “I wanted so badly when I was there to be home. I begged to go home. Every day.” He wondered if they might imagine what begging did to him. To his spirit, “Begged.”_ _

__“And home you are at last.” Robert said, in a tone that one could imagine was endearing._ _

__Thomas felt very tired in that moment. Exhausted. As if he was finally truly realizing that he was away from Alden and the Brigade. He wanted to fall into a bed and never rise out of it again. He looked up at Robert Crawley, finding him sympathetic and understanding. “So there is no way you will let me leave this place?”_ _

__“Not until I can find a way to guarantee your safety, Thomas.” He said, “I’ve done you a grave injustice. Allow me the opportunity to help you.”_ _

__“And until then?” Thomas asked, “It was clear that you didn’t want me back in June. Am I to wait for the next… bath?” He could barely believe he said it even as the word slipped past his lips. It was too macabre. Too real. Too horrible._ _

__“Don’t say such things.” Robert urged at once. It seemed his word had had grave implications to Robert too. “Don’t even allow your mind to wander there. You’re better than that.”_ _

__“I’m really not.” Thomas corrected him._ _

__He considered what it would mean for him to be stuck inside of Downton. He decided that he would refuse to work, would refuse to be complaint. Lord Grantham would only hang onto him for so long, for where Alden had been a hunt dog tearing into prey, Lord Grantham was a lap dog not meant for a life of hardship. A chew toy was only so endearing to him, anyway._ _

__“I won’t be compliant.” He warned. “I won’t scrape the floor anymore, or mind my p’s and q’s. Not after the Brigade. I want to leave, and I won’t give you any reason to keep me here.”_ _

__“Thomas, please.” Lord Grantham’s tone had turned unbelievably gentle, “Don’t be ungenerous.”_ _

__“No, I’ll leave that to you lot.” Thomas said._ _

__He thought this might be the beginning of another angry argument, and maybe it would have been if Lady Mary had not gotten to him first. She stepped forward, the red fringe of her dress swishing a bit at her hips._ _

__“I don’t suppose you put me in that crowd?” She asked._ _

__It was difficult to say if he did. Lady Mary could be an absolute tyrant, as Lady Edith knew well. At the same time, however, Thomas had always felt an odd sort of kinship with her. Maybe she’d felt it too. With the ceiling/floor dividing them of downstairs/upstairs, they’d held a bizarrely similar stance in their opposite circles._ _

__That, and she’d taken an omegan male. Had adored him endlessly, and allowed him to do as he pleased._ _

__“I never agreed to the Brigade.” Lady Mary declared in that lofty voice she often held. “I never thought it necessary. And… forgive me if I’m forward, but I had a feeling that you were an omega when you started caring for the children.” She walked up to him, till they were before one another. “You’ve been given a terrible injustice, but you are safe here, Barrow. Even if only for now.”_ _

__Thomas looked down, bitter as he realized that what she was saying was quite true. He was safe, but imprisoned._ _

__He wondered if it was worth it, until he remembered the horrific feeling of Alden’s hands invading his cleft with itchy need. He shuddered in spite of himself._ _

__“Don’t forget, Thomas.” Lady Mary said, “Matthew was an omega.”  
He doubted he would ever forget. Matthew had been the first male omega he’d met._ _

__“I have experience with your kind,” Lady Mary continued on, “And I’m not known to be ungenerous.”_ _

__“I know, M’lady.” Thomas would give credit where credit was due._ _

__“I’m hoping you’ll be generous with me too.” Lady Mary said, “With my family.”_ _

__“No..” He knew that he was being foolish now. To act petulant and wild like a chastised toddler. Acting out would not make his stay at Downton any easier. It was difficult to say whether he’d be here for months or years. “No of course, M’lady.”_ _

__“Matthew’s struggles were my struggles.” Lady Mary seemed pleased that he was coming to her terms, and it showed in her voice, “It was almost impossible for him to be a solicitor. His education and wealth made it possible, but it was a very tough battle.”_ _

__Thomas nodded, remembering how Matthew had often been mocked by guests during large dinners. How they’d openly remarked that Matthew ought to be pregnant by now, not practicing law._ _

__“What I’m trying to say, Thomas, is that I understand your position intimately, and I’m sorry that you’re in it. But as we both know, nothing can be done.” She clasped her hands._ _

__Still. He found it only comforting to know Lady Mary understood. “Thank you M’lady, for saying that.”_ _

__“I admire you, Thomas.” She said, and it was clear she was honest. “I admire your spirit.”_ _

__It was then that Carson made a noise, the tiniest little titch in the back of his throat like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was no small secret that Carson adored Lady Mary, fawned over her really, and would usually flat out agree with her on any subject big or small. It seemed they’d finally discovered one subject he would never agree upon… Thomas’ spirit being admirable._ _

__“I suppose you’re tired and want to rest now?” Lady Mary asked._ _

__“Yes M’lady.” Thomas was on the verge of collapsing, so exhausted that he couldn’t make much sense of the world around him. Maybe it was a side effect of the chloroform._ _

__“Take a few days off.” Was Lady Mary’s instruction. “Get back into the swing of things. Mrs. Hughes can sort you out, can’t she, Carson?” Lady Mary looked to her adoring butler, and found him bowing his head in subjection._ _

__“Certainly, M’lady.” He said smoothly._ _

__“Then we’ll see what can be done?” Lord Grantham spoke up. Thomas did not so much as look at him. “Look into avenues for your future?”_ _

__He didn’t even want to think about what that might mean. “M’lord.” Was all Thomas could manage, a bitter pallid thing._ _

__He turned to go, but was stopped by Lady Mary who called out to him just as he reached the library door. It did not surprise him that Carson was right on his heel, having gone so far as to collect Thomas’ sordid valise from behind the couch._ _

__“Thomas, if you need an ally, know that you have one in me.” Lady Mary may not have realized how much her words meant to him, particularly when she was an alpha, and member of the upper class. Not to mention so close to Mr. Carson._ _

__“…Thank you, M’lady.” Thomas said.  
He pushed the library door open, and left the family standing there in his wake. _ _

__

__He knew he was in for it. He knew Carson was going to steam roll him for daring to be so insolent and vile in front of the family. It wouldn’t matter that Thomas had suffered terribly, that he’d been sexually assaulted and abused for the past month by a monster. That he’d been drugged, shuffled back and forth with little regard like an animal. All that would matter to Carson was that his lord had been inconvenienced._ _

__Inconvenienced by Thomas’ sexual assault._ _

__As Thomas opened the green baize door, his first direction was to go up the stairs before anyone could see him. He got up four steps before Mr. Carson followed in after him and stopped him on the curve. “Mrs. Hughes will see you in my office.” His cold tone boded ill._ _

__Thomas considered for a solid minute simply turning and going back down the stairs.  
But he was past that, and as far as he was concerned he did not want to be in Downton Abbey anymore. He wanted to be free. He could not be free and under Carson’s thumb. _ _

__“Goodnight.” Was all Thomas said.  
He continued on up the stairs. _ _

__Thomas started off at a regular pace but soon began to run, practically tripping over his bare feet. He didn’t know if Carson was behind him. He didn’t know if Carson would drag him from his room or merely let him go. Somehow Carson had morphed into his captor, where before it had been Alden. Suddenly the weight of what had happened to him over the past three weeks was coming back to slam him in the stomach, making him emotionally vulnerable and frightened. He wanted to run and hide. To never be found again._ _

__He reached the top and ran for his bedroom, opening the door to fling himself inside. He slammed the door shut, grabbing his desk chair in the hope of shoving it under the doorknob and make a poor man’s lock._ _

__He might have gone through with it, save for the slight problem that his possessions were missing from atop his desk._ _

__He stopped, hands still upon the back of his chair.  
Usually on top of his desk there were several newspapers and books, periodicals he might have been reading. Now there was nothing. _ _

__Where had his things gone?_ _

__Thomas straightened up, and looked over his shoulder at his bedside table._ _

__His lamp was still there. So was his chair and his curtains._ _

__But everything else was not._ _

__His bureau was completely empty. All his bottles, tinctures, and hygienic items were removed. Shocked, Thomas stumbled over to run his hands along the white washed wood as if he might find feel the items out in an invisible realm. His hands drifted down to the top drawer of his bureau._ _

__He yanked it open.  
Nothing was in there. _ _

__His most personal items; books that he’d collected, photographs of beautiful places and people he’d loved, trinkets that he’d picked up from a lifetime having to serve others._ _

__All of them gone. All of them—_ _

__Thomas gaped, stumbled, tripped, and found himself sliding against his bed. All of his things…._ _

__Where had his things gone?  
What had they done with his things? _ _

__Thomas’ emotions were rolling high. He was fragile, confused, and full of turmoil.  
And his things were gone. _ _

__His precious things; a pair of Sybil’s jade earrings, his grandfather’s old pocket watch, letters from his sister… post cards from Christmas and Easter. A picture of Jimmy Kent that he’d salvaged. An autographed copy of Poems by Oscar Wilde, found on the off chance in a throw away bin of books from a second hand store. A pair of cufflinks given to him by the Duke of Crowborrow during their summer dalliance._ _

__All of them gone._ _

__Thomas began to see black spots dance before his vision, his heart pounding in his throat as he slumped against his bed frame._ _

__“Where are my things?” He said aloud, his voice weak and high. He felt like he was spinning; like he was sucking in Chloroform instead of air again._ _

__He rolled, grabbing at the wood beneath him till his nails scratched in the grooves.  
He needed to see Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, to get the answer out of them. They were behind this, he was certain. They’d had no right to touch his things, no right at all! _ _

__But it seemed they knew he’d come to this conclusion, for in the door to his bedroom was open and several people were in its frame._ _

__Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes watched him carefully, with Baxter between them. Mrs. Hughes and Baxter in particular seemed to have realized that a terrible line had been crossed._ _

__“My things!” Thomas’ blubbering voice was far from dominating, but Thomas’ anger certainly got across either way, “What have you done with my things?!” He staggered to his feet, weaving to and fro and he went first to his bedside table, then back to his top bureau drawer. Where had all his things gone. “What did you do to them? Did you throw them away?! Did you wait even an hour after I’d been kidnapped?!” Thomas wheeled around, panting in wild gusts. His eyes were seeing stars and black spots. He felt like he might faint from stress._ _

__“Don’t be silly!” Baxter urged, in that obnoxiously endearing tone of hers, “We’d never have done such a thing.”_ _

__“Your things are in your room.” Mrs. Hughes explained gently. “You can’t sleep on the alpha side anymore, Thomas. Not when you’re an omega.”_ _

__“You just- you just went through my things?” He couldn’t believe the insensitivity of it, especially coming from Mrs. Hughes and Baxter. “You didn’t even wait for me to come home? You just- took them and- and-“ He gestured with his hands back and forth, mimicking throwing._ _

__“For heavens sake!” Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t stand for the allegations, “We didn’t throw your things about. Ms. Baxter and I carefully put your things in your new room on the omegan side. We didn’t chuck them like they were rotten fruit.”_ _

__Thomas went back over to his bureau, staring into the open top drawer to touch where Jimmy Kent’s picture had once lain._ _

__He sniffed, stroking the white washed wood. He couldn’t consider keeping any bedroom but this one. This had always been his room, even when he’d been but a junior footman in 1910._ _

__“Nothing to say?” Mr. Carson spoke up, stepping into Thomas’ bedroom to stand by Thomas’ desk. He looked furious, in that cold and ugly way that he often reserved pointedly for Thomas alone. Thomas knew that after his display downstairs, he’d be lucky to get away without Carson wringing his neck._ _

__Thomas said nothing, looking away._ _

__“Shocking.” Mr. Carson snapped, “I’d expected you to deliver a speech worthy of Shakespeare. You certainly had a good time of it downstairs, milking his Lordship’s kindness. Are you completely without shame?”_ _

__“Leave me alone.” Thomas pleaded, walking completely around the room so that he was as far away from Carson as possible. To occupy himself, he opened up his wardrobe to find that all of his clothes were gone, including his old livery._ _

__“To call his Lordship, a man of good character and grace, a bastard!” Mr. Carson just didn’t know what to say anymore; god help him, he was trying though. “How could you say such a thing to him? Particularly after the way you attacked him so viciously! His Lordship would never condone such disgusting behaviors that the Brigade display, and yet you continue to provoke, forgetting your place! Do you have anything to say in your defense, save for your…” Carson didn’t seem to know the proper word, “Theatrics?”_ _

__But Thomas had nothing to say, too shaken and confused to make out a proper sentence. Thomas ran a hand continuously through his hair, leaning up against his wardrobe._ _

___“I could keep you tied up here till your next heat. I could have an alpha fuck you through it, and bite your neck.”__ _

__Thomas staggered, a bizarre whimpering noise blurting from his throat as he pressed his hands over his ears. He realized he looked insane and brought his hands around to his eyes, rubbing them aggressively._ _

__

___“All you are is a fuckable hole.”__ _

__“God.” Thomas blurted out._ _

__A hand reached out and touched him on the shoulder._ _

__Thomas jerked so violently away that he banged his opposite elbow against his wardrobe. He flattened himself against the far wall, hands up in front of his face to find Mrs. Hughes startled with a hand outstretched like she’d just made to touch him._ _

__“Don’t touch me!” Thomas barked in a fright._ _

__Mrs. Hughes pulled her hand back at once._ _

__“I’m sorry.” She did not make excuses for herself, nor did she sound angry. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”_ _

__“I can’t be touched.” Thomas blurted out, which made no sense. “I can’t. Please don’t-“ He waved a hand about, rubbing his head again. “You don’t understand.” He didn’t know what else to say. “You don’t understand what they did to me.”_ _

__Mrs. Hughes was crestfallen._ _

__“They just… touched me so much.” Thomas wondered if he would ever be able to encapsulate his trauma accurately. He doubted it._ _

__Mr. Carson looked decidedly uncomfortable._ _

__Thomas run a hand through his hair again. Without pomade, the strands fell constantly into his eyes. It was without class, but he felt too tired to stand anymore. He slunk to his bed, sitting down upon it till the mattress springs began to groan under his weight. His feet felt incredibly cold. His bones, incredibly tired._ _

__He leaned, only to lay his head against his long loved pillow. He closed his eyes, wondering if the world might let him sleep._ _

__“This is no longer your room.” Mr. Carson warned, “Do not get comfortable.”_ _

__Thomas refused to open his eyes._ _

__“Thomas…” Mrs. Hughes carefully sat at the edge of his bed, the springs squeaking again as her weight was added to his own. Her tone was gentle, beloved. “You must know how terribly relieved we are to see you back. We worried about you so.”_ _

__“Things must change.” Mr. Carson declared. “Your position in this house can no longer be what it was. To have an omega hold a position as high as an under butler is unheard of. His Lordship, despite your ridiculous displays, does not wish you to leave the safety of the abbey. Frankly…” Mr. Carson’s voice drifted off. He sounded begrudging. “Frankly, neither do I.”_ _

__“It’s too dangerous for you, to be out in the world.” Mrs. Hughes murmured. She did not make to touch him, but her presence was constant. “An alpha could take you and we’d never see you again. I couldn’t bear that.”_ _

__“An alpha already did.” Thomas said bitterly into his pillow.  
Mrs. Hughes fell silent. _ _

__“…I want you to be my personal assistant.” Mrs. Hughes said, gently. “You’d be something of a maid, though nothing that simple of course. We can really bring the house up to scratch between the two of us while his Lordship works out your situation.”_ _

__“My situation.” Thomas muttered, slowly sitting up again. He opened his eyes, to find that Mrs. Hughes was quite close to him. “Is that what we’re calling it now a days?”_ _

__“Until there is a better term for it? Yes.” Mrs. Hughes gave him a rather stern look._ _

__“I don’t want to be here.” Thomas beseeched, “Can’t you just let me go?”_ _

__“For heaven’s sake, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes seemed to be having a hard time knowing what to say. It wasn’t a surprise; this situation hardly happened every day. There was a textbook response for every situation under the sun as far as servants were concerned, save for this one._ _

__“If we were to let you go, within an hour you’d be crawling up the walls begging to be let back in!” Mr. Carson warned him, “With twenty men on your tail— ungentlemanly men I add!”_ _

__“Oh heaven forbid a man be ungentlemanly!” Thomas rose up from bed, crossing his arms angrily over his chest, “What’ll happen next, he might just squeeze MY-!” Thomas began again, ready to thunder out more angry words, but was stopped short by a look of cold fury on Mr. Carson’s face._ _

__“Oh!” He harrumphed, throwing his hands up and turning away, “I can never talk to you. I’m always in the wrong.”_ _

__“Well then why don’t you start trying to be in the right?” Mr. Carson demanded. “It might do you a pleasant change of scenery.”_ _

__“What do I look like, the Bahamas?” Thomas snapped._ _

__“Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes was up off the bed again, behind him and touching him ever so timidly upon his elbows. “Come now, see sense, do be reasonable?” She turned him back around, forcing his arms down. He stared at her begrudgingly, feeling a bit like a child under her gaze. “Mr. Carson only wants what’s best for you—“_ _

__“Really we all do.” Baxter added helpfully._ _

__“And can’t you see that what’s best for you is to be here, where it’s safe, until his Lordship can find somewhere else that’s safe for you to go?” Mrs. Hughes said._ _

__Thomas narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking left and right across the floor as he thought._ _

__“… So long as he isn’t going to marry me off.” Thomas said._ _

__An uncomfortable silence fell._ _

__“Why is no one speaking.” Thomas asked._ _

__Mr. Carson looked close to sweating, “His Lordship will do whatever he thinks is best.” He decided, “And since he’s the one who’s been to Eton, we’ll leave the thinking up to him!”_ _

__“That’s right.” Mrs. Hughes agreed. She was starting to pull him along by the elbow again, urging him towards the open door, “And while he’s thinking, we’ll do a bit of tidying up. There’s always something to do for a maid, I can tell you.”_ _

__“But what livery shall I wear?” Thomas demanded._ _

__“Livery- oh heavens no I wouldn’t dream of putting you in a livery, Thomas. You’ll wear a ladies maid’s uniform now, a bit like what I wear. We didn’t have one suited for an omegan male before you left, but her ladyship was kind enough to have a pattern ordered for Ms. Baxter and she made one that’s quite spiffy. It’s a little different than you’re typical dress, not so frilly or feminine. But you’ll have to wear a corset mind you!” Mrs. Hughes warned, “We had to buy that too.”_ _

__“Corset- are you joking?” Thomas could only follow where she led, out of his room and down the men’s hallway towards the ominous glass paned door that divided them. “I won’t do such a thing! And I won’t wear a dress either!”_ _

__“Come along, and don’t talk back now.” Mrs. Hughes just kept pulling him._ _

__“I won’t be a maid!”_ _

__“You’re not a maid, you’re my assistant!” Mrs. Hughes corrected him._ _

__“And I won’t sleep in a girl’s room!”_ _

__“It’s not a girl’s room, it’s your room- honestly you haven’t even seen it yet, you might like it better!”_ _

__“Why can’t I sleep in my own room?”_ _

__“You will be sleeping in your own room, haven’t you been listening to what I’m saying-?”_ _

__“But-!”_ _

__“You can’t sleep on the same side as Andrew! He’s an alpha, and he’s unbound. It’s just not done. What if he were to go into rut, or you into an unplanned heat? It could spell disaster!”_ _

__“Mrs. Patmore’s an alpha!”_ _

__“Mrs. Patmore hasn’t had a rut in twenty years, I’ll mind you. Not that you’re going to be speaking of such things to her!”_ _

__Thomas looked back over his shoulder to where Baxter and Mr. Carson were exiting his room. Carson shut his door, looking quite pleased to have that whole event over with. Mrs. Hughes stopped before the dividing door, fiddling with the key and the lock._ _

__“And how am I to wear a dress?” Thomas demanded angrily, despite the fact he was already wearing one, “After working in this house for nearly twenty years as a-“_ _

__“As a beta, which you are not?” Mrs. Hughes snapped. Thomas flushed, embarrassed at being caught in a lie, “Thomas, I wouldn’t let Anna or Ms. Baxter wear trousers either.”_ _

__“But they’re women!” Thomas begged, “I’m a man! I belong in trousers! It’s undignified!”_ _

__“What’s undignified is for a male omega as pretty as yourself to be stuck in something as gloomy as a footman’s trousers.” Mrs. Hughes corrected him, “You have lovely legs and you ought to show them off.”_ _

__“I cannot believe we are having this conversation.” Mr. Carson rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, as if praying for god to intervene._ _

__“It’s the law, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes warned, “If you were to go around in trousers, it would be seen as indecent. This house has let many of the old ways slip to keep up with the times, but I’m afraid the necessity for omegas to wear dresses is not one of them. It’s not such a bad dress!” She unlocked the door and swung it wide for him to finally step beyond. Despite having worked in the house for nearly twenty years, he’d never seen the inside of the women’s hall. “Ms. Baxter made sure it was decent. It’s got a nice waist line- it’ll go well with your eyes! It’s black with cream. It’s very fashionable.”_ _

__Thomas felt like crying for the indignity of it all. He stared longingly at the hallway of the men’s side, eyes drifting back to his old bedroom and his faithful door. He’d lived for so long in that room he couldn’t possibly imagine life without it. It just didn’t seem right or fair._ _

__“… Can I please just go to bed?” He asked Mrs. Hughes._ _

__“Just one moment.” Mr. Carson was walking up the hall. Thomas found it within himself not to shrink against the doorframe, but only just barely. Did Carson realize how domineering and powerful he looked when he took up nearly all the walking space?_ _

__Suddenly it was Thomas, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Carson in an odd talking triangle, leaving poor Baxter to wait at the end of the hall like the fourth wheel. Mr. Carson had drawn himself up to his impressive full height and was clearly trying to look intimidating while calm at the same time. It was an effect that only Mr. Carson could pull off, where other men would just look deranged or bored._ _

__“I have spoken with both Dr. Clarkson and his Lordship regarding… your condition.” Mr. Carson said delicately. Thomas felt his stomach flip-flop wildly at the word, “It has been made clear to me that you may be in a delicate way for some time until your body has sorted out a… rhythm, if you will.”_ _

__Thomas blinked. Mr. Carson seemed on the verge of sweating again._ _

__“If at any time you start feeling…unwell…” Thomas doubted that was the actual word Mr. Carson wanted to use, “You will tell me. Immediately. We shall have no repeats of July.”_ _

__The difficult thing was that Thomas had no idea whether Mr. Carson was talking about his heat, or his attempted suicide. He supposed both were viable options in the realms of indecency. For being a man who abhorred the word, Mr. Carson seemed to know every corner of its map._ _

__“I think that’s got that sorted out.” Mrs. Hughes said hastily, giving her alpha an eye that clearly said ‘we will talk about this later, you clot’. “Ms. Baxter, why don’t you sort Thomas out a tray and bring it to his room?” She asked. Baxter nodded, and took a step towards the distant stairwell._ _

__“I’m not hungry.” Thomas said, cutting her off. His stomach growled as if to spite him._ _

__“Something simple.” Mrs. Hughes overruled him. “Maybe a soup and buttered bread. Ms. Baxter, would you?”_ _

__“Of course, Mrs. Hughes.” Baxter followed the line at once, heading down the hallway to turn left at the stairwell. Thomas felt like he was going to be sick again._ _

__“I think I’m going to be sick.” Thomas admitted. “I still feel off from the Chloroform.”_ _

__“Oh, those beasts.” Mrs. Hughes tutted, turning to bring a hand up to his cheek which she tested with the backs of her fingers. “You’re as clammy as a scallop.” She looked down the hall._ _

__Mr. Carson turned to go, looking decidedly tuckered out. He left Thomas and Mrs. Hughes to their devices on the women’s side, and Mrs. Hughes quickly shut the door behind them so that his footsteps were slightly muffled through the pain of glass._ _

__Thomas watched as Mrs. Hughes continued up the hallway, wondering at the doors as he passed. He’d seen these doors for years, of course- only now had he ever been close enough to touch them. Thomas looked to his left, noting that the first door was Mrs. Patmore. Across from her was Gertie, the lone scullery maid._ _

__“Come on, Thomas.” She tutted.  
He supposed he had no choice but to follow her. _ _

__He went, walking slowly, noting how the wood felt beneath his bare feet._ _

__Mrs. Hughes was taking him all the way to the end of the hall, where two final doors sat. To the right was Daisy’s room, to the left was a door bearing the simple name tag of ‘Thomas’._ _

__So it seemed he’d come upon his dwelling._ _

__Mrs. Hughes opened the door and revealed the chamber beyond. It was just as bare and quiet as the other servant bedrooms, save that this one seemed to have a slightly bigger bed. It boasted a green velvet rocking chair, framed with dark carved wood, a tall shaded floor lamp whose olive fringe kept with the running color theme, and a bed whose mint quilt seemed just about the same. There was a bureau with a mirror, a dresser with a china pitcher and bowl, a dark writing desk in the far corner, and above all a very small fire place complete with a small poker set. Two skylights offered barely any light at this hour, so that the room seemed as dark and quiet as a tomb. Mrs. Hughes stepped inside and turned on the floor lamp, casting a soft yellow glow onto all the light touched._ _

__It was nice.  
It wasn’t his room, but it was nice. _ _

__“This is my old room,” Mrs. Hughes declared, which made sense since the bed was slightly bigger than his own and the furniture seemed more ornate. Thomas stepped tentatively inside, spotting a wardrobe just inside the door on the right. He went to it and opened it, only to find several dresses hanging where once there had been jackets, vests, and trousers. What was worse, when Thomas went to open the inner drawers of the dresser, he found that his pants had been replaced by (of all things) knickers._ _

__“Ms. Baxter is your next door neighbor, so I thought you’d all be very cozy—“ Mrs. Hughes said._ _

__“Mrs. Hughes-“ Thomas cut across. “Where are my pants?”_ _

__“Well…” Mrs. Hughes slowly shut his bedroom door, as if not wanting the word ‘pants’ to be overheard in the servant’s corridor._ _

__But of course. His pants were long gone._ _

__“Oh right.” Thomas drawled, “Omega’s don’t get to wear pants. Or trousers. Or anything with dignity. Did you at least donate them or did you merely set them on fire?”_ _

__Mrs. Hughes didn’t answer. When he turned, he found her looking downcast and reproachful._ _

__It had never been his intention to harm Mrs. Hughes, not when she’d been so kind to him for all his years, despite his fluctuating attitude. But over the past weeks, Thomas’ patience and understanding had been stretched to the maximum, and he’d now been reduced to a fluttering husk of a human being that only responded to the most primal of calls. He wanted to sleep for ages, and not be bothered. To take a bath for two years, and wash away all the filth of Dover. He wanted to purge. To forget. To stop existing._ _

__But that was a dangerous line of thought._ _

__“… Mrs. Hughes, I’m very tired.” Thomas said again, refusing to look at her anymore, “Let me go to bed.”_ _

__For a moment, Mrs. Hughes didn’t reply, and Thomas wondered if that was his leave to do as he wished and go to bed. But then she spoke again, so he remained where he stood… with his back to her, facing the wardrobe._ _

__“Thomas, I was so afraid.” She murmured, “I prayed every night for you. I prayed you’d be safe.”_ _

__He wondered if Mrs. Hughes could ever fathom the type of horror he’d witnessed while at Dover Castle. “It didn’t work.” He said._ _

__Mrs. Hughes drew closer. “I’m going to touch you now. I don’t want to startle you.” And when the feeling of hands upon his elbows became clear, he did not jump. Mrs. Hughes stroked the skin she found, rubbing her weathered thumbs back and forth across his bruised flesh._ _

__He felt his face crumpling, his tired emotional walls dropping to shatter like glass upon the concrete bottom of his jaded soul. He leaned heavily against the wardrobe, sniveling against the wood. Mrs. Hughes seemed triggered by this movement, and began to pat between his shoulder blades. Her fingers would shift every so often, going from patters to rubs as she tried to soothe him._ _

__“Oh there now,” She murmured “Don’t cry. Everything’s alright. You’re safe here. Safe and sound.”_ _

__But Thomas just couldn’t see how he was safe and sound now when only hours ago he’d been drugged unconscious in his kidnapper’s arms, nearly sold off on a train to a stranger._ _

__“So many things…” Thomas mumbled, though of course that made no sense and Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t understand its context._ _

__“I know.” She said anyway, “I know. But you’re home now. They can’t hurt you.”_ _

__Thomas doubted he’d ever feel safe again. “I wish I could believe that.”_ _

__

___“All you are is a fuckable hole.”__ _

__Thomas put his hands over his ears.  
That didn’t keep the voices out. _ _

___“I could keep you tied up here till your next heat. I could have an alpha fuck you through it, and bite your neck.”__ _

__Thomas sniveled.  
Mrs. Hughes just clung on tighter. _ _

__“Shh…” She murmured._ _

__“They said-“ Thomas was on the verge of telling her everything, “They said, all I was… was a f-“_ _

__But even as he was about to utter the vile words, there came a gentle rapping at the door. Thomas jerked back at once, nearly knocking into Mrs. Hughes as he wiped hurriedly at his eyes and coughed to control the trembling in his voice._ _

__The door opened to reveal Baxter, balancing a dolled up tray on her hip complete with soup, bread, fruit, tea, and even a small vase full of heather. Mrs. Hughes was startled out of her reverie, and Baxter realized that she’d walked into a private conversation. She composed herself at once, even taking a step back out into the hallway._ _

__“No, no it’s quite alright.” Mrs. Hughes said, though she did sound a tad bit regretful._ _

__“Mrs. Patmore had some chicken soup with some tea and fruit.” Baxter said, setting Thomas’ tray down upon his new night stand next to his washing bowl and pitcher. Mrs. Hughes shut the door to garner the three of them some privacy again._ _

__“Oh how lovely.” Mrs. Hughes praised at the little vase of heather, touching it fondly with the tips of her fingers. “This will fill you right up after a difficult train ride.”_ _

__Thomas slumped upon his new bed, and wondered at all the nights Mrs. Hughes must have slept in it. He looked away from the tray and the two women, instead staring at a vacant corner where a painting hung of a fisherwoman casting out a massive net into the sea. He supposed Mrs. Hughes must have found the painting in the attic, or maybe it had been given as a gift._ _

__But surely she would have taken it to her new cottage when she’d been wed?_ _

__“Thomas, I know you might not feel hungry but you need to eat.” Mrs. Hughes pestered him, coming to sit beside him on the bed with his teacup in hand. “At least have some tea. It’ll help sooth your stomach.”_ _

__Admittedly he did feel unsettled._ _

__Still, Thomas refused to budge, his head downcast as he looked at his dirty bare feet. He needed a wash before he could truly get into bed._ _

__“It looks mighty scrumptious,” Mrs. Hughes teased, “I’m tempted to eat some of it myself.”_ _

__“If I eat it will you let me be?”_ _

__“I might.” Mrs. Hughes said._ _

__Thomas gave her one sullen look before clambering up off the bed to stalk over to his tray. Without another word he grabbed the bread to shove it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing huge mouthfuls till his throat felt incredibly parched._ _

__“Slow down!” Mrs. Hughes barked, “Or you’ll make yourself sick!”_ _

__Thomas shrugged, grabbing the little bowl of fruit with hands to begin picking up pieces of orange and apple which he shoved into his mouth. Mrs. Hughes gave him a sour look, hands on her hips._ _

__“You have better table manners than that.” She chastised, “Alphas don’t take to omegas who eat like swines.”_ _

__“Good.” Thomas managed out through a mouthful of orange. He picked up his bowl of soup, slurping down the chicken broth as fast as he dared. He was starting to feel slightly queazy, but didn’t stop as he grabbed up his spoon and shoveled noodles and thin chicken meat into his mouth. He could barely finish, suddenly wanting to vomit, but remedied the situation by taking the tea Mrs. Hughes offered to take small mouthfuls till his stomach calmed._ _

__To be fair, he did feel slightly better now._ _

__“There.” Thomas set down his teacup. “I’ve eaten. May I go to bed now?”_ _

__Mrs. Hughes gazed upon him sympathetically; the yellow hue of the standing lamp through a bruise upon Thomas’ cheekbone into clear view. She winced, reaching up to touch it-_ _

__But suddenly Thomas was struck by a thousand memories of Alden touching his face. Of his hair being grabbed, of being slapped till his tongue throbbed in his cheek, of hiding or squirming away only to be jerked back._ _

__So he jerked back, nearly tripping over the leg of his night stand so that his teacup rattled wildly in its saucer._ _

__“Please!” Thomas cried out. Mrs. Hughes yanked her hand back as if it burned, but the damage was done. “Please don’t touch my face.” Thomas babbled. Behind Mrs. Hughes, Baxter looked alarmed. “Alden never stopped touching my face. He always touched me, he didn’t care if I wanted him to or not. I never wanted him to. I never-! He never stopped. So please stop. Stop.”_ _

__“I’ll stop!” Mrs. Hughes raised both of her hands defensively. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”_ _

__Thomas rubbed his eyes wildly, trying to knock away the image of Alden leering over him._ _

__“… Why don’t you sit down?” Baxter asked gently. “It’ll do you good to get off your feet.”_ _

__Thomas did as she said, and sat upon the bed once more. He almost felt like falling against the pillows, save that these were not his pillows and he’d never be comfortable on them. Instead, he rested against the wall, still sitting mostly upright as he closed his eyes for a moment. Mrs. Hughes had a bedside table just like him, save that this one had a rather girly lamp with flowers. Still, underneath it just like he’d left his own bed stand in July, there lay a picture of his family out in front of his father’s clock shop on a balmy Sunday afternoon._ _

__He wondered what his parents would think if they could see him now. His father an alpha, his mother an omega. Both of them would be ashamed no doubt._ _

__“Alden MacNair is a vicious vicious brute.” Mrs. Hughes spoke up in the quiet, “And I’m so glad that you’re away from him.”_ _

__“You were so brave to face him.” Baxter added with gentle praise. “Truly.”_ _

__It made Thomas think of Emily, of all the other poor omegas that were trapped in Dover Castle. How many were in its basement right now? How many of them were still begging for release, terrified out of their minds and abandoned by the men and women who were supposed to love them?_ _

__Thomas let out a long breath. Baxter, in a peace offering, brought him his tea and little vase of heather so that both could adorn his bedside table. They made poor frames for his family photograph._ _

__“… I don’t want to wear a dress.” Thomas spoke up. He didn’t know why that was the most important thing for him to say in the moment, only acknowledging that it weighed heavily on his mind to be forced to wear dresses in the future before the rest of the staff._ _

__He could already imagine the lewd comments he’d be receiving._ _

__“I know.” Mrs. Hughes said. “I’m going to pat your hand now.” She added carefully. Thomas opened an eye to watch as Mrs. Hughes reached out to carefully touch his hand upon his hand. She even went so far as to sit beside him on the bed. taking his hand between both her own. “But it isn’t so bad is it? Ms. Baxter and I have put together a few dresses for you, and I think you’ll like it. Ms. Baxter, won’t you show him?” Mrs. Hughes offered. Baxter was quick to respond, walking around the bed to the wardrobe which she opened to withdraw a black dress from. She came back around the bed, showing it off to Thomas… a fashion by her own hand._ _

__

__It wasn’t nearly as bad as Thomas had imagined somehow, but it was still by no means something he’d enjoy wearing. It hosted a lace bib front, that stretched from shoulder down to waist in a fine square column. The collar and sleeves ended in the same beige material, while the rest of the dress was a made of a simple black fabric. It went down to mid calve, and had a relatively synched in waist._ _

__It wasn’t bad… but it was a dress, and Thomas didn’t want to wear it._ _

__Thomas looked away, suddenly feeling horribly sick._ _

__“I can’t wear that.” He protested._ _

__“Why can’t you wear it?” Mrs. Hughes asked in dismay. But she watched his expression deteriorate into near tears “Oh- Thomas-!”_ _

__He waved his hand, getting up from the bed and walking around the entire affair until he was back at the night stand. He hastily picked up the hand towel that lay there, folding and refolding it till he could distract himself from the burning in his throat._ _

__Baxter came up to him, and ever so carefully placed her hand upon his shoulder.  
Thomas knew it was her. The weight, the touch. All of it was unique to her. And while Mrs. Hughes touching him had frightened him, it was nothing compared to the awful tenderness he felt when Baxter touched him. _ _

__It had always been this way, even as a child. The incredible bond between the pair of them had been odd to explain. Only that Thomas had felt a desperate need to protect and been protected at the same time. Somehow, Baxter fulfilled that role without ever taking a second breath. That sort of connection only came once in a lifetime._ _

__And even then, it often failed._ _

__He could not restrain himself. He wept._ _

__Baxter held him from behind as best as she was able, burrowing her face into his shoulder blade while she clung to his arms._ _

__He tried not to make too much of a scene out of it. Tried to keep his tears down to a whimper and nothing else, but it was hard. So very hard when all he wanted to do was break down and die upon this ridiculous wooden floor._ _

__“I’m sorry.” Why was Baxter apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I tried to protect you. I tried.”  
And he knew she had.   
And that didn’t help the situation. _ _

__“How am I ever gonna show my face in tha’?” Thomas gestured at the dress which now lay cast upon his bed like a fallen ghost._ _

__“It’s not a hack job though-“ Baxter said defensively._ _

__“S’not that!” Thomas wiped his face angrily, “I can’t wear a dress in front of Bates! And Andrew! And Moseley!” He just kept ticking off the people like they were tallies to jump, “And Anna! And Daisy! And Mrs. Patmore!”_ _

__He shrugged away from both women, ready to tear out his hair with the unfairness of it all. Back in Dover he’d had to fear rape and assault. In Downton he had to fear emotional blackmail and bullying._ _

__God help him if he didn’t know which was worse. He was certain if he got picked on, he’d blubber up like a whale and howl till the moon came out._ _

__In private of course. Always in private._ _

__“All of them are gonna laugh and humiliate me!” Thomas was furious. “I can’t do it and I won’t do it-!”_ _

__“Thomas, everyone knows now that you’re an omega. They’re expecting you to wear a dress. For heaven’s sake, Anna helped Ms. Baxter make your uniform!” Mrs. Hughes said._ _

__“Daisy even gave me a fashion magazine for reference.” Baxter added._ _

__“These are not cruel people eager to torment you, they’re your workmates who’ve known you for a very long time. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that they’d willingly maul you.”_ _

__“Well you don’t know them I like do.” Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. “They like you.”  
Mrs. Hughes wasn’t about to give him an inch of room, “They like me because I’m open to their struggles, and aware of their needs. You could stand to do the same from time to time.” _ _

__Thomas blinked rapidly._ _

__He could just see himself now, toddling around Downton in a skimpy little black dress. Every time he’d bend over, he’d hear wolf whistles or derogatory comments. He’d have to shave his legs every day, till Mr. Bates could see his reflection in Thomas’ calves. Bates would be howling by the end of it, content to find that he was top man in charge while Thomas was everyone’s bitch boy. Imagine! He could do whatever he pleased to Thomas, and claim the defense of ‘I am an alpha, obey me’. Oh, the nerve!_ _

__“Bates is going to drag me through the mud.” Thomas said bitterly._ _

__“Mr. Bates was very concerned for you at Dover Castle.” Baxter warned. Thomas would believe that when pigs flew. “I heard him tell Anna that he would never have wished such a fate on you.”_ _

__Oh sure. And what fate would he have wished on Thomas? That was the real question._ _

__He sat back down on the bed, wishing to god he could just sink through it. Maybe if he aligned with the cotton and linen Mrs. Hughes would forget about him and Baxter wouldn’t make him wear a dress. He could remember being a footman, left off the hook and forgotten about in a crowd. Man, had those been the days._ _

__Mrs. Hughes put a hand on his shoulder. Thomas jerked, and Mrs. Hughes quickly drew her hand back. It seemed it was difficult for her to comfort him without eventually trying to touch him._ _

__She drew back and pointedly placed her hands in her lap._ _

__“Tomorrow we’ll walk through your new work schedule.” Mrs. Hughes said, “It won’t be hard, Thomas. You’re used to the work load, and you know how the house runs. You’ll catch on quick, I’m certain. You’re very clever.”_ _

__Thomas just shook his head._ _

__“Count your blessings.” Baxter urged, “You’re here now. No one’s going to harass you anymore.”_ _

__Oh like he’d believe that._ _

__“Or ask you to mate them.” Mrs. Hughes added. For the first time, it was she to sound bitter, and not Thomas. “Honestly what was that man thinking, saying such vulgar things in front of his lordship? Mr. Carson was ready to throw him out the library window, I can tell you that much.”_ _

__Just to even hear Mrs. Hughes talk about the whole ordeal was making him exhausted._ _

__“I want to go to bed now.” He muttered._ _

__Mrs. Hughes rose off the bed, clearly now deciding it was time to let him be. He had, after all, eaten dinner just as she’d requested, and was in his ‘proper’ room. Baxter followed in Mrs. Hughes wake, though before she left she took Thomas’ finished tray with her. The pair of them watched him from the doorway in that strange benign sympathy they both always seemed to radiate._ _

__“I know it’s hard to see, but we’re only trying to help, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes said, “We’re omega’s too, we understand better than anyone what you’re going through.”_ _

__“I’m unmated as well.” Baxter added._ _

__“The fact of the matter is… we care about your wellbeing.” Mrs. Hughes said. And with that she said, “Goodnight.”_ _

__The pair of them left, closing his door carefully so that the silence came a bit like a duvet cover falling atop him in bed. It muffled him, comforted him, and protected him from the bleak reality of all that lay beyond._ _

___“We care about your wellbeing.”_ Mrs. Hughes had said. _ _

__“I’m glad someone does.” Thomas muttered, before promptly falling into his new bed passing out._ _

__

__~*~_ _

__Of course, Thomas was never one to let a bad thing go._ _

__After sleeping for a few hours, Thomas woke up again feeling like his skin was crawling. He attributed it to a side effect of the Chloroform wearing off in his system, and in the fact that he was sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his own._ _

__But it was more than his bed. It was _everything_ in the room. _ _

__These weren’t his lamps! Those weren’t quilts, and that ridiculous green thing in the corner was certainly not his chair._ _

__No, no, no. This would never do at all. Not only was Thomas living in a foreign room, he’d also failed to get out his…. unmentionables… from his prior room before having a small heart attack when he’d found his personal items gone._ _

__While every servant had some level of privacy when it came to their bureau drawers, Thomas was less concerned about Mrs. Hughes going through his pants than he was about her fishing under the bed for a loose floorboard that contained a hidden grotto beneath. Thomas had sequestered there a small number of illegal items, such as banned books, dirty photographs, and one very particular object that he had absolutely no desire to show to anyone ever on pain of death._ _

__It came with a ludicrous story of course._ _

__Being young and an omega, Thomas had gone through a period where his body had suffered from a terrible burning need. Suddenly having money via his position as Junior Footman in the abbey, Thomas had taken his rare day off and gone up to London with the intent of buying a new ‘winter coat’, which in truth he’d actually needed given that his old one had worn holes in the elbows. What he’d also bought that day had fit comfortably in the coat’s pockets, and had slipped right past Mr. Carson’s wary eyes up to Thomas’ room where it had remained under his floorboards until his… time of need._ _

__One thing was for certain, he wasn’t leaving his unmentionables under the floorboards to be found by the lone hallboy. He doubted the boy would survive the encounter._ _

__So Thomas had risen from his bizarre bed, still fully clothed though bare footed, to tread lightly into the women’s hallway where all had gone dark and quiet._ _

__After a lifetime of sneaking out, Thomas had learned every creaky floorboard on the men’s side. The women’s side was completely new territory and it resulted in Thomas having to timidly step one inch at a time lest he wake up the tyrant that was Mrs. Patmore. By the time he’d made it to the door, he was certain that a good ten minutes had passed, and only after waiting for another solid minute to make sure he was alone did he dare to turn the key in the lock. It was obscenely loud._ _

__He opened the glass door, stepping through to walk to his old bedroom with ease. He could all but skip down this hallway, unafraid of waking the three lone men that roamed its perimeter. Peter, the lone hallboy, slept like a rock due to being worked like a dog. Mr. Moseley snored like a freight train and honestly couldn’t be bothered. Andrew was difficult, sometimes he’d wake and sometimes he wouldn’t, but so long as Thomas was quiet, he didn’t see why he should be bothered._ _

__Thomas found his bedroom gloomy and quiet, and was miserable to see it so devoid of his usual presence. It made him feel like a ghost roaming a crypt._ _

__The first thing he did was immediately strip the bed of its quilts and duvet, throwing them all onto the seat of his worn armchair. There would be no point in taking the sheets, given that Thomas’ bed and Mrs. Hughes’ bed were two completely different sizes, but he could easily swap over the coverlets and not be bothered with much else. He took the whole bundle in his arms, walking back over to his new room to deposit them in a heap on the floor so that he could strip Mrs. Hughes bed of its olive green quilt, and a flowery coverlet that made his feel like he was swimming in a sea of heather. Just for good measure, Thomas likewise took the picture of the women fisher off the wall, along with the washing bowl and pitcher. Everything would be replaced, he decided. He wouldn’t rest tonight until his new room was completely layered with the old._ _

__Back and forth he walked, making trip after trip, not even bothering to be quiet by the end. It wasn’t like anyone was waking up, though the real trauma came from moving Mrs. Hughes’ green rocking chair to his old room. God damnit, if he wouldn’t have his armchair! He’d die before giving that son of a bitch up, particularly when it had been he to drag it down from the attics where it had been rotting behind forgotten book cases._ _

__“What are you doing?”_ _

__Thomas froze, arms full of green rocking chair as he made to shove it through his bedroom door. He looked over his shoulder to find Andy staring at him from the men’s bathroom, clearly having gone to the lavatory. Thomas really shouldn’t be surprised; Andy seemed to have a bladder the size of a peanut._ _

__It was the first time the two men had seen one another since the disastrous announcement of Thomas’ true gender. Thomas was in a dress with shaven legs, his hair uncombed, and was currently in the process of tearing a room to pieces. For all this, Andy didn’t seem too bothered, only that Thomas was making a scene with the furniture and it was creeping on midnight. Thomas flushed, and turned away from Andy to continue pushing the armchair through the doorway. He walked it all the way to the center of the bedroom, halting as it hit his old iron footboard. He fluffed Mrs. Hughes’ pillows upon his old mattress, having taken his old ones and put them in his new bedroom._ _

__“I’m cleaning out my room, since it no longer gets to be my room.” Thomas said irritably. Just to emphasize his point, Thomas took his ancient armchair and began to re arrange it in the room, deciding it would be pushed with a load upon its worn seat._ _

__“The chair too?” Andy asked, beleaguered._ _

__“This is my chair,” He wouldn’t even begin to dispute the point, “No one else gets to sit in it.”  
Having taken Mrs. Hughes’ beside lamp on one of his many trips back and forth, Thomas then picked up his old bedside lamp and unplugged it to lay it atop the chairs seat. Andy blinked. _ _

__“And the lamp?”_ _

__“I bought it.”_ _

__Thomas reached up and undid the clasps where his maroon curtains hung framing the windows. He didn’t even have real windows in his room, just skylights, but he would hang them up all the same. Thomas didn’t like to have sunlight near his face when he woke up; as much as he adored the sun he liked his sleep even more… particularly when he got so little of it._ _

__“Christ, why not take the nails and be done with it?” Andy wondered from the doorway, watching as Thomas flung the curtains over the back of his armchair._ _

__“Watch your tone.” Thomas snapped, not caring to have Andy as a witness to his humiliating exit. He set up Mrs. Hughes’ bedside lamp upon his old table, making sure to plug it into the socket as well. “I may be Mrs. Hughes’ assistant, but I still rank over you.”_ _

__“Actually, you rank under me since your an omega.”_ _

__Thomas froze, blood rushing to his cheeks, and slowly rose up to turn around so that he found Andy squirming underneath his heated gaze by the time he was done._ _

__Thomas folded his arms over his chest, his wrath obvious, “Don’t you dare.” He warned. “Don’t you dare be that kind of alpha.”_ _

__Andy looked rightfully shamed, dropping his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry,” He sounded genuine, “I don’t know why I said that.”_ _

__“Because you’re an alpha.” Thomas figured it was as good of an excuse as any, “And I’m an omega. And you think you can control me, but you can’t.”_ _

__He walked over to his wardrobe, dropping to his knees so that he could peer underneath. Just as he’d imagined, there was his old valise! Thomas pulled it out, grateful he’d gotten to it before anyone else had. He undid the clasps, peaking inside, and beamed triumphantly at the sight of his blue pinstripe suit. It had remained in his valise simply because Thomas had recently been traveling about enquiring for work. The suit was his best one, and was shoved into his valise along with his finest leather shoes, extra hair pomade, and a comb. Thomas could have praised God for his luck, if only he believed in either. He snapped the valise shut again, eager for Andy not to see his hoard, and took the valise over to his chair so that he could sit it next to his lamp._ _

__He looked back to his wardrobe wistfully, remembering his three other suits that had once been in there, not to mention his shoes and pants. God only knows what had become of his trilby hat._ _

__“I wonder where the rest of my clothes are.” Thomas said aloud. Once again, it was Andy’s turn to look terribly guilty._ _

__Thomas glanced at him, and upon finding him beet red was immediately suspicious._ _

__“Andy.” Thomas growled the name._ _

__“What was I t’do?” Andy demanded, flushing as he realized he was caught. The little thief, had he taken Thomas’ clothes? Thomas could strangle him for the outrage. “They were givin’ away your clothes!”_ _

__“What did you take?” Thomas demanded, aware that his voice was getting just a bit too loud for their impromptu rendezvous._ _

__“They gave it to me!” Andy hissed, still trying to keep his voice down, “I didn’t take nothin’, did I!”_ _

__“I don’t care what they gave, you give it back!” Thomas ordered._ _

__“Y’can’t wear trousers anymore!” Andy said, which unfortunately was true._ _

__“Give me back my trousers or god so help me, I’ll-!”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Give me back my damn trousers, Andy!” Thomas spat. Good god, how much more strain would his blood pressure take before the end of it? He should go on medication before he had a stroke at the age of 36._ _

__“No!” Andy drew himself up to his full height, an impressive 6’1”. “S’not right for an omega to wear trousers! S’not decent!”_ _

__“I paid good money for those clothes!” Thomas said, “They belong to me!”_ _

__“Well you can’t wear them now anyway, can you?” Andy demanded, “Would you rather they go to me or be thrown in the rubbish? Mr. Carson wanted to toss them all in the trash until Mrs. Hughes talked some sense into him.”_ _

__The thought of Mr. Carson going through his clothes made him want to be sick. Infuriated, Thomas shrugged Andy off like he was a gnat and dropped to his knees again to fish underneath his bed for the loose floorboard in the middle. Popping it open and shifting it aside, he groped in the musky dark for a moment until his hand touched the cigar box he’d squirreled underneath. Pulling it free, Thomas kept reaching till he’d taken out the six other banned books he’d put there and… other things. Eager for Andy to see none of it, Thomas shoved the items in question into the cigar box and put the floorboard back in place. He smacked it with his fist, making sure it wouldn’t pop open with change in temperature, and crawled back out from underneath the bed, carrying all of the items with him. Andy was watching him, his face beet red, and Thomas suddenly realized that for the past minute his arse had been waving about in the air with barely any coverage thanks to his sodden blue dress._ _

__Furious, Thomas shoved his unmentionables onto the armchair, quickly covering them beneath his valise and curtains, before taking the whole chair in stride and beginning to push it towards the door. It was heavy, but not unmanageable._ _

__Save that Andy was in his way._ _

__Thomas halted, affronted that Andy would dare to block his path after everything else. Andy looked deservedly guilty._ _

__“Thomas-“ Andy protested, still blocking the door._ _

__“Andy, don’t you dare try to stop me from taking this chair.” Thomas warned, in a voice that he hoped would suggest murder._ _

__“M’not tryin’ to stop you.” Andy said at once, raising his hands in mock surrender so that his sleep shirt rose a few inches. His pale stomach was flecked with dark brown hair, “I want to help you.”_ _

__“Oh, but you won’t give me back my clothes?” Thomas snorted. Some idea of help!_ _

__“No.” Andy sounded quite sad. “I won’t.”_ _

__Why did he look so damn miserable._ _

__Thomas paused, muscles unclenching as he watched Andy wrestle with guilt and understanding. Andy had always been a conflicted youth, even from the beginning when he’d been bullied by that hound Denker. When he’d joined Downton, he’d started to avoid Thomas, only to cave when Thomas had discovered his great ‘shame’ of illiteracy._ _

__Honestly, Andy was such a walking contradiction it was a miracle someone hadn’t tried to claim he was the one with a hidden sexual agenda. He was always embarrassed. Always hiding. Always unsure._ _

__Even now, he looked half ready to trudge into his bedroom and give Thomas back his clothes, but in the end Andy didn’t sway and Thomas knew he wouldn’t be getting back his things._ _

__Andy reached forward, taking the armchair beneath the armrests so that he could lift it from the front. With Andy’s help, Thomas suddenly found he could make great strides in taking his things down the hallway though Andy resolutely stopped at the glass door like he was hitting a brick wall instead._ _

__“Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t want me on the omega side.” Andy murmured, setting down the chair carefully so that Thomas could finish the journey alone._ _

__Thomas rolled his eyes, and began shoving his armchair through the narrow doorway. It was a difficult job, without an inch to give on either side._ _

__“Thomas…” Andy watched him go, wrestling with inner demons as Thomas finally got the chair through. Thomas scooted around the armchair, so that suddenly he and Andy were face to face with only the forbidden doorway between them. The great divide to alpha and omega… nothing more than a pane of glass._ _

__“I feel right awful about this, really I do.” He looked miserable, to be sure, but Thomas doubted that Andy was more sorry than him. “But… you should never have pretended to be a beta.”_ _

__He suddenly seemed to grow aware of himself, flushing. Thomas could practically hear the gears churning in his head. “Was that what you were doing, when I first arrived?” Andy wondered, agog, “Were you… did you want me to be your-?”_ _

__“If you have ever had any feelings of friendship for me, you won’t complete that sentence.” Thomas cut him off with a growl._ _

__Andy looked cowed, and dropped the subject at once._ _

__“I’m sorry.” Andy whispered, “I shouldn’t have assumed. Goodnight.”_ _

__“… Enjoy my trousers.” Thomas said bitterly. Andy didn’t look happy with the outcome._ _

__Thomas shut the glass door, locking it. Beyond the foggy pane, Andy watched Thomas for a moment before turning away and heading back to his room. Thomas watched him go, noting that Andy closed Thomas’ old bedroom door before heading into his own bedroom._ _

__Once again, Thomas was alone… with a chair full of shit in a cramped hallway.  
His life was getting more insane by the moment. _ _

__Thomas pushed the chair along, one inch at a time, grunting underneath the strain as he finally managed to get the chair all the way to the end of the hall and through Mrs. Hughes’ door.  
His door.   
Whatever. _ _

__Thomas shut the door, exhausted, and wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead before squirreling off again to get his things set right. His spent the next hour moving furniture back and forth until he felt content, trying to mimic the layout of his old room as best he could. It meant him moving the bed around the room, along with the wardrobe and nightstand. It was amazing that no one came to hound him from the ruckus, but Thomas moved slowly and never tripped. To be fair, he wasn’t making that much noise. Maybe it was due to having lived a life behind the green baize door, but Thomas knew how to get a job done without disturbing people a wall away._ _

__He didn’t know what to do with his old curtains, besides fold them and set them away in the bottom of his new wardrobe. Only when he’d locked his bedroom door did he dare to set his valise upon his new bed and open it up. He beamed with pride at his pinstripe suit, bringing up the fabric to smell it longingly. The pomade and musk made him feel at home, reminded him that there had once been balance in his life._ _

__Here was his identity. Here was his home._ _

__Thomas folded his suit with care, setting it aside along with his can of pomade, comb, and fresh pair of pants. It was the only pair he owned now, and it made him quite bitter when he thought of the drawer full that he’d used to have. Damn it all to hell, what he would give to go back in time and hide more of his belongings!_ _

__But at least the important things had gotten away. Such as his books and his… unmentionables._ _

__The books were sacred to him. Anti-Brigade literature and omega revolutions that had been kept underground by the law. There were pamphlets proclaiming that omegas didn’t need alphas to thrive, studies that forswore the Brigade was a terrorist organization, and historical texts that talked about a time before the Brigade… when omega’s hadn’t been kept on a two foot leash._ _

__Thomas took all these books and hid them in his valise, deciding he’d stick the lot of it under his bed. The final item was of a bit more delicate nature, and not something Thomas was content to stick out in the open._ _

__It took a bit of worming, sneaking beneath his newly arranged bed to try and find a suspect floorboard to be his victim. He instead found a slightly loose baseboard, that, with enough prying, popped clean to reveal a tiny space beyond. Thomas blew hard, so that a sheaf of dust came flying out at his face, and coughed rapidly as he cleared away his new hiding spot. Here would be the home for his cigar box, wherein lay everything _but_ cigars. _ _

__Just for good measure, Thomas crawled back out from underneath the bed and took the cigar box to open it in his lap._ _

__Oh, the shame of it all, things he wouldn’t admit to owning if you threatened him with a heated knife._ _

__He supposed it came down to weakness, to moments before his suppressants had truly quelled his bodily urges. Was it so wrong of him to want to see things? To know an Alpha’s body?_ _

__There were pictures, things he’d bought in allies and underneath bridges from questionable men in trench-coats. Imagines of alpha men fucking omegas, taking them in their arms to kiss at their throat and between their shoulder-blades. Thomas favorite picture was of a male omega on all fours, head thrown back in ecstasy as he road an alpha who took him from behind. What was truly beautiful about the image was how tenderly the alpha looked down upon his mate. How gently he seemed to be holding the man, as if not wanting to leave a scratch or a bruise. The omega was smiling faintly, looking to be riding on a wave of bliss._ _

__Thomas wished he could have a scene like that, all to himself… an alpha who didn’t dominate him. Who loved him. An area of security and calm where he could let down his defenses and simply be._ _

__But it wasn’t logical.  
It wasn’t accurate. _ _

__The world didn’t work that way, and that was where Thomas’ second item had come in. It had been the most difficult item to purchase, simply because he hadn’t want to be caught carrying it from the time he took it out of the shop to the time he arrived back in his room at Downton. He’d been sweating the whole time, feigning to have caught a cold to avoid suspicion, and when he’d finally sequestered the item away, he’d felt his blood pressure drop significantly._ _

__In the dark of his new room, Thomas withdrew the phallus and held it carefully in one hand._ _

__It was made of wood, smoothed and waxed. Its shape wasn’t particularly alarming or engrossing. Merely… cylindrical. The tip was slightly shape for accuracy but it you held it up next to an actual penis you couldn’t claim that it was ‘spot on’._ _

__Thomas had ridden this phallus many times, with a chair shoved underneath his doorknob and a fist at his mouth. Before the burning need in his gut had been quenched, with suppressants and balms blocking his smells and his ability to create slick, Thomas had still felt the undying need to be one with an alpha for many months before that too had grown numb. His transition had come in stages, and had not been easy. The phallus had helped him to sate his own needs, and not fall victim to the heady wave of lust and desire._ _

__After his time with the Brigade, however, Thomas found himself growing at the weight of the phallus in his hands. He had a feeling Alden would have gladly fucked him, would have taken him over and over again if only he’d been allowed. Thomas knew, somewhere deep down, that Robert Crawley had never intended for him to be raped or assaulted…. but it had happened none the less._ _

__“I didn’t want him touched” had somehow translated into “I didn’t want him fucked” by Alden MacNaire._ _

__And that was wrong on so many levels that Thomas didn’t know where to start._ _

__He shove the cigar box and the phallus into the hole behind the loose baseboard, taking care to squeeze the baseboard back into position so that the wall was smooth and seamless once again. The only evidence left was the dust, and Thomas blew it away as best he could so that it scattered across the floorboards._ _

__He rose, took his valise, and put it beneath his bed.  
He pulled off his dress, letting it fall without care onto the floor, and shivered in the cold moonlight as he fished through his wardrobe. _ _

__He found what was obviously meant to be a nightdress, and without anything else to wear quickly pulled it over his head to stave off the shivering. He needed a wash and to brush his teeth, but both activities would take too much energy out of him and he was already exhausted after having swapped the rooms. Instead, Thomas took a few sips of cold stale tea and threw back his old covers to crawl into his bizarre bed. Part of him was content, part of him was not, but at least the pillows were his own and the covers were familiar. If he just closed his eyes and burrowed his face into the smell, it would be like he was back in his old room and everything was just the same as before._ _

__….Sort of._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to review. Thanks so much.


	6. Constrictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas attempts to integrate into his new position only to find it a little... restricting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've fleshed out a great deal more of the story. I'm going to have to re update the tags to include 'drug usage' as a trigger. 
> 
> Don't worry, none of that in this chapter though. Just Thomas being... Thomasy.  
> And a corset.

_Litigo 22:15: “Foolishness is bound up in the heart of an omega; the rod of discipline will remove it far from him.”_

 

When Thomas awoke, his first thought was not of food or drink, nor of the irritating cold that came with the attic dwellings, but of whether he was free from abuse… whether Alden MacNaire was close or far. 

He lay incredibly still in his bed, not even daring to open his eyes lest he alert his captors and bring about another wave of pain. 

But even as Thomas lay in bed, testing his desire to urinate with his equally fierce desire to be unnoticed by Alden, he remembered with a trickle of relief that he was not in Dover Castle anymore. 

That he was in Downton Abbey… and that Alden was gone. 

He opened his eyes. 

It was dark, but that was in no way a guarantee of more time to sleep. Thomas would need to be up and moving by 5:30 at the very latest in order to be downstairs by 6:00. He sat up in bed, momentarily taken aback to find himself in a different bedroom than he was used to. It was with somber irritation that he remembered he was now bound to Mrs. Hughes’ old bedroom… that he had as little say in his dwellings now as he did on his sexuality. 

Or his dress. 

The offending article of clothing lay in plain sight, having been ironed by Baxter the night before in an act of charitable goodwill. It now hung over the back of his desk chair, waiting to be put on. Thomas glowered at it, wishing he could set it on fire. 

His momentary thoughts of arson were put aside by a timid knocking on his door. At first, Thomas though it was Gertie coming to rouse him with the typical wake up call, but then he heard a soft voice calling from beyond. 

“Thomas?” Baxter murmured. “It’s me. Are you up?” 

He was indeed. 

Thomas rolled from bed, irritated by his night dress and how it flapped at his ankles. He opened his door and found Baxter just beyond still clad in her lilac housecoat. Her hair was in a thick braid over her shoulder, and she held her own black dress over her arm like a waiter might a fine cloth. 

“Good morning.” She whispered with a smile, “I thought I might help you to dress today- what with your corset and all.” 

“I’m fine.” Thomas said, for he had no intention on wearing his corset or a dress today whatsoever. He would go downstairs in a suit, or he would die trying. “Thank you.” 

Baxter looked slightly put off. “Are you sure? It’s rather difficult to manage at first if you’re new to it.” 

“I’ll manage.” Thomas said. “Excuse me.” And with that he shut the door in her face. 

Rude it might be, but Thomas had no intention of putting on a dress and strutting about like a bambino. 

He took up the dress, holding it out at arms length to get a real good look at it. Honestly, it wasn’t too shabby, but it wasn’t for him to wear either way. Omega he may be, feminine he was not. Determined to have his way or be damned, Thomas took the dress and hung it back up in his wardrobe to instead fish out his blue suit from within his valise. He would not be able to iron it properly; there wasn’t time. Thomas refused to let it get him down, too delighted to be stepping into pants and trousers again after so many days of having to go in a dress. He washed and combed his hair, parting it with pomade as he drug a razor carefully across his cheeks and chin. The hairs on his chest and legs were coming back, prickling against the interior of his trouser leg and shirt sleeves. He took great pride at that tugging itch, feeling like a man again as he laced up his shoes and straightened his best blue tie. 

“Much better” He declared to his appearance. 

His final touch was to link his father’s pocket watch by his steadfast Albert chain, taking comfort in the steady weight that now lay in his vest pocket. The steady methodical tick that echoed from within reminded him that even as he dressed, breakfast was already underway downstairs. He’d missed the six o’clock call, and would have to forgo his meal in order to avoid scandal at the table. 

But what was it that he was to do now? How did one go about being Mrs. Hughes’ assistant? 

It really wasn’t worth the bother, he decided. He didn’t want to wear the dress, and he didn’t want to play the part. 

It was as simple as that. 

Thomas left the attic, finding it deserted, and took the servants stairwell to the gallery floor so that he might find some solace while the family slept in their beds. The only ones usually up at this hour were the dogs and the children. Thomas had not seen the babes in an age, and was desperate to do so now. He did not know if he might remain in the abbey for a week, a month, or a year. However much time he had left, he wanted to spend it with the ones that mattered most to him. The ones that made him feel most at peace. This title could go to no other but the children, and Thomas sought them out as he crept around the gallery floor. 

He would not have to go far. 

There, waiting outside the gallery door while his nanny changed bed linens, was George. He had a stuffed lion tucked under his left arm, in a sailor suit whose navy blues lovingly accented his dazzlingly blonde hair. It took George a double take to realize who was in the hallway with him, and as he realized that Thomas was back he let out a delighted gasp to come running with his lion bouncing along. Thomas squatted down, opening his arms wide, so that George collided into him with light force and allowed Thomas to scoop him up. 

Thomas rose back to his feet, taking George with him, and cradled the boy against his chest. He could not help himself. He kissed the top of George’s head, burying himself in the light scent of lavender that always seemed to linger there. 

“Mista Bawwow!” George could hardly believe his luck, gazing up at Thomas adoringly. Oh, had the world ever known such loving smiles? 

“Master George.” Thomas hugged him again, “I missed you.” 

“Where did you go?” George asked, “No one would say.” 

“Oh…” Thomas would never tell him the truth. Not in a million years. He was determined that George should never know the awfulness of Dover Castle, “To an awful place. I’m glad I’m not there anymore.” 

“Did they make you take naps?” George seemed disturbed by the concept. 

“Worse than you can imagine.” Thomas said, for if George’s idea of awful was a nap, then that was the way it would stay, “Where is your nanny?” 

“Changing the sheets.” George wrinkled his nose with a boyish smile, “Marigold made a mess.” 

This didn’t surprise Thomas, seeing that Marigold had only just turned two. 

“Oh, don’t go telling tales.” He muttered, bouncing George on his hip as he swayed lightly back and forth, “You were the same once.” 

“Was not!” George cried defiantly. If only! Thomas could remember how George had wet the bed for months. Thomas would have been prowling the gallery floor, wary for gossip and keeping an eye out, only to see George whimpering in the hallway with a telling yellow patch between his legs. 

“Were too. I changed your nighties m’self.” 

Their bond had formed from those nights, with Thomas cleaning George up and alerting the nanny to change the bed linens. While they’d waited, Thomas would rock George in his arms, waiting until George had fallen back to sleep again before putting him back in bed with the nanny’s help. 

He’d supposed he’d always had a soft spot for children. 

“Did you make a mess?” George wondered.  
Thomas couldn’t remember it, but he was willing to take a hard gamble that he had. 

“I can’t remember.” He said honestly, “I suppose I did. I think we all do. I think it’s a normal part of growing up.” 

George just made a face, oblivious to the errors and woes of human living.  
Thomas was enchanted by him though, and could not help but to hold him again, wrapping George tightly in his arms so that he could breath the scent of lavender crowning his head.  
“…Oh George…” Thomas murmured, “I missed you.” 

George seemed about to say something, but then grew still. His nose was drawn to Thomas’ neck, which he pressed in deep to sniff. Thomas froze, having recalled the same snuffling behavior from Alden and other wayward alphas. 

But George was different.  
And Thomas knew that. 

“You smell different.” George murmured. 

“Oh?” Thomas turned so that he could speak into George’s downy soft hair. 

“Smells good.” George said, only to bury his face even deeper in Thomas’ neck. It seemed he was close to going back to sleep, and even closed his eyes. Thomas rocked his back and forth, all the while knowing that George was exhibiting a classic textbook response of an alpha to an omega. 

But maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was because Matthew had been a male omega too. Maybe it was because George loved Thomas, and trusted him deeply. 

George reached up with a small fist to gently grasp at the frayed ends of Thomas’ hair that lay at the nape of his neck. His stuffed lion was tucked tightly to Thomas’ chest. 

Their lovely moment might have stretched on for quite a while…. after all, it wasn’t an easy matter to change sheets on a bed and look after two little girls at the same time. But just as Thomas was starting to get really comfortable, even humming in George’s ear, they were intruded upon by Mrs. Hughes rounding the gallery floor, eyes sharpened as if on the look out for someone. 

She spotted Thomas and gave him a thoroughly disappointed look. She looked close to even scolding him, and came marching up the hallway with a clearly determined pace. 

Thomas knew that she was angry at him, and it probably had to do something with his lack of ‘decent’ dress and his unwillingness to go along with his new schedule. He was, under certain terms, to be her assistant… but Thomas just wasn’t willing to play the game anymore. Then again, if one didn’t play the game, one couldn’t partake in the rewards… his time with George would surely draw to an end soon if he carrie down this line. 

“Good morning, Master George.” Mrs. Hughes said, and Thomas was slightly relieved to hear that her voice was too harsh. 

George acted slightly out of character, his eyes closed at he continued to merely smell Thomas’ neck. Noticing his lethargy, Mrs. Hughes reached out and gently pressed her hand to George’s forehead. “Are you feeling well?” 

“Sleepy.” George mumbled. 

“Sleepy?” Mrs. Hughes tutted, “Why Master George, the day has just begun.” 

As if beckoned by Mrs. Hughes’ call, the nanny came up the hall carrying a freshly scrubbed Marigold with her. She seemed taken aback by the sight of Thomas, but hid it in feigned cheerfulness as she extended a hand to start prying George away from him. 

“Thank you Mr. Barrow. I’ll have him back now, if you please.”  
Thomas didn’t please, but really there was no point in arguing. He handed George back over, noticing how George seemed to grasp desperately at Thomas’ livery and hair only until the nanny took him back. Now free handed, Thomas felt oddly bare before Mrs. Hughes. “You were a dear to look after him,” The nanny said, for she’d always been rather fond of Thomas after she’d realized he was an asset to the nursery. “But I’m sure you have a full load to be getting on with.” 

“Yes, thank you.” Mrs. Hughes agreed. The terse edge was back in her voice. 

The Nanny walked away, bearing Marigold in one arm to drag George along by the other. She left the pair of them in the hallway, and suddenly Thomas felt the temperature drop by several degrees as Mrs. Hughes glared at him witheringly. 

“Well, I won’t say I’m surprised.” She said, “But I’m still quite disappointed. I gave you a change to behave yourself and you turned on me.” 

“Oh well forgive me if I’m not lining up to put on knickers!” Thomas spat, keeping his voice down lest the children still overhear. 

Mrs. Hughes gave him a stern look. “The more you resist it, the harder the change will be. The sooner you start acting normally, the sooner your life can get on just the same. You can put on trousers all you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re an omega. If you ever want to live a better life, you have to put in the work to make it so. Don’t you agree?” 

While he did in fact agree, he didn’t want to admit to it. Thomas waffled about, his facial expression changing as he tried in vain to find some loophole to exploit. 

But he could find none. Mrs. Hughes seemed to gather as much. She nodded with one decisive jerk, then took him gently by the elbow. 

“Come along.” She said. Unlike Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes was not one to bear a grudge or be unkind. He supposed, if only in that respect alone, being her assistant would be a much better position for him to take. 

They walked back to the servant’s stairwell, and took it to the attics which were once more just as quiet as desolate as when Thomas had left. They returned to Thomas’ chambers, and Mrs. Hughes shut the door behind the pair of them so that they could be garnered a bit of privacy. She did a double take, shocked at the remake of her old room, but quickly snapped back to attention. 

“Off.” She ordered, gesturing to his outfit, “All of it. Right now.” 

“No!” Thomas beseeched. 

Mrs. Hughes sighed, folding her arms over her chest. Maybe she’d dealt with snippety children before. 

“I’ll tell you what,” She said, striking a bargain, “If you put on your dress and behave, I’ll let you keep those clothes and we’ll say no more about it.” 

Thomas looked at her, noticing how her gaze seemed to stray automatically to the valise underneath Thomas’ new bed. 

“I’m not a fool,” She said, nor had Thomas ever thought her one, “I know you have more tucked away. I don’t wish to take them from you, not when you’ve paid properly for them. But you cannot wear them anymore in public, so let’s put on our new clothes and get to work. You can keep your old clothes where no one can see.” 

And though Thomas had originally thought to go to battle, he knew now that he is in grave danger of losing his one and only blue pinstripe suit should Mr. Carson find out he still had it. It had been a brilliant stroke of luck, on second thought, that it had been Mrs. Hughes to find him on the gallery floor and not Mr. Carson. Between the two, she could be reasoned with. 

But Thomas still couldn’t stand the idea of walking around Downton in a dress, with his legs showing and his buttocks accentuated by a tie in waist. Bitter, knowing he had a day of wolf-whistles and jeers ahead, Thomas jerked out of his suit one piece at a time while Mrs. Hughes pulled out his black work dress and began to assemble it upon his clothes horse. Undressing in front of her felt a bit like undressing in front of his mother, and so Thomas tried to make it quick as he threw each offensive article of clothing onto the bed. If he was being a tad bit dramatic, huffing and puffing while shooting Mrs. Hughes sulky looks…well… that was his own initiative. She let him do as he pleased, refusing to comment on his sour attitude as he got all the way down to his pants. He held his trousers in front of him, slightly embarrassed at being bare before her. 

“I want to keep on my watch!” Thomas warned, unfastening the Albert chain from his vest loop. 

“We can work with that.” Mrs. Hughes agreed. “But you’ve still got product in your hair and that I won’t abide by. It’s indecent, for an omega as lovely as you to put that oily grease in your hair. Come over here-“ She poured water from his jug into a deep ceramic dish that he often used to wash his face in the mornings. “We’ll have to wash it out.” 

Thomas balked at the idea of him being forced to walk around Downton with his hair undone. He’d look a fool! “No!” He protested at once, “I can’t do that, I’ll be indecent!” 

“Oh for heavens sake-“ Mrs. Hughes took a faded mint green housecoat that she’d left behind for him to use and opened it wide, forcing it over his shoulders so that he was clothed and free from the cold. She laid his trousers upon his bed, taking him by the wrist and tugging him around the room till he was before the bowl with his head bent slightly forward. “Now stay still.” 

She was tender in washing his hair, pouring water again and again over his locks until they ran free of pomade and were once more silky smooth. She then used a hand towel to dry him, turning his chin this way and till his hair was parted to her liking. He felt distinctly like a child now, for he’d always associated pomade with men. He’d been thirteen when he’d started using pomade, sneaking it from his father’s personal stash only to make a mess and use far too much. His father had come home to find him sniveling in the bathroom, stinking of perfumed oil and covered in about three shillings worth of pomade. 

He’d shown Thomas how to do it right, washing his hair much like Mrs. Hughes had just done, only to carefully dip a comb into what remained of the pomade so that he could sculpt Thomas’ inky black hair into a side part. 

Now, before Mrs. Hughes, his hair was a floppy mess in his face. 

“Much better.” She declared, drying him off one more time just for good measure. She then headed to his wardrobe, rifling through the top drawers only to pull out a pair of drawers, stockings, and garters. Thomas flushed at the sight of them, and turned away at once as if to stick up his nose. 

Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t allow him to hide forever, pressing them into his hands. 

“Put them on, as I say.” She urged. “I’ll turn my back if it’ll make you feel more decent, but I’m afraid you’ll need my help to do up the drawers right.” 

“I know how to put on knickers!” Thomas snipped, utterly embarrassed. Even so, Mrs. Hughes turned her back and patiently waited while Thomas slipped off his pants and hurriedly stuffed them underneath his bed. He stared at the drawers and the stockings, unsure which to put on first. 

“How do I-“ 

“Put on your stockings and garters first.” 

So Thomas grabbed up the black stockings, scrunching them almost into a ball as he dipped both his toes in and pulled them up over his knees. His left foot was still quite sore from the fox traps of Dover Castle, and he had to go slow lest he tear a hole in the thin fabric. What on earth were these things made of? Spider webs? He then grabbed the elastic garters, pulling them around his thighs till they snapped tight in their hinges and kept his stockings up. The knickers were a little bit ridiculous, white frilly things with a seamless crotch for the toilet. He pulled them on as fast as he could resolutely not looking at them as he tied them about his waist.

“Done.” Thomas said sulkily. 

Mrs. Hughes walked back over to the wardrobe, fishing around through his second drawer to pull out yet another frilly undergarment that seemed to be a white dress and, horror of all horrors, a corset. Thomas scrunched up his nose, offended as she brought them both over and laid them upon the bed. 

“This is your chemise.” Mrs. Hughes said, holding it up so that Thomas could see it was knee length with a horrific lace frame about the collar and a thin bow at his waist. He rolled his eyes, bitter. “Put it on.” Mrs. Hughes chastised him, and so Thomas did as he was bid, pulling the dress over his head and allowing it to fall over his knickers and the top of his stockings. 

Now came the real challenge. 

“Arms up.” Mrs. Hughes bade, opening the flaps of the corset so that she could wrap it around his waist. 

“Not too tight?” Thomas begged. 

“Certainly not.” She soothed him, adjusting the peel of the corset around his body till she was pleased with where it lay against his frame. “We’ll go slow.” She had to pause to re-lace the corset, each tie going in a separate loop. As she began to tighten them, Thomas could not help but wince. It felt like he was being constricted by a python, but just as he feared Mrs. Hughes would start to really strangle him she paused and (shockingly) loosened his corset. It seemed she merely wanted him snug, not tight.

“How does that feel?” She worried. “Too tight?” 

Thomas shook his head. In truth he’d be expecting much worse. 

“Good.” She sounded quite relieved. She came around the front and began to adjust where the top of his lacy chemise showed around his corset. “Now listen because this is important. Do not ever pop open the busk to remove your corset when it’s on and tightly laced.” She tapped at the metal busk clasps in the front which held him firm. “You could faint! Always loosen the laces in the back first, even if only a little, before removing your corset. Slow and steady wins the race.” 

Thomas took a deep breath, or tried to at least. It was difficult, and he felt slightly claustrophobic. 

“Try not to bend at the waist too much.” Mrs. Hughes urged, “After all, a corset is designed to keep you in an upright posture. The busks and bones can break!” She tapped at the metal clasps on his front again. “Try to use your thighs to bend. When you sit down, don’t slouch. Let the corset support you. Yes?” 

Thomas nodded, still adjusting to breathing with the upper part of his chest. 

“As for things of a more… intimate nature…” Mrs. Hughes was careful with her words, “You don’t have to take off your corset to… well…” Mrs. Hughes gestured with a flick of the wrist. “That’s what the drawers are for.” 

“Can we stop having this conversation?” Thomas griped. “I already feel a little light headed.” 

“Well that’s what you get for not eating breakfast!” She warned. 

She then took up the black dress at long last, and carefully helped him to put it over his head. It fell comfortably down around his corset, chemise, and knickers, creating an instant effect of a pleasing hourglass shape as Mrs. Hughes synched in his waist with his belt. She then went so far as to pick up his watch and put it in his dress pocket, fastening the Albert chain to the belt strap and offering him black flats that he could step into. It seemed he was finished and Mrs. Hughes was pleased with her work, stepping back so that Thomas could finally see himself in the mirror. 

He did not recognize himself. 

His entire appearance had changed, even the shape of his body. He no longer looked like a man, with his waist in an hourglass and frilly lace at his throat. The fact that his hair was no longer done up did not help his case. Where earlier this morning he had been Thomas Barrow, now he was merely an image of a ‘proper omega’. Something that one might put on a postcard and remark, “my what a sight!”

Thomas’ expression crumpled into an alarming rate.  
He burst into tears. 

Mrs. Hughes panicked, reaching up and wrapping her arms about his shaking shoulders. 

“Oh!” She beseeched, “Don’t cry now. You look so lovely in your new clothes. Don’t be upset.” She held him carefully, as if she thought he might break. In a way, her fears were well founded, “Don’t be upset.” 

It took several minutes for Thomas to calm down, with Mrs. Hughes petting his hair and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. She was consoling and careful, a far cry from her domineering alpha husband, and it helped Thomas to know that he would no longer have to deal with Carson as his immediate superior anymore. In a way, it was better that he was Mrs. Hughes’ assistant. She at least cared for his feelings, and would not be cruel if Thomas needed a moment to compose himself. 

When she found him duly recovered, she lead him from the attics to the main floor. They passed no one for the moment, but Thomas knew his luck was running out. Any moment now, someone would see him and the jeering would begin. For the moment however, he was safe in Mrs. Hughes company as she walked him through the tea rooms of the main floor. 

“Now,” Mrs. Hughes said, “We’ll check to make sure the day maids have done a thorough going over with the rooms before the family comes down. Before, you would be serving the meals. Now you’ll be cleaning them. The same principles apply either way.” 

Thomas watched, momentarily mute from shock of being in a corset and knickers, as Mrs. Hughes walked into the blue parlor room and observed its state. 

“All good.” She said after a moment, pointing out on or two things in particular, “See that the windows are opened?” Indeed they were, allowing in beautiful streams of sunlight which turned the carpets chartreuse and the sofas a lovely bright vermillion. “Do you see dust in the air?” 

Thomas squinted, but saw nothing, and shook his head so that Mrs. Hughes gave him a smug smile. 

“We look for dust, always.” She said, “And we fight it daily. Let’s go see how the day maids are getting on.” 

Thomas really didn’t want to but he doubted that he would get a say either way. They left the blue room and headed towards the library, finding the doors wide open and the sound of flapping linens coming within. They found the day maids hard at work, opening each of the arching library windows if only to unlock their claps and begin removing dust from the room. They worked in teams, fluffing pillows by throwing them against the carpeted floor and running dust rags over every working surface they could reach. The amounts of dust they uncovered was staggering, and with each flick of the dust rag a soft powdery explosion occurred. Gertie was at the fireplace, sweeping it clean of ash to re stack wood that Peter the lone hallboy had surely chopped the night before. She lit the fireplace with a stick of tinder, and warmed her hands by it briefly before glancing up and see Thomas and Mrs. Hughes in the doorway. 

“Oh!” She could not contain her surprise at the sight of Thomas in a dress. Her cry alerted the three day maids, all of whom looked around only to stop dead. 

One of them, a dark haired alpha named Amelia, had the nerve to snicker, glancing at an auburn haired day maid who Thomas knew to be an omega and a bosom friend. The pair of them seemed maliciously gleeful to see Thomas in a dress, which put hot spots of pink color in Thomas’ cheeks as he glared at them. 

“Something funny, Amelia?” Mrs. Hughes’ tone of voice boded absolute ill should either girl dare to be insubordinate. 

Both girls snapped to attention. 

“No, Mrs. Hughes.” Amelia replied at once. Still, the smirk stayed in place on her face. 

“I should think not.” Mrs. Hughes warned, “Go about your work.” And so the day maids were back at it again while Gertie scampered out of the room to get the next fire ready. The day maids were still chattering to one another, keeping their voices low, but Thomas watched as they continued to methodically dust and flick. Mrs. Hughes hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that the battle with dust was a daily one. 

“Do you see their routine?” Mrs. Hughes asked. Thomas nodded, having in truth seen this routine multiple times while only just a footman. He’d watched the maids even as he’d collected glasses or laid out platters. “Do you think you can do this in the pink parlor by yourself?” Thomas nodded again. 

“Off you go then.” Mrs. Hughes said. When Thomas didn’t immediately head off, she gave him a gentle nudge, and put a soft cleaning rag into his hands. “Go on. I’ll come check on you in a minute.” 

Thomas left the library, peeking out the grand doors before making a quick dart for the pink parlor which was directly across from the blue parlor. It was mostly used for guests, a quiet and isolated room that had a spectacular view of what had once been the eastern wing of the monastery. It was long gone now, nothing but marble columns extending to the sky every so often that waded through a scene of crisp green grass. 

Thomas opened up the windows, letting golden streams of sunlight in that highlighted swirls of dust in the air. He opened the clasps of the windows, letting in a soft late summer breeze and the drifting sound of insects chirping in the mid-morning swell. 

He grabbed pillows off the antique couch before a crackling hearth, throwing them down onto the floor with more force than was strictly necessary. Momentarily forgetting Mrs. Hughes’ advice, Thomas tried to bend over only to end up winded. He had to squat with his thighs again, and finally managed to grab at the pillow with just the tips of his fingers. He then fluffed the other pillows with only his hands, methodically beating them as best he could to avoid having to bend over again. He noticed spots on the sofa and chairs, and picked at them till the fluff was gone. The side tables and bars were covered in lace doilies so that Thomas had to lift up the edges in order to dust beneath. He continue to wipe even where it wasn’t strictly necessary, careful lifting vases and pictures to dust at their frames and edges. 

He tried desperately hard not to stare at his reflection in the mirror every time he passed, but it was difficult… very difficult. It felt like a stranger had taken over his body. Like he’d been cursed by a witch till he could no longer recognize his own face before. Thomas could remember being a footman, and how smart he’d been in his livery carrying a tray at shoulder height. He’d griped and moaned about the work load but Thomas would give anything to be set at polishing silver now. Anything to avoid feeling like such a blooming maid! There was no dignity in this. No dignity at all. 

It was when he caught a glance at the ansonian teardrop mantle shelf clock that Thomas lost it again, remembering how he’d wound that clock with such tender care. It was an exhaustive thing, needing a diligent eye lest it fall into disrepair. 

Thomas ran his polishing cloth across the edges of the clock, only to pick it up and hold it against his chest. 

What had he come to, holding onto a clock like it was a baby and crying for wearing a dress. Thomas trembled, his lip quivering wildly as hot tears began to slip down his face. The day maids had been unbearable. God only knows how the true downstairs staff would respond when they saw him- 

“Come now-“ 

Oh bugger it, he’d been caught crying by Mrs. Hughes again. Thomas sniffed heavily, turning away to rub at his cheeks and eyes with the back of his hand. He kept the clock pressed tight to his chest with the other. 

Mrs. Hughes was upon him in an instant, carefully taking the teardrop mantle shelf clock from him to set it back in its rightful place. In an act of kindness, she gave him her handkerchief and Thomas carefully dabbed at the moist tracks on his cheeks. He could not help but want to cry again and again. What a damn fool he was. 

“No more tears-“ She urged, her tone turning just the slightest bit chastising. “You’re ruin your eyes if you keep this up. Now.” Mrs. Hughes tapped beneath his chin, forcing him to look up. Thomas clung onto her soiled handkerchief like a security blanket. Mrs. Hughes turned him, urging him to look back at his work. Honestly the pink room hadn’t even been in a bad way before this. It looked… fine. Normal. Decent. Nothing to quiver over. 

“What a lovely room.” She complimented him, “Not a trail of dust in the air.” And just for emphasis she took her finger and ran it along the side table beside the couch. She nodded, content. “Very well done, Thomas. I’m very impressed.” 

Impressed at him being able to wipe a table?  
Christ. 

Thomas nearly dissolved into tears again. Mrs. Hughes caught him at once, scowling softly as Thomas buried his face in her handkerchief again. 

“Thomas.” She whispered his name in his ear, “Enough now. You’ll make yourself sick. You’ve done a lovely job. There’s nothing to cry over. I’m very proud of you-“ 

“I don’t want anyone t’see me.” Thomas begged thickly, his voice heavy in his mouth. His sinuses felt like they were swelling. 

“Well, I’m afraid it can’t be avoided.” Mrs. Hughes said softly. “But if it helps, I will make sure that no one harasses you.” She touched his chin again, once more making him look up, “You look lovely,” She said with no small amount of pride, “A proper omega. Truly, it suits you.” 

He doubted it. 

“Now that the downstairs rooms have been laid out, and the upstairs rooms are being readied by the day maids, it’s time for you and I to go visit Mrs. Patmore. Then we’ll sort out the linens for the day maids.” 

“Can’t I stay hidden?” Thomas begged. “I can dust other rooms-“ 

“No, that won’t do.” Mrs. Hughes warned, “I need you to see how we run the house, and you can’t do that with a back in the corner. Now come along.” And with that she lead him out of the pink room. They walked together across the main floor; Thomas could hear the chatter of the family in the dining hall and knew that Andy was no doubt beyond the doors with Mr. Carson holding court. 

They entered the servant’s stairwell through the green baize door, and almost immediately ran into Anna who was coming up the stairs with a lady’s fashion package in her hand clearly belonging to Lady Mary. Anna stopped dead on the steps, shocked by the sight of Thomas in a dress and stockings. A sick ugly feeling began to unwind in Thomas’ throat, making him feel nauseas as Anna’s bright blue eyes drifted up to his unmade hair, all the way down to his flat shoes. She seemed speechless, and who could blame her. 

“Anna?” Mrs. Hughes tried to bring her back to the land of the living with a stern but a kind voice. “Is something the matter?” 

Anna opened her mouth to say something, but the words failed in her throat. She coughed, trying to start again, but likewise seemed unable to come up with the proper words. 

“O-only that-“ Anna stuttered. 

But Thomas didn’t want to hear anymore. 

He stormed down the stairs, pushing hard past Anna so that she nearly dropped her package. It was difficult to walk fast with a corset restricting his breath. Running was flat out. Still, Thomas walked as fast as he possibly could, hitting the bottom step only to nearly run into Daisy who was coming around the corner with a tray full of cleared breakfast dishes. She cried out, having to take several steps backward lest she lose her load. Thomas did not stop to give her the time of day, instead darting for the linen closet so that he might barricade himself in. He did so, slamming the door behind himself only to lean on it haggardly and take deep heaving breathes. He was starting to feel light headed, and wished to god he could take his corset off even if only for a few minutes. Being hysterical with only half your lung capacity was a foolish concept. 

As soon as he could truly get his breath back, Thomas fumed about the linen cupboard opening cabinets only to slam them immediately when he found nothing useful inside. He’d expected more from Anna at least, who had never been truly malicious or sharp with him. It wasn’t as if she’d laughed at him, but her lack of speech had been more than telling. She’d thought Thomas a fool… and there was nothing that made Thomas’ blood boil faster than being made into a fool. 

He opened a cupboard only to find a clipboard along with several sheets of linen collections. He took them up at once, desperate to distract his raving brain which was close to declaring mutiny if he did not intercede and quickly. He found that the linen checks were rather stereotypical, with nothing too difficult to figure out. Every day was a different washing day. Today was a Monday, which meant that it was time to wash bed linens for the servants quarters. Several beds went un slept in, which meant that there were only so many that needed to be remade. Eight beds were slept in, so while eight bottom and top sheets were washed, eight spare bottom and top sheets needed to be handed out. Servants were garnered two pillows each (though some tended to steal extras from unused bedrooms) so that meant there were also sixteen pillow cases (at bare minimum) that needed washing too. The maids would be coming down now any second to start the first round of washing. One maid would stay behind, the other two would take up the fresh linens and make up the beds. That was where Thomas came in, he supposed. He began to fish around for linens in the cabinets, finding that one particular side of the room was full of nothing but servant’s linens while the other side was strictly for the family. He took out sixteen pillow cases, folding them neatly into little squares, and sorted out eight top and bottom sheets for the beds. He’d only just finished checking off the clean linens when the linen door opened to reveal the three day maids. The lowliest, an omega named Emma, was holding all the dirty linens in a massive bundle which left her momentarily blocked from view. Amelia was leading the fray, sneering as she found Thomas waiting to receive their load. 

The auburn haired day maid looked from Thomas to Amelia, unsure of what to say or where to make her stand. 

Thomas ground his jaw, shutting the cabinet door as gently as he could. In the ugly silence, the latch clasping was obnoxiously loud. 

“Nice dress.” Amelia finally said, “I think the last time I saw a print like that, me gran was wearing it.” 

“Better than yours.” Thomas bit out, for Amelia’s morning dress was a deep olive color that had faded to near brown around the wrists and hemline from overuse. Before another proper row could start up, Thomas slid over the bundles of clean linens, determined to make a show of it. 

None of the day maids made to accept the bundles. Emma could hardly see around her load to know what to do next. 

“Well?” Thomas demanded angrily, reminding himself almost of the times when he’d been lording over William in his cluelessness. “Get on with your work, or what else are you good for?” 

“Find yourself an alpha yet?” Amelia asked. Once again, Thomas felt his cheeks flood pink with anger. 

“I fail to see how that’s any of your damn business.” He snapped. 

“You were wearing trousers the last time we saw you.” Amelia leered, “Didn’t get you far did it?” 

But thoughts of trousers gave Thomas ugly memories of Dover Castle, where his ruined trousers had been all the dignity given to him until Alden had taken even that away. 

He slammed the clipboard down against the counter. The noise was so loud, it maid the auburn haired maid jump. Thomas rounded on Amelia quick as lightening, nearly flattening her into the wall as he bore down on her with every ounce of rage available to him. 

Thomas felt bitter satisfaction at the flash of fear that flickered through Amelia’s black eyes. 

“Now look hear, you little chit.” Thomas spat, “I may be wearin’ a dress but you’re a fool if you think I’m anythin’ but a man. I’m bigger than you, smarter than you, stronger than you- an’ if you don’t believe me I’ll be happy to show you in a punch. Thomas flexed his fingers into a tight fist. Two of his knuckles popped audibly. “Understand?!” 

Amelia backed up, but only two steps. Her glare was back, reproachful and angry at being made small by Thomas. 

“Get out.” Thomas ordered. 

Emma dropped the linens on the floor, grabbed the clean ones, and fled the room, followed at once by the auburn haired maid. Amelia was the last out, angrily kicking the linens at him before grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut so that it rattle on its frame. 

Thomas looked at all the soiled linens on the floor, and took to his knees. It wasn’t like he could bed over anymore, was it? 

There were sixteen pillow cases and eight top sheets, and eight bottom sheets. Everything was as it should be. Thomas separate everything into piles, wondering if he should just leave them on the floor or take them to the wash room himself. 

The door opened to reveal Mrs. Hughes, who looked down at him disapprovingly. 

“The maids have the linens.” Thomas muttered. 

“I saw.” Mrs. Hughes said. She shut the door on them and helped Thomas back to his feet before picking up the offending clipboard. “They said you threatened them.” 

“Yeah, so what?” He muttered under his breath. 

“That’s not proper, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were the same in one respect at least. The both adored decorum, “We run this house on decency and hard work. Not threats.” 

But Thomas had spent a lifetime being chided and chased by Mr. Carson, so he couldn’t agree. “Really? You could have fooled me.” 

Mrs. Hughes gave him a dark look. 

“Oh don’t fuss.” She warned, “Now look at my lists-“ She pushed the clipboard back under his nose, “Did you see our Monday washing list? We check off each item as we receive it. This is how we cut down on theft you see. After the family has finished with the dining hall, we’ll check back in the table linens and refresh them for lunch. See the pattern?” Mrs. Hughes paused, opening a bottom cupboard to reveal a large whicker basket that was graying with age. “This is where the dirty linens go. Gertie washes them.” 

Right on time, like she’d been summoned by Mrs. Hughes saying her name, Gertie opened the linen room door and blinked owlishly at Thomas. For a minute, Thomas was tempted to threaten her as well. Shockingly enough, as Mrs. Hughes handed over the whicker basket so that Gertie could collect the soiled linens, Gertie mumbled from the floor, “I just wanted to say… you have a very pretty dress.” 

Thomas flushed for an entirely different reason. The poor girl must be deranged from overwork. 

Gertie scrambled to collect all the linens from the floor as Mrs. Hughes praised her, “That’s very kind of you Gertie, now off you go.” 

She was quick to obey, leaving the linen room with the enormous basket balanced on her hip. She shut the door as she went. 

“She’s a sweet thing.” Mrs. Hughes praised, “Good hearted too… you’ll see.” 

Thomas didn’t know whether to believe her or not. 

 

After the collection of linens, Thomas found that Mrs. Hughes sequestered herself away to manage the accounts. While Mr. Carson was the one to tally over the finances, it was Mrs. Hughes who paid the bills with what money remained. For a good hour, the pair of them had to go through every piece of mail, paying sums for food, linens, electricity, water, and so on. It was shocking to see how much they consumed in one week alone, and a large indicator to Thomas that their way of life couldn’t carry on forever. He watched, captivated, as Mrs. Hughes walked him through all the bits and bods of making sure that the pantry was stocked and the medicine cabinets were in good supply. She was still wary about putting him around the cleaning supplies, perhaps having flashbacks to the darker days of July. Thomas couldn’t blame her. Part of him was growing weaker by the day, and couldn’t be bothered to want to live anymore. Who was to say that lye packets wouldn’t slip into his pocket when on one was looking? Still, Mrs. Hughes did him the curtesy of showing him how to keep up the stocks and where to look for theft. 

Thomas thought that he might remain in her office for a longer time, but alas his luck had run short. 

Near noon, the pair of them were ascending the servant’s stairs again, heading back to the main floor so that they could have their daily meeting with Lady Grantham in the blue tea room. Apparently this was something that occurred with the same frequency as the washing of linens, but Thomas had never been privileged to view it before. He didn’t understand why he was now, only that Mrs. Hughes seemed adamant he should be involved with the running of the house. God only knows what Lady Grantham would say when she saw him… he certainly hadn’t been on his best behavior the last time they’d talked. 

“Why do I have to meet with her?” Thomas complained as they exited the servant’s stairwell. 

“She runs the house.” Mrs. Hughes said, “We give her reports and do her bidding. It’s important that you involve yourself, Thomas. I won’t have you shut away.” 

Thomas opened his mouth, ready to say something witty and acerbic, only to fall flat as the door to the servant’s stairwell opened again to reveal Mrs. Patmore. Thomas had rarely ever seen her above ground, and was shocked to find her doing so now. Mrs. Patmore didn’t look surprised to see him, maybe Mrs. Hughes had told her to expect it. Indeed, she appraised his new attire with a jerk of the head, looking slightly pleased. 

“Ah. Ready?” Mrs. Hughes greeted her companion. 

“I’ve my lists here.” Mrs. Patmore said, patting her apron, “Look at you!” She turned her attentions to Thomas, “All dolled up and no where to go.” 

“I say, Ms. Baxter’s tastes were right on the money.” Mrs. Hughes agreed, touching Thomas’ elbow endearingly. 

“Oh yes, it’s a nice cut on him.” Mrs. Patmore said. Thomas flushed again, looking away, “Though I have to admit it is slightly bizarre after sixteen years in trousers.” 

“I think it fits him better, don’t you?” Mrs. Hughes asked, in a tone that seemed to beg Mrs. Patmore agree. 

“As do I. Much more natural.” Mrs. Patmore said. 

Thomas rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. What on earth was natural about this? He felt like a monkey parading around a street peanut machine. 

“Oh, don’t be sour.” Mrs. Patmore warned as the three of them walked across the main hall towards the waiting blue room, “You’ll get used to it.” 

Thomas doubted it very much. 

As they approached the blue room, Mr. Carson came cutting a path across the gallery hall, clearly intent on joining them. At the sight of Thomas in a dress, he looked greatly pleased, and preened a bit as he joined Mrs. Hughes at her side. 

“Very well done.” Was all Mr. Carson said, “I like to see things done properly.” 

Thomas flushed, refusing to meet Mr. Carson’s eyes. Mr. Carson didn’t seem surprised, and opened the door to reveal Lady Grantham sitting on the couch just inside, wearing a fine day dress of light pink and smiling faintly. She perked up at the sight of Thomas, amazed at his ‘transformation’ as the four of them entered and stood before her in a line. 

“Everyone ready?” Lady Grantham asked, her American accent still oddly disturbing to Thomas’ English ears. 

“At your word, your ladyship.” Mr. Carson replied smoothly. 

“Well it’s not too much.” Lady Grantham smiled, “I just wanted to express that we’re having a guest for dinner tomorrow night… a Father Markus of Rippon. He’s good friends with his Lordship from school, and he’s a bit partial to fowl.” 

“I’ll make a nice grouse with lemon rub, if your Ladyship likes.” Mrs. Patmore said. 

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” Lady Grantham said, “Do you think you could manage a raspberry tart too? He’s mentioned to his Lordship that it’s preferable.” Lady Grantham paused, reaching over to the side table where a few pieces of post were laying. One in particular was her target, and she plucked it up with dainty hands to pull out a weathered piece of paper which she passed over to Mrs. Patmore who immediately put on her reading glasses and accepted the list. Thomas read over her shoulder to see it was a recipe, which Mrs. Patmore pocketed without much concern. 

“It’ll do well.” Mrs. Patmore agreed, “Nothing too extraordinary, though I’ll need to fetch a few things from the pantry.” 

“Whatever you need, Mrs. Patmore.” Lady Grantham said, “Mrs. Hughes, we’ll want the red room freshened up for Father Markus which he stays over for the night.” 

“Of course your Ladyship.” Mrs. Hughes said. Thomas was already tallying the linens in his head… Six in all. 

“He won’t take wine, Carson.” Lady Grantham gave Mr. Carson a gentle smile, “I’m not sure what else to tell you. Perhaps we should offer tea instead at dinner.” 

“Whatever your ladyship requires, I shall attend to.” Mr. Carson said. 

“Excellent.” She praised, only to turn her gaze onto Thomas who quickly looked at the floor to avoid meeting her eyes. “Thomas, his Lordship wants to know how you’re getting on?” 

_How the fuck do you think?_ “M’lady?” 

“That is to say, are you finding your new position in the house agreeable?”  
Oh right, like he could actually answer that truthfully with Carson bearing down on him and Mrs. Patmore within reaching distance. He’d get cuffed around the ears by two different hands if he dared to speak up. 

“…Whatever your ladyship needs, I shall provide.” Thomas said, in a tone that was bordering on cold. It was as best he could manage in a dress and a corset. 

Lady Grantham seemed slightly off put. Maybe she could sense his tension, “That’s very kind of you, but we’d rather that your needs were met too. It’s a difficult change,and his Lordship is worried about you as is Lady Mary.” 

Now that he could believe. Part of him wondered if Lady Mary was soft on him because of Matthew’s plight, “Please do not bother yourself with me, M’lady.” 

Lady Grantham frowned, perhaps sensing that she wasn’t going to get much more out of him. Thomas could feel Carson glowering at him, the heat of his stare igniting the skin at the nape of Thomas’ neck. 

“If you insist,” Lady Grantham shifted uncomfortably on the couch, “But if you need anything you’ll be certain to tell Carson or Mrs. Hughes?” 

“Of course, M’lady.” Thomas lied. 

“Remember, we serve his Lordship.” She urged, “You’re his omega as much as I am. If his Lordship requires something of you, make sure you address it promptly.” 

But when the fuck hadn’t he done that? Even when he’d been a beta in disguise? 

“Yes M’lady.” Thomas said, pursing his lips tight to keep his cynicism in. 

“If there’s anything that needs to be brought to my attention?” Lady Grantham asked.  
But there wasn’t, and they were dismissed. 

 

In an act of gentle charity, Mrs. Hughes allowed Thomas to have a moment to himself after the meeting with Lady Grantham. Maybe she could see that he was in no mood to be messed with, and the day maids weren’t shy of heckling him either. To try and keep him occupied, she let him have the run of the linen room, so that he could organize fresh linens for the red room for Father Markus’ visit. It wasn’t that much… just four pillow shams, and the two necessary bed linens. Of course there was also the bathroom linens that Thomas hadn’t taken into account, not to mention that everything had to be ironed before it could go up. Thomas therefore spent his noon hour ironing linens, losing himself in the methodical dance of it all, until it came time for servant’s tea in the afternoon. 

Or at least, he would have if he hadn’t felt on the verge of fainting. 

He was hot, and desperately wanted to fan himself. He couldn’t seem to gather a proper breath, and wheezed as he shifted from foot to foot. God what would he give to be able to take off his corset. To dunk himself in a bath of ice water and lay there until his temperature went down. He was unsure if the heat was coming from ironing or all the blood rushing to his head, but Thomas felt like if he kept it up for much longer he was going to be sick. Nausea came and went, rolling off him like waves battering a shore. When the nausea vanished there was only a cold sweat and chills. Neither were pleasant to endure. 

By the time that Mrs. Hughes came to collect him, Thomas was ready for rip the damn corset off, warnings be damned. 

“Thomas,” Mrs. Hughes called out to him, “Come join us for tea.” When she noticed he was gray and sweating, she grew pensive and put her hand upon his forehead. “You’re unwell.” She worried, “You’ll feel better once you eat. You’re probably peckish because you missed breakfast.” 

“Let me take it off.” Thomas mumbled, holding to the cupboards as he groaned into the wood. “Please, I can’t stand it.” 

“If you sit down and have a bit of tea you’ll feel better.” Mrs. Hughes urged. “You can’t take it off yet, not until the workday is done. You know the rules, Thomas.” 

Damn the rules. 

He followed Mrs. Hughes out of the linen pantry with a slow and moping gate, watching intensely at every person that passed him. Bates and Anna were in the servant’s hall, along with Andrew, Baxter, and Daisy who was serving piping hot tea from her favorite brown kettle. A plate of lemon biscuits were laid out for everyone to share, as well as slices of apple and orange curtesy of Mrs. Patmore. The day maids were at one end of the table, sharing a cup and looking glad to be off their feet. 

Thomas decided he’d rather do without the tea, eager to be as far away from the day maids as possible. Yet even as he reached the stairs, he felt a tender hand upon his arm and looked around to find Baxter at his elbow. She was weary with concern, noticing his ashen complexion and the cold sweat on his brow. 

“You look horrid.” She murmured, “Your corset is bothering you, isn’t it.” 

“Regular Sherlock Holmes, you are.” Thomas mumbled. His snark was without its usual bite. 

“You’ll feel better if you sit.” Baxter murmured, “Come and have a cup of tea with everyone else.” 

“I’d rather chew broken glass.” Thomas said, making to head up the stairs a second time. Baxter’s hand prevented him from getting too far, pulling him back down so that he could not abandon conversation. 

“Don’t be that way.” Baxter urged, “They mean no harm.” But Thomas had already had enough of the day maids to last him for a whole month and knew they would barb him even in public with Mrs. Hughes watching. 

“I’m not a fool.” Thomas meant to say more, but suddenly he felt a pounding sensation overtake his eardrums, like his heart was beating inside his skull. He grew quiet, pressing his face into the smooth wood of the railing. Baxter pulled him back towards the servant’s hall at once. 

Thomas was forced into a chair, much to his displeasure, and felt someone fanning his face as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He tried to take deep breathes, but found it was impossible. His chest was simply too constricted- the corset had to come off. He couldn’t stand it anymore! It was either take off the corset or faint! 

“Daisy, can you get me a piece of ice as fast as you can?” He heard Baxter’s voice as if from through a tunnel. 

“I can’t breath-“ He hitched a breath, his tongue thick in his mouth. He was about to lose his god damn mind! “I have to take it off, I can’t breathe-!” He reached for the top of his chemise, ready to rip his dress off just to get his corset unlaced. 

Baxter grabbed his hands to try and keep him decent. “Thomas you can’t take your clothes off in the servant’s hall.” 

“Watch me!” Thomas roared, and with that he grabbed at his corset from atop his dress to try and find the metal clasps through the fabric. It was coming off. It was coming off right now! 

Mrs. Hughes shot to his side and grabbed his hands as well, forcing him to sit still and behave as Daisy returned with a piece of ice wrapped in a towel. Mrs Hughes took it at once, and pressed it against the back of his neck so that a sudden cold sensation began to numb Thomas’ senses. 

“Just take slow breaths.” Baxter urged, “Stay completely still. You’re making yourself sick. You need to center yourself, and keep off your feet for a bit- “

“What he needs is an alpha.” Amelia sneered from the end of the table. 

Maybe she thought that no one would hear her over the confusion of Thomas trying to take his corset off in public. Maybe she didn’t care. Either way, Thomas’ eyes popped open wide as he turned to seethe at the uppity little maid. 

He scrambled to his feet, pushing off both Mrs. Hughes and Baxter’s hands so that he could round the table. He could have sworn he felt Bates try to grab him by the arm as he passed, but was so focused on getting to Amelia that he didn’t take time to look around and notice. Amelia jerked out of her chair, backing up at once as Thomas bore down on her with the fury of a thousand unsettled hornets. 

“JUST SHUTTUP!” He barked at the top of his voice, his heart pounding erratically in his confined rib cage, “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You stupid, worthless, useless, pathetic little girl!” 

“Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes cried out, angry at his lack of tact and decorum, “That is enough, you’re making a scene!” 

Thomas agreed. It absolutely was enough. 

He stormed out of the servant’s hall, on the verge of fainting as he stumbled to the stairs. Baxter was behind him, trying to get him to come back and sit down; Thomas shoved her off. “Don’t touch me!” He couldn’t stand the thought of being around the others anymore, not when Amelia’s words were burning in his ears. 

How was that stupid little girl to know that Alden had told him much the same thing? That for the past month, Thomas had suffered horrific abuse under the guise of ‘steering’ him towards an alpha? 

As Thomas walked up the stairs, he hurriedly scrambled at the front of his dress, fishing for the metal eyes beneath. He found two and popped them open, desperate to get more breath. By the time Thomas had reached the attics, he’d gotten three more eyes open and could gain significantly more breath. He stormed to his room, slamming the door closed to shove his desk chair underneath in a poor man’s lock. He did not waist time, scrambling to get the dress of from over his head so that he could properly undo the corset. The bones had burned against Thomas’ skin, bruising him even with the chemise blocking their touch. Thomas ripped the corset off him and took deep gulping lungfuls of fresh air. He nearly fainted, a high buzzing sensation sweeping across his legs, as blood began to pump with vigor through his veins. Furious at the offending garment, Thomas grabbed the desk chair out from underneath his door knob to run right across the hall for Daisy’s room. He opened the door, not even bothering to glance about at the homely decorations as he made a bee line for her window. He opened it wide, and with all the ‘adieu’ of a virginal maiden toasting a ship’s first voyage Thomas hurled the corset right out the window. See them try and make him wear one now! 

He slammed the window and locked it back, feeling viciously triumphant. He left Daisy’s room without another word, and returned to his own if only to barricade himself in for a while. 

After the morning he’d had, he needed a fucking lie down. 

 

~*~

Of course, the sorry tale of Thomas Barrow’s corset did not end there. 

Robert Crawley had been taking a prolonged walk around the grounds, enjoying the splendors of summer with Tiaa loping ahead, when his sunny afternoon had been punctuated by a bizarre object fluttering down through the air. At first he’d thought it a fallen bird, and had wondered if a shooter had gone amiss, only to see instead that it was actually some type of fabric- perhaps a curtain that had fallen out of someone’s window. Tiaa had fetched it at once, delighted by her prize, and had returned for Robert’s inspection something that was decidedly not a bird or a curtain. He’d looked up at the sky in wonder, unable to ignore the heavy scent of peach that seemed to cling to the corset like an aura. It was still warm, clearly having been recently disrobed; he doubted that most of the Downton female staff were prone to fling their underclothes out of windows. 

Which really only left one suspect. 

He’d returned inside, rolling the corset it like one might a map only to find Cora reading in the blue room. He showed her the corset and the pair of them desperately tried not to dissolve into laughter lest Carson hear and make a scene. If there was one thing Robert did not want, it was more trouble for Thomas Barrow. 

But he really needed to have his corset back. 

Robert and Cora were now relaxing in the library, taking tea from Carson who was oblivious to the fact that Robert had hidden Thomas’ corset behind his back. He contented himself with reading the paper, though he found nothing interesting in the times, while Cora carefully worked on a needlepoint of a beautiful golden lab running through a field. Every so often, Cora would turn to look at him and Robert would be struck by the lovely scent of lavender that hung at her neck. 

It calmed him. 

Carson stood at attention, eyes relaxed but alert as he held court over the coffee kettle and three spare cups. 

Robert wondered how to best broach the obvious subject without being too crass. 

“Carson, how are things?” Robert asked. Carson answered at once. 

“All is well, M’lord.” 

“And Thomas?” 

Carson’s left eye twitched. It was imperceptible to an outsider, but Robert knew Carson so well that he could see the fluidity of his emotions as if they were shifting scenes from a traveling film. 

He was irritated. So clearly Thomas was not ‘behaving’. 

“That is another matter, M’lord.” Carson finally admitted. 

“I should imagine.” Robert said, for how could he deny it with Thomas’ corset still pressing into his spine. “How did he take to being Mrs. Hughes’ new assistant?” 

“He ran from it, M’lord.” Carson replied, “But not before threatening half the staff.”

Cora paused in her needlework, ears ever alert to the threat of gossip. 

“Oh dear.” She murmured, setting down her sewing upon her lap. 

“Threatening?” Robert wondered. He’d hoped Thomas was passed all that. 

“He called a day maid a stupid, worthless, useless, pathetic little girl.” Carson said dryly. Robert could only imagine the strength of such a statement directed through Thomas’ dramatic mouth. 

“Why on earth would he say such a thing?” Cora was clearly disappointed. How was Carson to know Cora had been hoping Thomas would take better to the change, maybe become a positive force in the house. 

“Because she insisted he needed an alpha, which is accurate.” Carson said. “And I plan to bring up the topic with him myself-“ 

“Perhaps we shouldn’t, Carson.” Robert warned. Carson closed his mouth at once, “Only that I worry the Brigade did more harm than good, and I don’t want him to be frightened off the subject entirely.” 

“I have to agree.” Cora added sadly, “When I saw him in my meeting this morning, he looked positively furious.” 

“He hasn’t been making it easy on himself, M’lady.” Carson said, “He should try for a bit more humility.” 

“Perhaps I should speak with him.” Robert tried to angle himself in, “Iron out the situation, so to say… I feel poorly for having the Brigade get involved. I’ll admit that night was a shock for me, but it was probably a shock for him too. Fresh off his heat, newly outed as an omega. I can understand why he panicked.” 

“If you think it’s the right thing to do, M’lord.” Carson said. 

“I do, unless you object-?” 

“I shouldn’t dream to, M’lord.” Carson knew his song and dance well, but Robert could tell that Carson was dully apprehensive. Maybe he had a point; Thomas wasn’t known for being the most… stable… of conversation partners now a days. “I’ll go fetch him now.” 

Carson left promptly, leaving Robert and Cora alone. Cora gave him a sly smile that was on the verge of becoming mischievous. Robert carefully fished the corset out from behind him; it had started to poke into his back. 

“You didn’t mention the corset.” Cora teased. 

“Certainly not,” Robert laid the corset beside him, allowing the scent of peach to unfurl from the fabric, “Carson would scream.” 

“Or have another heart attack.” Cora smiled. “So what will you say to Thomas?” 

“I’m not sure. I thought you might help me?” She was, after all, an omega after his own heart. 

“If that’s what you wish.” She said, with that simple little smile of hers that so warmed his English heart. Their marriage had been an arranged one, an omega with a fortune and an alpha with a title… but after sharing their first heat together, love had slowly begun to set it. Cora had been frightened of him in the beginning, afraid that he would be cruel to her as so many alphas were to their omegas. 

But he’d shown her in the end, and by their second shared heat she’d been more than delighted to share his bed. 

“I’ve felt poorly about this for a while now.” Robert admitted, fiddling with the delicate handle of his teacup. “It wasn’t right for me to call the Brigade. It sounds like something my father would do, and I don’t mean that in a friendly way.” 

He sighed, restless against the couch. He rose and began to pace, stroking his chin every so often. 

“It was a snap decision, I agree.” Cora said, her tone lovingly gentle as she consoled him, “But you had every right at the time to be afraid of him. He was out of control and unmanageable. You have children in the house. You did what you needed to do to protect your family.” 

Was she right? He just couldn’t say. The whole concept was muddle in terrible plums of gray, making Robert feel sick to his stomach. 

Of course, he might have gone on pondering it forever had he not heard shouting outside the library door. 

“Oh dear.” Cora worried. 

Robert walked around the couch, heading for the doors to throw them open so that he could see Carson struggling with someone just beyond the green baize door. 

“I won’t!” Robert could hear Thomas pitching a fit through the wood divide, “I won’t, d’you hear me?! I can’t bloody breath in it, and I can’t work! I can barely move around in this bloomin’ dress as it is!” 

“You will hold to a sense of decorum or by god I will call the Brigade again-“ Carson was starting to lose his temper. Robert knew for a fact that Carson wouldn’t dare to call the Brigade again, but that wouldn’t make the threat any less real to Thomas. 

Omegas were not meant to be struggled with, tossing and turning. Omegas were meant to be courted, to be treated with gentility and a soothing hand. Robert believed this firmly, even as the world changed around him. 

“Carson!” Robert called out, eager to halt the nonsense in its tracks. At once, Carson let go of Thomas’ wrist so that quite suddenly the pair of them were stumbling out of the servant’s stairwell and into the broad like of the main hall. Thomas was askew, for though he wore a dress and stockings he clearly didn’t have his corset on and his eyes were bloodshot. He seemed to have been crying, and Robert felt another terrible stab of regret as he took in Thomas’ disheveled appearance. 

“M’lord- I am sorry to say that Thomas is most unpresentable at the moment.” Carson straightened up, having to pause if only to push a few gray hairs back into place. 

“No matter.” Robert wouldn’t let Thomas be bothered by it, “I’ll speak to him as is.” 

“M’lord?” Carson was taken aback. 

“I’ll talk to him in the library with Lady Grantham.” Robert said, “Oh I should mention that I thought I heard Mrs. Hughes calling for you.” 

This of course was a flat out lie, but there was nothing quite so calling to an alpha as the needs of their omega. 

“Thank you, M”lord. If you’ll excuse me-“ Carson turned away at once, closing the door to the servant’s stairwell so that suddenly Thomas and Robert were left alone in the main hall. 

There was a bizarre…magnetism to Thomas. The way he glared at Robert woefully through blood shot eyes. Part sulky, part resigned. Wholly lovely, as only an omega could be. 

“Won’t you come into the library.” Robert offered. 

Thomas looked like he wanted to run away screaming, but he followed behind Robert anyways. Robert allowed Thomas to slip in before him, and though it was abnormal for him to be the one to close the doors he did so to ensure that no one was watching outside. He wanted calm. He wanted to privacy. 

He wanted Thomas to feel safe. It was only right, only natural. 

Thomas watched him warily, as skittish as a deer on the outskirts of the woods. 

Robert walked back around the couch, taking his place beside Cora. He wondered if Thomas had spotted the corset sitting just by the edge of the couch, hidden beneath an ornate throw pillow. 

Thomas watched the pair of them, practically ready to bolt.  
He needed to be soothed. To be treated well. 

“Thomas…” Robert spoke in his warmest voice, “I wanted to see how your first day back was going. I heard it’s been slightly difficult.” 

“ I can’t breath in my corset, M’lord.” Thomas spoke up. His voice was throaty and clipped. He’d either been screaming or crying. Possibly both, “I request not to wear one.” 

While the idea of Thomas without a corset was a tiny private fantasy Robert entertained in the back of his mind, it wouldn’t do for him to walk about the abbey practically naked. It was only his first day ‘behind the wheel’. Naturally he was quick to flight. Who wouldn’t be? 

“I’m afraid that’s rather out of line.” Robert kept his tone gentle. 

“You have to train yourself to breath in one, Thomas.” Cora reminded him, “It’s not something you can learn in one day.” 

“M’lady, I apologize but it impedes with the quality of my work-“ Thomas’ tone was starting to sour. His temper was getting flared up. 

“I understand.” Cora tried to urge, “I’ve worn one since I was a small girl. But you have to wear it and that’s flat. You could hardly go without wearing bloomers or garters-“

Thomas looked close to blowing his temper. 

There were thoughts beneath the wake stream locked in Robert’s mind. Things that he would not dare to bring up before Cora or any other omega. Things that Robert had begun to dwell on as of late… ways that he might help Thomas to learn how to behave. 

But that wasn’t his place. He wasn’t Thomas’ alpha. He never would be. 

 

“This isn’t right.” Thomas shook his head, “This isn’t right, for me to be kept here- in a cage- in a dress. This isn’t decent-!” 

“Downton is hardly a cage, Thomas, or have you forgotten Dover?” Robert warned. Indeed, his stomach clenched every time he thought of the awful things that could befall Thomas. 

It seemed his words had struck a sensitive mark. Immediately Thomas went pale and withdrew, his temper evaporating to leave him unnervingly quiet. Robert watched as Thomas’ personality vanished under a flash of the servant’s blank, leaving him wanting. 

“… Forgive me.” Robert spoke up again, his tone as soft as he dared. “I didn’t mean to bring up that awful place. It’s only that … I want to protect you Thomas. You’re one of the old crew, and an omega to boot. You ought to know that Downton will always have a place for you.” 

Thomas didn’t seem to care. He looked away from Robert and stared resolutely out the windows towards the great expanse of lawn that blanketed the north. 

“Likewise-“ Robert turned, and picked up Thomas’ corset. He held a hand out, keeping his expression forcibly neutral as Thomas balked a the sight of his offending garment. “You’ll want to have this back.” 

“Forgive me-“ Robert added, for Thomas looked ready to scream, “but Tiaa found it while we went on a walk. I didn’t tell Carson.” 

Thomas darted forward, and took the corset at once. His grip was firm, far more aggressive than anything Robert had ever encountered in an omega before. Thomas fled from the library, all sense of decorum going with him. He didn’t even bother to close the door, clearly eager to get out of sight before Carson saw the corset in open air. 

Robert looked back around at Cora, who cautiously picked back up her needlepoint. 

“… Perhaps that was overly optimistic.” Robert mumbled. 

“Perhaps.” 

~*~

 

Of course, Thomas had to put the god damn mother fucking corset back on.  
Of course. 

Still, at least the second time around it was Baxter lacing him up and not Mrs. Hughes. She seemed to be more aware of the needs for his rib cage, making the corset as forcibly loose as possible. It barely synched in at all, which was just as Thomas wanted it, but Baxter swore that in time it would be easier for him to wear it tighter. One day at a time and all that dribble. 

God damn mother fucking corset. 

After not eating breakfast or indulging in tea, Thomas was utterly famished and ready to fall over the first dinner plate he saw. The night time routine for the maids was split, with the day maids leaving before dinner was served and Mrs. Hughes using Thomas as her filter for the night. Thomas folded and ironed, carefully sorted the newly washed linens, all the while sipping carefully on a cup of tea to keep from being light headed. Mrs. Patmore even sorted out a few biscuits for him though it wouldn’t help him like a full meal could. 

He needed meat. Vegetables. Something savory. 

When dinner was finally served, Thomas hung out on the fringe of activity, watching as Anna, Bates, Andy, Baxter, Moseley, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Carson all took their places around the table. The only seat left was for Thomas, with Gertie, Daisy, Peter, and Mrs. Patmore eating together in the kitchen on a fold out table. 

Thomas watched from the doorway as everyone rose in a single unit for Mr. Carson. They all sat back down as one, each of them delighting over a feast of pot roast and potatoes. The smells were driving Thomas to madness, making him salivate heavily. 

But sitting down would mean conversation, and Thomas wasn’t sure if he was up to that. He wished he could just take a damn tray in his room. 

Carson glanced at him, raising one heavy eyebrow as if to say ‘get your behind in your seat or god so help me I’ll glue the back of your dress to the chair’. 

Thomas walked sulkily around the table, now forced to sit between Mrs. Hughes and Anna. Both women looked straight ahead, neither wanting to start up morbid or indecent conversation around Mr. Carson as he dolled out food. every got a helping of roast, vegetables, potatoes, and bread. By the time Thomas got his plate he could have bathed in the sumptuous steam rising up off of the beef and carrots. 

They all began to dine as one, and though Thomas wanted to be rebellious he desperate tucked into his own plate first. For a moment there was no talking, merely the sound of cutlery clinking against plates. Then, as people began to sate their appetites, the feasting grew slower and talk sprung up. Baxter and Moseley were the first to be taken up; they were the oddity of the downstairs, with Moseley a bumbling beta and Baxter a deprived omega. He desperately wanted her. It was so god damn obvious it made Thomas’ teeth hurt… but he couldn't satisfy her, or so other alphas swore. After what Thomas had witnessed of Dover, he wasn’t so sure. He’d rather have a good man that was kind to him over an alpha that could ‘satisfy’ him. 

He ate ravenously, starting on a second helping… anything to get the ache of hunger out of his stomach. 

But Thomas knew that he was being watched. He could feel the heat upon his skin. He looked up and searched the table, eyes roving until they landed on Bates who was slowly cutting his potatoes into manageable bites. 

His eyes were locked on Thomas’ face. 

“What?” Thomas snapped, “Something on your mind? I’m not your therapist. Don’t expect me to coax it out of you.” Thomas went back to his own plate, stabbing at his potatoes like they’d done him a personal injustice. 

Bates didn’t let it ruffle him. 

“You certainly got your steps in today.” Bates said casually. 

“Shocked?” Thomas asked. 

“I’m far from surprised.” Bates bit into a potato with care. To Thomas’ right, Anna grew slightly stiff at the tension in her alpha’s voice. 

Now that Bates knew he was an omega, there was a whole new addition to their bizarre relationship. Maybe he’d known from the beginning when he’d slung Thomas into the bedroom wall. Maybe he’d known when Thomas had tried to kiss Jimmy in his sleep. Maybe he’d known when Thomas had slit— 

Thomas set down his fork and knife, the image of a bathtub swirling with red making him incredibly nauseas. 

He wanted to eat more, truly he did, but he just couldn’t stand to be in the presence of the others. Not when he was so exhausted. Thomas rose up, deciding he would call it an early night before the others. But even as he stood, Mrs. Hughes reached out and tugged him by the elbow, urging him to retake his seat. 

“Honestly, Thomas.” She chastised him lightly, no true bite to her voice, “Don’t be silly. Finish your food, you’ve gone all day without a bite. If you keep it up you’ll make yourself ill.” 

“I don’t-“ Thomas started, but was cut off by Mr. Carson’s firm command. 

“Sit down.” He warned. Thomas caught his eye, and found Mr. Carson glaring at him again. “Now.” 

Part of Thomas wanted to rebel, but he was still so very hungry and he knew that to disobey Carson would only lead to more trouble... as if he needed that in his life. So he sat back down, bitter, though he refused to take another bite in an act of silent protest. 

“Eat.” Mr. Carson commanded. Thomas pursed her lips tight. “That wasn’t a suggestion, omega.” 

It burned Thomas to be treated in such a way, but he knew that Carson, unlike Alden, did not mean the term like a slur. He was the head alpha of the downstairs, second only to Lord Grantham in the house. He commanded respect, and reigned with firm authority. He wasn’t used to omegas of any sort going against him. 

Mrs. Hughes nudged him carefully with her own elbow, her eyes shifting from Thomas’ plate to his hands clenched in his lap. 

By god if the whole table wasn’t watching him now to see what he’d do next. 

Feeling like a fool, and horribly unhappy for it, Thomas slowly picked up his fork and resumed eating his pot roast. He did so, however, by taking the tiniest bites imaginable and refused to make noise. Mr. Carson huffed, rolling his eyes at Thomas’ obvious theatrics. 

“I could have sworn the Brigade broached the subject of honest omega behavior with you.” Mr. Carson muttered, “Or did that topic not come up?” 

Thomas paused, his fork clinking softly against his plate. 

Voices were bouncing against his skull, echoing in his ears again. Awful scenes came to mind… of two poles binding him up. Of a cage. Of a dark forest. Of a bedroom turned jail cell for three naive women. 

“… My time with them wasn’t about topics.” Thomas whispered, grave. 

“I find that hard to believe.” Carson bit moodily into his pot roast, taking a healthy sip of wine as he narrowed his eyes. 

“Mr. Carson-“ Mr. Bates spoke up, sounding just the slightest bit terse. “The Brigade aren’t known to be lecturers.. and it wasn’t right that Thomas was put in their path. His Lordship regrets his actions deeply.” 

Mr. Carson seemed the slightest bit reproachful. 

“Be that as it may.” Mr. Carson warned, “I will accept no slack of standards in this house. Under the abbey’s roof, all downstairs omegas report to me as if I were their own. I won’t accept disobedience from you, Thomas, just as I wouldn’t accept it from Anna or Daisy.” 

Thomas refused to look at Mr. Carson, still gray in the face with fading thoughts of the Brigade. 

“I’m glad Thomas is home.” Anna spoke up. Thomas doubted she was telling the truth. She was probably just trying to butter Mr. Carson back up, “He belongs here, not at Dover surely?” 

“I agree.” Mrs. Hughes said. “And we’ll say no more about it. I’ve had enough of a time keeping the maids in the dark and I’d appreciate it if you all would help me.” 

Across the table, Andy gave Thomas a consoling look. “If it’s any consolation, Amelia’s always been in a bit of a way—“ 

“It’s not.” Thomas shot him down, for Amelia’s insulting advice was still ringing in his ears. 

Andy looked crestfallen, and hastily took a sip of tea to hide his embarrassment. 

Moseley was the next to try his luck with Thomas, taking a stern but soft approach not unlike Mr. Carson: “I’m sure you’ll find an alpha soon, Thomas. I don’t know much about it but- well… surely they’re… attracted to you?” 

“Much in the same way buzzards are attracted to a dying field animal, yes.” Thomas replied, dryly. He took an elongated sip of his tea, glaring at the opposite wall. 

Bates looked up at Thomas’ harsh judgement, slightly grumpy. He stared at Mrs. Hughes, then at Anna, only to sit his own fork down. “Would it be so bad?” Bates asked, “To have an alpha-“ 

“Yes.” Thomas refused to let that thought go any further. Not when he’d known the horrors of Dover, “There is no worse fat for an omega than to be bound. It’s as good as a death sentence.” 

No omega at the table made to contradict him. 

 

 

After dinner, Mrs. Hughes had some last minute paperwork to wrap up that she wanted Thomas to oversee. Just as Mr. Carson had had cabinets in need of an eye in, so too did Mrs. Hughes. She showed him left from right, all the while keeping a wary eye on him, and when it was over she invited him to have one last cup of tea before turning in for bed. 

The pair of them sat in her office, comforted by the low light of her beaded table lamp as they dined on chamomile brew and a few almond biscuits. Mrs. Hughes kept glancing at Thomas, clearly wanting to bring the topic of dinner back up. 

Thomas was so exhausted from the day that he didn’t have the urge to fight it when her bravery finally reared its head. 

“About tonight-“ She murmured, setting her teacup down, “Surely you can’t mean what you said about alpha’s being a death sentence. Take a look at Anna… Lady Grantham… me even!” She paused reproachful, “I’m quite content with my alpha. I’m hardly being sentenced to death-“ 

“Are you?” Thomas questioned. Mrs. Hughes pursed her lips at his wary tone, “Are you really free? Are you truly able to do as you please? Does he listen to your needs? Really listen? Does he care or does he just do what he wants and leave you-“ 

“Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes tutted. “Mr. Carson is a good and loving Alpha. I won’t hear a word against him.” 

Thomas waved a hand, knowing when it was best to just let a damn topic drop. It wasn’t like he was going to show Mrs. Hughes the light when her head was wrapped in wool. But instead of going on about how Carson was the king of the earth, Mrs. Hughes instead turned the topic of conversation back around on Thomas himself. 

“Tell me,” She urged in a gentle voice, “What would you like in an alpha? An ideal alpha-“ 

“Pardon?” He coughed on his tea, taken aback by the suggestion. An ideal alpha? What was that supposed to be like? An ideal drug overdose? 

“Only, if you had an alpha, how would you like him to be?” She asked. 

Thomas sat his cup down, running his tongue carefully along his upper lip before speaking. “I don’t imagine, because I don’t want one.” 

“You’ve never imagined an alpha? Not even once?” Mrs. Hughes was obviously disbelieving, and with good reason. The fact of the matter was that Thomas had in fact day dreamed about his very own alpha before… but the notion of it was ridiculous in light of the horrors of Dover. Ideal alphas didn’t exist. “You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone else.” 

Thomas could still pull that fantasy out of the back of his mind even now.  
The image of a dark haired man, broad shouldered and tall… his face never really settling on a firm image. Only his hands. 

Long fingers, firm palms, strong but smooth. Tough but loving. The hands of a practiced artist. A man of a craft. 

For some ridiculous reason, Thomas had always envisioned in his youth that a nest was- quite literally- a bundle of bed linens on the floor in the shape of a bird’s nest. He’d dreamed up a lurid fantasy in his early teen years, of a clean and quiet ‘nest’ in the living space over a bustling shop below. It would have been cozy and warm, and for whatever reason he’d have two children. 

Always two, he didn’t know why that number in particular suited him the most. 

His alpha would come upstairs to check on him, just poke his head through the door to make sure all was well. Thomas would pretend to be asleep in his nest, both of his children tucked quietly at his sides. 

He shook the fantasy away. What a ridiculous notion. A birds nest on the floor, what had he been thinking? 

“….I used to imagine…” Thomas snorted, “I used to honestly think a ‘nest’ was an actual nest you’d keep on the floor. I used to think that’s where I’d end up sleeping, tucked away like some kind of pigeon. Can you imagine?” 

Mrs. Hughes smiled. 

Thomas shook his head, “A shop keeper. Or a man of a craft. That’s what I imagined my alpha as. We’d live over his shop… I’d have two children. And I’d sleep in a stupid nest on the floor.” 

He rolled his eyes and took another sip of cooling tea. 

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” Mrs. Hughes said softly. Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t. It was hard to tell with her. “What would he be like?” 

“… Protective.” Thomas said, “Intelligent. He’d have a calm quiet manor about him. He’d never raise his voice. And I’d be incredibly special to him… the only omega in his world.” 

Mrs. Hughes smiled. 

“But Alphas aren’t like that.” Thomas dismissed, “There’s no such thing as being the only omega. We’re whores, and they’ll take as many of us as they like to get their fill.” 

And with that Thomas rose up from the side table, taking his teacup with him. 

“… I’m sorry, I’m not a very good conversation partner.” Thomas amended in the awful silence that had followed his final assumption. 

“I truly believe your alpha is out there Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes said. He tried to ignore the thick emotional edge in her voice, keeping his back to her as he set his finished teacup on the cabinet counter next to her chipped teapot. “… and for what it’s worth I hope you find one another soon.” 

“Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes.” Thomas refused to talk about the subject anymore. The images of his old dreams were turning to ruin in his mind, innocence tainted by the sins of Dover till the one loving alpha that he’d dreamed of had turned into a monster holding him captive. 

God forbid he ever actually have children. How could he save them from their own father? How could he protect them from this awful awful world? 

He left Mrs. Hughes in her sitting room, walking down the hallway towards the main stairwell in a melancholy gloom. Yet as he passed Mr. Carson’s office the sound of Mr. Bates’ voice just beyond gave him pause. 

The old habit to snoop was strong, and his night had already gone abysmally. 

He gently pressed his ear to the crack of the door, listening while he pretended to be checking his watch lest anyone pass by. He fiddled absently with the rotary, ears pricked for the conversation beyond the door. 

_“—So it’s no more.”_ Bates was saying, _“He wants the rest of the bottles to be drunk by you… a gift.”_

_“That’s very generous of him! I confess, I’ve always enjoyed his taste in port… I suppose it’s the end of an era in a way, so many bottles too. I don’t know how I’ll ever get through them all.”_ Mr. Carson sounded incredibly nostalgic. It seemed his Lordship had finally sworn off the stronger sauces in response to his stomach. 

_“He can’t drink port anymore. No sense in letting them go to waste.”_

_“Well, take a couple of bottles for yourself.”_ Mr. Carson said in good cheer, _“We’ll let Mrs. Patmore have one or two. We should be able to divide the spoils up nicely amongst ourselves. Even between the three of us, we’d still have more than thirty bottles a piece!”_

_“We’ll have to pace ourselves.”_ Bates joked, and both men laughed. 

But Thomas found none of it funny. 

So maybe he crept out of bed that night.  
Maybe he snuck downstairs and rifled through Mr. Carson’s office till he found the cellar key.  
Maybe he tiptoed down to the cellar and found the most inconspicuous bottles of port in the back corners where wood rot made the air smell damp and moldy.  
Maybe he took fifteen bottles.  
Maybe he hid them underneath his bed, stacking them in his valise and in the bottom of his bureau till they rolled about like bowling pins.  
Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The fact of the matter was, the past month had put a horrid taste in his mouth and he was feeling a little……thirsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to comment.


	7. The Little Peach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas gets a taste of actual omega discipline.  
> Robert has a friend over for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning, **This chapter will include caning**. If that triggers you in any way, please do be aware that it is included.

_Litigo 13:24 “The alpha that spareth the rod hateth the omega, but the alpha that loveth the brood chasteneth them betimes. Let not thy soul spare for the tears of an omega, for if thou shalt beat them with the rod, thou shalt deliver their souls from hell.”_

 

To say that Thomas was drinking was putting it mildly. He was close to bathing in Warre and Co’s Vintage Port by this point. 

Thomas knew how to handle his alcohol level and thank god for it, finding that if he kept a flask beneath his dress in his garter belt and moderated his intake that he could enjoy the pleasures of port without making it obvious to the staff around him. The port was undeniably delicious, with a rich and glorious flavor that made his tongue vibrate in glee. Able to sneak the keys to the pantry while everyone else was locked up at night, Thomas found himself able to take tiny samples of creamy brioche cheeses and the left overs of chocolate deserts. He wasn’t a glutton, per say, but he was close to becoming one with the lustfullness of port taking over his normally stoic appetite. He did not eat heavy meals during servant’s sittings, but he got his fair share at night when all the good servants were fast asleep in their clean little beds. Dreaming sweet dreams of polishing and praising Lord Grantham. 

Thomas disposed of the empty glass bottles this way, slowly trickling down his count from fifteen to ten. He wondered if he might be able to take some more once he was finished, but decided he wouldn’t dwell on such things until the time came. Stealing was difficult, now that he was no longer under butler. More eyes were watching him. Less keys were available to him. He’d been lucky enough to steal the initial fifteen. He would have to watch himself lest he be discovered before he could do it again. 

Two weeks after stealing the fifteen bottles of port, Thomas was in the linen room ironing the freshly washed linens of the blue room, humming softly to himself underneath his breath to keep time. It was easier to breath in his corset now, though he never made to tighten his laces. He’d already ripped two holes in his stockings, and was in a bitter mood about how unfair the differences in fabric were. He could remember the staunch quality of his footmen’s trousers- why on earth were stockings made like spider webs? Didn’t tailors understand that omegas had toenails? 

Then again, maybe Thomas just needed to clip his toenails. 

The door to the hallway opened, but Thomas did not look up. 

“Thomas.” Mr. Carson commanded him, “I need you in the servant’s hall.”  
Thomas glanced up and found Mr. Carson glowering. He paused, slightly taken aback, but put down his iron all the same and followed Mr. Carson out so that the pair of them arrived in the servant’s hall together. By god if everyone wasn’t assembled, from the day maids to the hall boy. Even Mrs. Patmore was there with Daisy. 

Thomas’ first thought was that someone was dead, and he immediately began to calculate the chances of who it might be… probably the Dowager. 

Thomas hid in the back along the wall by the piano. Andy stood quite close to him, the pair of them craning over the heads of the shorter maids and Daisy. 

“It has come to my attention that a theft has occurred.” Mr. Carson sounded ready to pull out the knives, his beady eyes flashing in mistrust, “I will not divulge the details; the guilty know who they are and what they have taken. They will come forward to me promptly to receive their punishment. If you do not come forward by this evening, I will be forced to investigate this matter thoroughly. I am highly irritated that this is a conversation I still need to have in the year of 1926, but clearly theft is a problem that knows no age!” He snapped. 

Oh bugger it. Thomas wanted to roll his eyes for the drama of it all. Honestly like a little bit of wine was going to hurt anyone; his Lordship had practically given it away! 

“I’m most displeased with this occurrence.” Mr. Carson said. At his elbow, Mrs. Hughes was sharing in his disappointment, frowning on all the staff with that common motherly hen approach, “I warn all of you who are innocent to refrain from such shoddy behavior yourselves. Thievery will not be tolerated at Downton, and the rattan awaits anyone who might think otherwise.” He flared his nostrils, taking several deep breaths before finishing his rant off with a curt, “You are dismissed.” 

He left, storming out of the servant’s hall to the far corner of his private office. The slam of the door could easily be heard up the hall. 

“I wonder what that was about.” Anna looked up at Bates, amazed at Mr. Carson’s temper. Bates was likewise stumped. 

“I haven’t a clue.” He admitted. Anna shrugged, unsure of what else to say. 

“Her Ladyship’s mentioned nothing to me.” Baxter said. Mr. Moseley was close to scratching his head, wearing that same puzzled expression he always did when life threw him through a loop. 

“Maybe it was something downstairs, not upstairs.” Andy supplied. 

_Getting warmer_ , Thomas thought. 

“Well I didn’t steal anything!” Amelia the alpha maid grumbled, as if thinking all eyes were on her in this precarious time. 

“No one’s insisting you had, Amelia.” Mrs. Hughes had clearly had just about enough of her antics. She wasn’t the only one. Every time Amelia spoke it grated Thomas’ nerves. 

“I heard Lady Edith said she was missing a scarf.” Emma spoke up. As the lowliest maid and an omega, it was rare that she should speak. Still, all turned to listen to her, wondering if all this hubbub really was over a scarf. 

“Honestly though,” Andy wondered, “Who would steal a scarf?” 

“I dunno.” Amelia shrugged. There was annoying tone in her voice that Thomas didn’t like, particularly when it was combined with the side eye she was giving him, “If you were forced to wear your grandmother’s gowns, maybe you’d like a scarf to brighten up your wardrobe.” 

And with that, Thomas resolved to say absolutely nothing that would draw suspicion to him. He knew that if Amelia had even a fourth of a chance to pin this on him, she would. Whether it was a scarf or a bottle of wine, it wouldn’t matter to Mr. Carson. An upheaval in order was tantamount to the apocalypse. 

 

That night, after a day full of quiet ironing and folding, Thomas ate a mild dinner of chicken pie in absolute silence. Mr. Carson looked livid, probably because no one had come forward to ‘confess’ anything, and refused to eat as he instead stewed over a tall glass of port. At Mr. Carson’s age, heavy drinking was probably not a good idea, but he drank like an Englishmen and held it like an Irishman. The fact that his omega wife was Scottish was not helping him either. 

Mr. Bates kept a steady eye on Mr. Carson. The tension in the air was palpable, impossible to miss; he chewed quietly on his chicken pie before taking a small sip of white wine. 

“Has there been any update, Mr. Carson?” Mr. Bates asked. 

“No, there has not.” Mr. Carson all but spoke through his teeth. As he cut off a piece of chicken on his plate, Mr. Carson gripped the knife in his hand tight, and the sound of cutlery pushing into the ceramic made Thomas wince. “I’ll give one more warning,” He said to the table at large, “Though I don’t know why I’m being so generous. I’m leaving at ten, and should anyone wish to speak to me they have until the mark of the hour to do so. I warn you, if I hear nothing, come morning an East wind shall blow through these halls.” 

Thomas could not help but roll his eyes. 

“What was taken, Mr. Carson?” Anna asked, “If you don’t mind me asking. 

Mr. Carson did not answer right away, chewing on a piece of chicken as he mulled over his words, “It’s not up for discussion, Anna.” He was stern but soft with her, the trademark of his adoration for few members of the staff, “The guilty know what they have taken, and will come forward to me by ten if they wish to know my mercy.” 

But there was no such thing as an alpha with mercy. Just an alpha unaware.  
So Thomas kept his head down and continued to sip his tea. 

 

That night, after washing his hair and shaving his legs for what felt like the hundredth time, Thomas took his time enjoying his stolen port wine. He’d figured out how to fully enjoy his skylight windows. It involved dragging his desk over, stacking his desk chair atop his desk, and then using the heightened leverage to pry open the rusted locks on the edges of the skylights. They were easy to pop open once Thomas smacked them a few times with the heel of his shoe. 

It was still mildly warm outside, even at night, so Thomas was happy to crawl up through the skylight and drink on the roof. With a half-drunk bottle of port wine in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other, Thomas considered the wild ride that had become his life. He’d had such plans before; ideas to start a business like his father or run away from it all like Jimmy. Maybe he should try to jump ship… go to India like he’d imagined in 1920. Maybe life was different for omega’s in India. Maybe they stood a chance. He could learn to like curry, he thought. 

Thomas sighed, forcing a long plume of cigarette smoke out of his nostrils. He looked down at his wrists, so normally hidden beneath two beige leather cuffs. For the hell of it, Thomas freed up a hand by pinching his cigarette between his teeth and pulled off the wooden buttons off his left cuff. It exposed the pink scars to light, slowly graying with age. 

If only he’d been successful. Things wouldn’t have gone so pear shaped. 

But that was a scary train of thought, and Thomas already knew how it would end. It was imperative in the aftermath of July and August that Thomas be able to keep his thoughts clear of suicide. When he drank, he felt buzzed and warm. Free. Maybe if he drank enough, he wouldn’t afraid anymore. The more anxious he became, the more paranoid and depressed, the closer he surely would get to a second attempt at suicide. Thomas didn’t want to go through that song and dance again. It had been horrific and humiliating; the start of his downward slope. If he hadn’t lost his senses, he would have remembered to take his suppressants. If he’d taken his suppressants, no one would have found out he was an omega. 

And he wouldn’t have gone to Dover, and he wouldn’t have been accosted by Alden, and he would be wearing a fucking corset. 

And stockings.  
And garters.  
….. And a dress. 

 

The next morning went much the same as the one before it. Thomas dusted the day rooms, helped change the bed linens with the shitty maids, and then spent his hours doing laundry. The bed linens had been washed from Father Markus’ visit, resulting in a flurry of activity as the newly laundered sheets were folded and ironed before they could crease or stain. This required Thomas at the board almost constantly, while Gertie the lowly scullery maid, took each pillow case as he ironed them and folded them for storage. They made an effective team, or would have had the insolent girl not kept dropping the damn sheets so that they had to start all over again. She seemed terribly shaken, as if something horrible was looming overhead. Given that Mr. Carson was prowling the halls like a panther, Thomas had a feeling where her anxiety was stemming from. 

It turned out he was right on the money. 

As Thomas handed Gertie a silk pillow case, the girl quaked in another round of fits and let the linen fall straight to the floor. Thomas caught it only at the last second, and though he’d have to iron it again at least it hadn’t garnered a stain. Silk was a bitch to clean! 

“Don’t drop the damn things, we’ve only just cleaned them!” Thomas cursed, irritated. 

“I’m sorry.” Gertie quailed, and then burst into unnecessary tears. 

“Oh for god’s sake-“ Thomas was on the verge of getting a migraine if Gertie didn’t stop crying. In an attempt to get her to quiet down, Thomas handed her a plain handkerchief from his pocket, which she used to bury her eyes and wipe her face. It was a mark of how dirty her job was that when she pulled way, the linen was grayed with soot. 

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Thomas asked, setting the silk pillowcase back upon his ironing board. He had to re arrange his iron, allowing it to cook back to warmth upon a tri stand underneath which glowing red coals smoked to life. If only someone could make an electric iron… that would be something! 

“I’m going t’be fired!” Gertie sobbed. “I’ve no where to go, no money, I’ve ruined my life-!” Her voice just kept squeaking higher and higher, by the end of it she was barely discernible, crying into Thomas’ handkerchief. 

Thomas blinked, taken aback. 

“Why are you going to be fired?” He asked, now genuinely curious. Honestly what trouble could a scullery maid get into? 

“I- I stole a toffy!“ She sounded like she was admitting to treason as she said it, her plump wimps quivering wildly. Gertie was a young omega, a frightened thing, and it marked Thomas to remember Daphne, the pregnant child underneath Alden MacNaire’s thumb. Luckily, Gertie had a more promising future than her (even if she had stolen a toffy) 

“What?” Thomas couldn’t put two and two together. So she stole a toffy- and now it was the end of the world? 

“I stole a toffy.” She reconfirmed, her blotched face hitching with each breath she puffed, “From the pantry. Only I’d never had a sweet before, and I didn’t think it would be missed. Oh, I’ll be hanged for this! I’m for the chop!” 

Ah.  
She thought Carson was losing his mind over a toffy.  
Well… to be fair he probably would. But Carson wasn’t upset over a toffy, he was upset over the wine Thomas had nicked. 

“Gertie-“ He was exhausted by the whole upheaval, and gently placed a hand on Gertie’s petite shoulder. “Honestly, no one gives a damn if you took a toffy. You’re not in trouble.” 

“But M-Mr. Carson said-“ She twisted his handkerchief wildly with two hands. 

“Mr. Carson was not talking about you.” Thomas assured her. Gertie gave a pitifully loud sniff, her brown eyes still watering. 

Still, at least she wasn’t howling. 

“He… wasn’t?” Gertie wondered. 

“He wasn’t.” Thomas assured her, “And if this is the way you feel, then why didn’t you tell him last night before ten?” 

“I was scared!” She protested, “Mr. Carson’s so tall and… and…” She threw her hands out, probably trying to silently convey his girth. It was true that Mr. Carson was absolutely menacing to a young and lowly omega like Gertie. Even Thomas, much older and with a harder spine, had trouble getting his head around the fact that Carson did not control the earth. Sometimes when you were isolated in the basement of Downton, you tended to forget that Mr. Carson was just a man. 

A very grumpy man, but still a man. 

“Fair enough.” Thomas wouldn’t press her to continue when he agreed, “But you’re not for the chop, so quit making a scene.” And though he was stern with her, he kept his tone soft. 

After all, Gertie was just a baby herself. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, wiping her eyes with the edge of his handkerchief. He’d have to throw it in with the washing to get the stains out now. 

“It’s fine.” Thomas said, gingerly taking back his now sodden handkerchief to put it in his pocket. It was damp to the touch, “But we’d best get on before Mrs. Hughes catches us at ease.” 

And so they were back at it again, folding and ironing linens with a much steadier pace. 

Really, Thomas had to feel sorry for the poor girl. It was rotten timing that her taking a toffy from the pantry had coincided with his own theft. She must have been hiding from the wrath of god, watching Carson lose his mind and thinking it all over a sweet. The fact of the matter was that everyone took food from the pantry as soon as Mrs. Hughes’ back was turned. Mrs. Patmore was the biggest criminal of them all, sneaking biscuits and toffies into her pocket while she worked. It was all good and fine- no one missed a biscuit or two and it wasn’t like the fate of the house depended upon a sweet. Thomas was famous for taking slices of camembert cheese… which funnily enough was delicious with port wine. 

As they finished with the silk bed linens and started on a more sturdy Egyptian cotton set for Lady Edith’s room, there came a distraction at the door. Both of them looked around, amazed to see Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson together with a stern aura about them. Gertie immediately started to quake, no doubt thinking justice had come to see her hanged. 

“M-Mr. Carson!” She bleated out his name. Wary, Thomas continued to iron the cotton top sheet, watching how a vein in Mr. Carson’s temple flexed. 

“Gertrude, Thomas…” Mr. Carson’s eyes narrowed, “I’ve come to speak with you both about the recent theft. Since no one came forward to me last night, it seems I’ll have to do a bit of investigating.” 

Gertie was ready to faint. Thomas just continued to iron, making sure not to make a crease while he worked on the edges. Mrs. Hughes, ever observant, noticed Gertie’s slipping composure and noted it duly. 

“Gertie?” Mrs. Hughes stepped forward, “Is there something that you want to say?” 

She was starting to truly shake now, her sooty fingers trembling at her sides. 

Thomas took pity on the poor creature, setting his iron upon it’s tri-stand so that it could heat up again. “Gertie,” He murmured, “You won’t get in trouble.” 

“If you’ve taken something then you better come out with it right now!” Mrs. Hughes snapped, her patience gone, “I won’t accept shoddy work from you. There’s a line of girls outside the back door, all of them eager to take your place, so if you’ve something to say-“ 

Gertie burst into howling tears, effectively cutting Mrs. Hughes off mid-sentence, “I’m sorry!” She wailed. “I only wanted a taste! I didn’t mean it I swear! I’d never had one before, and I just wanted to know what it was like! I’m not a thief, honest to the Supreme Alpha- I wouldn’t have done it only I can’t afford them by myself!” And at this she began to cry in earnest again. Without Thomas’ handkerchief, her hands were now soaking with tears and snot.

Both Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson looked flabbergasted, which wasn’t much of a surprise, since the only theft they knew about was wine. The pair of them were looking at one another, trying to sum up how sweet little Gertie with her mousy face and stained day dress, could be responsible for the theft of twenty bottles of his Lordship’s finest port. 

_“I only wanted a taste”_ was a bizarre turn of phrase indeed. 

Thomas didn’t like Gertie being pinned for his theft, not when she was so young and naive. She probably didn’t even know there was a wine cellar, the poor lamb couldn’t pick a lock if she tried. “Gertie tried a toffy from the pantry.” Thomas corrected, and with that took his iron off it’s tri-stand to continue with the cotton pillow sheets. 

“I’m sorry!” Gertie begged Mr. Carson, “I’m sorry! Please don’t throw me out, Alpha! Please!” 

“Oh for heaven’s sake girl-“ Mrs. Hughes took Gertie around the shoulders, holding her tight to the side even as her back bowed under strain. “Come to my office and we’ll have a cup of tea.” 

Carson still looked disturbed, watching them as they passed. 

“Please- Mr. Carson, I’m sorry!” Gertie wailed, reaching out to grab at Carson’s immaculate tux, “Please! I’m so sorry-!” 

“Go about your business girl.” Carson grumbled, shaking her hands off as politely as he could. “I’m not here for a toffy.” But he couldn’t resist, adding to her shaking back, “But sticky fingers are not to the Supreme Alpha’s liking!” And once again Gertie was off in a fresh peel of crying. 

Mrs. Hughes shot Mr. Carson a dirty look over his shoulder. Clearly someone was getting a telling off later tonight. 

As Mrs. Hughes and Gertie vanished up the hall, Carson and Thomas were left alone with only the hiss of Thomas’ iron to distract them from the palpable tension in the air. Thomas paid no mind to it, instead continuing to iron while Mr. Carson grumbled under his breath. 

“I won’t beat around the bush.” Mr. Carson spoke up. Thomas would not look at him, instead focusing on perfecting the quarter crease of the pillowcase. “If you would kindly give me your full attention?” He snapped. 

Thomas took his time, putting the iron back on it’s tri-stand to finally look Mr. Carson in the eye. He found the man glowering and with good reason. 

Thomas had a known history of thievery in this house. 

“You have a reputation in regards to thievery.” Mr. Carson warned, “And the item in question is… reminiscent to past disputes.” 

Of course it was. It was wine. 

“This is your moment to confess to me, if you have anything to say.” Mr. Carson warned. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” 

“No Mr. Carson.” Thomas said, without missing a beat. 

“And if I look further into this matter, I’ll find no devious implications of your part?“ 

“No Mr. Carson.” 

Mr. Carson watched him for a moment, regarding how Thomas did not fidget in his stance or shift in his gaze. It was like trying to have a conversation with a statue. 

Mr. Carson stepped forward, drawing upon Thomas like some kind of predator. He tilted his head to the side, as if wondering what he might see in Thomas if he just shifted his view a bit. 

“… I warn you, Thomas.” Mr. Carson murmured, “If I find you’re lying, this won’t go unpunished. You ran away to the army last time… but there’s no war on now, is there.” 

_Speak for yourself_ , Thomas wondered. 

“I’ve not taken anything, Mr. Carson.” He lied tersely, “Is that all?” 

“For now, yes.” Mr. Carson muttered, “Go about your work.” He turned to leave, discontent and the proceedings. He paused at the door, giving him another withering look, “And try not to upset Gertrude anymore today.” 

But Thomas’ handkerchief was still soaking in his pocket. 

 

Two days passed in the same pattern. 

Thomas got up, he worked, he ate, he bathed, and went to bed all while Carson scowled and poked his nose around. Thomas made sure to sequester the wine bottles beneath his bed, hiding as many as he could in his valise. The few that he could not were stuffed in the same grotto as his pictures and… friendly purchase. He was confident that no one would go through his rooms, and even if they would they wouldn’t think to tear through every article and cranny in the pursuit as something as meager as wine. Still, Thomas did oversee Carson poking his nose into the confines of the woodshed, as if he expected to find the bottles stashed behind chopped wood and rusting hatchets. 

On the third day of Carson’s Sherlockian craze, Thomas was ready to buy him a deerstalker hat and be done with it. To avoid Carson’s irritating questioning and poking, Thomas sequestered himself in the small library and began to dust with a rapid frenzy. Books accumulated massive peels of dirt, so it was a time consuming task as Thomas took volume after volume down to clean behind it. He likewise found time to catch up on a bit of poetry, and even managed to take his Lordship’s used newspaper to see if anything interesting to could found in the wanted ads. 

It was a boring and tedious day. He wished it could be over and done with already. 

The only excitement that came for him was when Mrs. Hughes found him. She had a tight, concerned look upon her face and seemed ashen. Thomas momentarily paused in his dusting, wondering if she was onto him at long last. 

“Thomas, come with me.” Was all she said.  
Wary, Thomas sat down his dusting rag and left the small library, on Mrs. Hughes’ heels. 

They went downstairs through the servant’s corridors, and found themselves at Mrs. Hughes’ office where Daisy, Baxter, and Gertie were all likewise sequestered. Gertie was practically sweating, the poor thing, while Daisy just looked confused and Baxter tense. Thomas could understand why; she had a history of thieving too and was probably terrified of being named the culprit of a missing scarf. 

Mrs. Hughes was the last in, and shut the door on them all so that they could stand in a line before her desk. She took a seat behind it, her lips pursed. Thomas supposed it was another round of questioning, and would have remained unfazed had Mr. Carson not arrived with a most determined expression upon his sour face. 

Mr. Carson stood before Mrs. Hughes’ desk, bearing over all of them like a terrible vulture ready for its next meal. Gertie shrank a bit behind Daisy. Baxter tensed her posture. Thomas tried to remain aloof. Unfazed. Normal. 

“I’ve called you all here for one reason.” Mr. Carson said, “I have decided since no one has come forward that I am going to go through every room in the abbey till I have found the missing possessions. I have already searched the alpha side of the servant’s attics, and I will now search the omega side. You four will stay here and wait till I return. If I find any of you wanting in any way, I shall be most displeased. I gave you plenty of opportunities to come forward and confess.” 

Thomas paled, opening his mouth with some feeble excuse.  
“I didn’t make my bed-“ Thomas tried to say, but Mr. Carson cut him off with an expression most foul. 

“I assure you, I’m not looking for crisp corners.” Mr. Carson snapped. “You’ll stay here in this room or by god, I’ll drag you back by the ear myself.” 

And with that Mr. Carson left the room, shutting the door sharply behind him. Thomas pursed his lips, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. 

“Oh I feel dreadful.” Daisy muttered reproachfully, “I left a dirty apron on the floor. I’m sure he’s going to tar me for it-“ 

“Mr. Carson won’t be bothered by that just now.” Mrs. Hughes said, “But best to keep your room spiffy in the future. It’ll only mean more cleaning if you don’t.” 

Daisy made a noise of contentment, stiff in her boots. 

The way Thomas saw it, the only way Mr. Carson could find out he was hiding the wine was if he went through his valise or the grotto. God forbid Carson find his picture or his… his… 

Thomas went pale, his heart beginning to pound erratically in his chest. He didn’t know why he was so frightened of Mr. Carson finding that….toy. Only that he knew it would be utter hell if he did. And the pictures, oh the pictures! 

“Thomas, are you alright?” Baxter’s voice brought him back to the present, “You look terribly pale.” 

“I’m fine.” But Thomas’ voice was hoarse and tight, “Just tired.” 

Mrs. Hughes gave him a bizarre look. 

 

It seemed like ages that they waited together in Mrs. Hughes’ office. The longer it took, the more Thomas began to sweat. Half an hour went by, and still they remained. Daisy even looked at her wrist watch, murmuring. 

“I should be starting on the savories for dinner.” Daisy worried. 

“Mrs. Patmore’s seeing to it, Daisy.” Mrs. Hughes assured her. 

“How am I ever going to get all my chores done?” Gertie begged. “Can’t we just go if we don’t go up into the-“ 

“No you cannot.” Mrs. Hughes snapped, her voice quite stern. “And I’ll have silence now, thank you.” She rubbed her forehead, clearly having a headache. 

She opened her desk drawer and fetched a Beechams, opening it to down it in one bitter swallow. She drank from a cold cup of tea on her desk, still rubbing her forehead. 

“Are you ill Mrs. Hughes?” Daisy asked in a soft voice. 

“Oh- just allergies.” Mrs. Hughes muttered, “I never took to English winters. It was easier when I was a girl in Fife.” 

“I didn’t know you were from Fife.” Baxter wondered. “That’s a beautiful country-“ 

“Oh yes.” Mrs. Hughes sighed with a small smile. “I suppose something grows here in Grantham that just never agreed with me.” 

The door to Mrs. Hughes’ office opened.  
Mr. Carson was on the other side.  
He looked livid. 

Thomas swallowed a mouthful of spit, knowing his time had run out. There was no mistaking Mr. Carson’s expression. He’d found what he was looking for. Thomas could only pray that it was just the wine. 

Maybe now, at last, they’d at least let him go-? 

Mr. Carson walked around Mrs. Hughes’ desk, folded his hands behind his back, and glared at Thomas. 

“Daisy, Ms. Baxter, Gertrude-“ He spoke in a tight, tense voice, “You may leave.” 

The three women all looked amazed at one another, their gazes finally falling on Thomas. Thomas’ heart was pounding in his chest, but he kept his eyes forward and his back straight. 

The three of them left, with Baxter out last. She looked quite nervous as she shut the door behind her… saddened even. Thomas tried not to let it burn him but it was hard. 

Mrs. Hughes rose up from her desk chair as the door shut, a horribly disappointed expression upon her face. It burned him worst of all. 

“You found them.” Mrs. Hughes said. 

“Of course I found them.” Mr. Carson spat. Thomas’ cheeks flushed, “Did you think you would slip under my radar forever?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. Carson.” Thomas said in a cold voice.  
It would do him little good. 

“The fifteen bottles of port that were stolen from the cellar just so happened to turn up in your room!” Mr. Carson barked, “Or at least ten did! I have a feeling I know what happened to the other five!” He was utterly furious at this point. 

Thomas’ heart pounded in his throat as he realized that in order for Mr. Carson to have found ten bottles, then he would have had to have found the grotto as well.  
That meant Carson had seen the pictures. And the rest. 

“I’m not sure I understand-“ Thomas’ voice was warbling out of nerves, “Did his Lordship not dispose of those bottles?” 

“His Lordship gave them to me as a gift of forty years faithful service!” Mr. Carson barked, “They were mine to do with as I pleased-“ 

“They way I overheard it you were passing them out like candy!” 

“They were not up for mass consumption!” Carson shouted. Thomas jumped a bit at his volume. “Mr. Bates received ten, as did Mrs. Patmore, and I was planning on giving the rest for holiday gifts but it seems now that Christmas cheer will be in short supply this year since you’ve decided to go on a drinking binge!” 

Thomas pursed his lips to keep from making an emotionally sabotaging noise. 

“Have you no shame?!” Mr. Carson’s temple pounded with a vein, “Have you absolutely no shame?! I am disgusted in you, I thought this shoddy behavior was past—“ 

“I didn’t mean to steal.” Thomas’ excuse was a horribly pale one and he knew it, “I thought that his Lordship had gotten rid of them. I thought—“ 

“They were given to me!” Mr. Carson snapped, “You stole from me! Again!” And it was with that word that his true emotion showed. 

Hurt.  
Abused trust. 

Thomas took several breathes, attempting to calm himself. “Well… that was not my intention.” He finally blubbered. 

“Do not lie to me.” Carson ground out each word with contempt, “You didn’t care who they belonged to. You wanted a drink, so you took as you pleased, and that’s not all I found!” 

“That’s all that was missing-?” Mrs. Hughes wondered. 

“And what of the suit I also found in your valise?” Carson demanded, “What of the loose baseboard beneath the bed!” 

“Loose what?” Mrs. Hughes was more bewildered by the minute. How could she not be; Thomas’ room had once been hers, after all. “I never had a loose baseboard.” 

“And what should be behind it but several things of a most sinful nature!” Mr. Carson was ready to have another stroke. Thomas had to look away in horrible embarrassment, “Things that should never besmirch his Lordship’s roof!” 

“You have no right to go through my private things!” Thomas protested. 

“Now just a minute-“ Mrs. Hughes cut him off at once, “We have every right to go through your things if we think it’s in your best interest!”

“You are an omega of this house.” Carson thundered, “I am completely within my rights as your current alpha to search through your belongings if I feel there is something indecent afoot!” 

Thomas quaked, spluttering as he tried to say one thing only to fail and start on the next. Each excuse he internally examined paled underneath Mr. Carson’s glare. Each attempt to divert was blocked by Mrs. Hughes’ hands upon her hips. 

“I shall be speaking with his Lordship, right this minute.” Mr. Carson declared, “And we shall decide if you are to return to Dover castle-“ 

But at the word, Thomas lost was little of his composure was left. Dover meant Alden. Alden meant rape, and Thomas would be dead before he ever willingly went to that man in chains again. 

“I warn you!” He shrieked, halting Mr. Carson in his tracks. Thomas wondered how white his face was in that moment as he stared blindly to the edge of Mrs. Hughes’ desk. “If you dare… if you dare to try and send me back to that wretched place… I’ll take a knife and slit my throat.” And he meant it. Maybe it showed in his voice, “I will die this day before returning to my rapist.” 

Mr. Carson opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say fell short. He ground his jaw shut, and then walked to the door, slamming it shut behind him so that Mrs. Hughes and Thomas were left alone in her office. 

Absolutely miserable, knowing his time was limited should Carson truly be intent on sending him back to Dover, Thomas sank down into Mrs. Hughes’ guest chair and buried his head in his hands. 

For a moment there was absolute silence as Thomas sniffed and sniveled. He tried not to be embarrassed. He tried to feel no guilt, but no matter which way he turned in his mind he only found more outrage. He imagined Carson’s look of shock when he pulled away the baseboard… imagined how horrified he must have been when he pulled forth Thomas’ most perverted purchase. It made him feel unclean and sinful, the same way Alden had when he’d run his hands all over Thomas’ body. 

_“All you are is a fuckable hole-“_

Thomas made a tiny noise of pain, putting his hands over his ears. 

But he wasn’t alone in his agony. Mrs. Hughes, despite her disappointment and anger, seemed to realize that Thomas was just as upset as Mr. Carson if not more so. She came forward, tentative, then cautiously reached out to pull his face up from his hands. She found his cheeks wet, flushed furiously with blood, and pulled out her own handkerchief to dab at the bottom of his eyes. 

“Why did you do it?” Mrs. Hughes whispered. “Why did you take all that wine?” 

“Because I didn’t want to feel anymore.” Thomas mumbled, as if that was any excuse. Broken by it, Thomas blubbered, his eyes pinching shut not to see Mrs. Hughes’ ancient anxious face. He nearly cried openly, though he desperately tried to keep it in. Mrs. Hughes reacted like only a mother could, pulling him to her stomach though he was a horribly disobedient child and keeping him there as his emotions wet her dress. 

After a moment, when Thomas stopped blubbering like a fool, Mrs. Hughes pulled back to carefully wipe at his face again. She held his cheeks in her withered hands. “I’m disappointed, deeply, but I’m not angry anymore.” She murmured. “I know you were trying to use a loophole, but it’s turned into a proper noose. Those bottles weren’t for you to take, they were for Mr. Carson to give.” 

“But his Lordship gave them away!” Thomas protested, rubbing angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“He gave them to Mr. Carson!” She urged again. 

But honestly, who the hell could go through all that wine by themselves? Mr. Carson wouldn’t have missed those bottles-! 

But even as Thomas opened his mouth to protest some more, the door to Mrs. Hughes’ office opened again, and Carson walked back in with none other than Lord Grantham. 

He was in a tweed suit and blue tie, looking deeply displeased with his hands behind his back. Carson shut the door, effectively sealing the four of them in, and despite it being improper Thomas refused to rise from his chair. He knew it was rude, even child like, but he was in for it now and didn’t give a good god damn anymore. 

Lord Grantham stood before him, with a stern and fatherly stare that made Thomas feel horribly small. “Carson tells me there’s been some todo and insists you know more, Thomas. Is this true?” 

Thomas looked away, unwilling to be spoken to like a child by a man genuinely old enough to be his father. 

“You will answer his Lordship when he speaks to you!” Mr. Carson seemed more affronted that Thomas wouldn’t speak to his Lordship more than Thomas refusing to rise. 

But Thomas was too angry to trust his own mouth, humiliated at Carson’s three fold discovery upstairs. “You gave those bottles away!” Thomas protested, head snapping back around to glare at Lord Grantham. To his credit, he did not flinch at Thomas’ anger. “Mr. Carson couldn’t possibly have gone through them all in his lifetime- I didn’t think there was any harm in it!” 

“And what of good faith?” Lord Grantham demanded, “What of honesty and integrity? Is there any harm in abandoning those as well?” 

Oh for god’s sake, who did Lord Grantham think he was? King Arthur? “It wasn’t my intention to steal!” Thomas protested, “I thought that the bottles were open to everyone-!” 

“The bottles were a gift.” Lord Grantham would not allow him to weasel out of a corner, “And even so there was certainly no reason for you to take fifteen of them.” He glared at Thomas, “Omegas are not fit to drink alcohol. It goes against their natural system. You’d know this if you’d ever studied the way of the rod in school-“ 

“So you’re to send me back to Dover?!” Thomas couldn’t help but become hysterical at the very thought, his heart starting to pound in his chest again. He’d fully meant what he’d said earlier. If Lord Grantham demanded that he return to Alden, Thomas was going to kill himself. Tonight. 

The thought made him sick to his stomach. 

“Is that your solution?” He demanded, “To abandon me to rapists? For inconveniencing you again?!” He rose out of his chair, hysterical. 

“Thomas-“ Mrs. Hughes beseeched, reaching out to touch him carefully upon the arm.  
It did nothing to soothe him. 

“No, Thomas-“ Lord Grantham cut his rant short, though Thomas still held his breath. Lord Grantham looked quite guilty all of a sudden, “I will not be sending you to Dover. I will not call the Brigade. I know it was wrong to do so in the first place.” 

“But you want to.” He wondered if Lord Grantham would deny it. 

“No, I don’t,” Clearly he would, “But I’m afraid that discipline must be set in order for you to fully get the measure of your wrongs.” 

“I see.” Thomas wondered what would come next. “So it’s to the stockade in the public square next?” 

“Don’t be impertinent, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes was clearly losing patience with him. 

“Mr. Carson told me that there were things of an …. immoral nature… in your room.” Lord Grantham said. Thomas flushed bright red with embarrassment. 

“He had no right!” Thomas protested, his voice breaking, “No right at all!” He knew he sounded a fool and emotional. 

“You must know that in this house, we do not permit such items.” Lord Grantham had taken the fatherly approach again and it was making Thomas want to scream “They breed bad behavior and loose standards.” 

Thomas blushed bright red, furious. 

“One item in particular was most upsetting to Mr. Carson.” Lord Grantham’s voice was cautious. Thomas was ready to be sick, “As I’m sure you can understand.” 

Thomas said nothing, closing his eyes. He prayed this entire transaction would end soon before he died of shame. 

“Was this a recent purchase?” Lord Grantham asked. 

Thomas shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak without cursing or foaming. 

“I assume you’ve… had it for a while, then.” Thomas gave one sharp nod. That was all, “Well, it won’t do Thomas.” Lord Grantham was cross again, “Surely you know that. It’s indecent, and I won’t stand for it. Not when I know you can do better.” 

Thomas put his head in his hands. God, strike me dead now, he prayed. 

 

“I won’t have a spectacle made of you.” Lord Grantham took the tiniest amount of pity on him, clearly worried that he would push Thomas’ ‘delicate omega sensibilities’ too far. “We’ll keep this… private. I’ll order the servants to bed early tonight and we’ll handle this in Mr. Carson’s study.” 

Thomas was sick to his stomach with anticipation, wondering what on earth they had in store for him. 

 

The rest of the day was spent in fear, with Mrs. Hughes over his shoulder watching him iron. Thomas could barely stand to focus, shaking with nausea every time he got too focused thinking about what would surely come next. He wished he could be alone, even if only for a moment, but it seemed he’d been deemed untrustworthy of solitude. Mrs. Hughes even dared to follow him to the door of the lavatory, standing outside until he was finished with his business. Alone for only a few moments, Thomas could do little more than wash his face and puke. 

The rest of the staff were on pins and needles around Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, sensing some terrible change had overtaken the circumstances. Mr. Carson was no longer hawking the corridors, instead sequestering himself in the attics where he was no doubt tearing through Thomas’ things to try and find anything else that he deemed ‘indecent’. Honestly, the only thing that Thomas could think of was his picture of Jimmy Kent. 

He didn’t know why, but if Mr. Carson took that picture from him he was going to lose his ever loving shit. 

Dinner was an awful affair that night, with Mr. Carson cold and quiet in his seat at the head of the table while Mrs. Hughes timidly passed around the communal teapot. They were to eat a meal of fish and chips that night, usually a happy affair with everyone squabbling over who got the vinegar bottle. As it stood, Thomas could not bring himself to even touch his meal. He kept his hands in his lap, seated between Anna and Mrs. Hughes, and stared at his teacup which slowly went from steaming to stone cold. 

What were they going to do to him? 

Were they going to beat him? Brand him? Take turns degrading him-?  
It was almost like Dover had come to Downton, and Thomas felt like he was going to vomit again. 

At least he had his flask and fags in his garter belt. Mr. Carson wouldn’t be able to take either of those away. 

“Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes broke across his solitude, glaring at his untouched plate, “Eat.” 

Thomas shook his head. He refused to say another word. 

Andy was watching him curious from across the table. Mr. Bates seemed to realize that something was askew in regards to Thomas and the current question of theft. He kept glancing from Carson to Thomas, waiting for the other to pop. Baxter was nervous, as was Anna. No one seemed willing to enjoy their usual feast. 

“Eat.” Mr. Carson barked. 

Thomas didn’t touch his plate, closing his eyes.  
He heard Mr. Carson make a quiet noise of disgust, but no one bothered him further. 

 

As dinner finished up, and servants broke off in different directions to enjoy their evening, Thomas remained seated as the servant’s table. He watched Andy read the paper by the fire, Anna enjoy a cup of tea and Baxter talk to Moseley in the hallway. Every so often, the pair of them would look back at Thomas. 

So it seemed they’d realized something was terribly amiss too. 

Mr. Carson walked into the servant’s hall at ten, and instead of ordering a time of calm drew everyone into the servant’s hall again to bear different news. “Tonight we go to bed early.” Carson said, “So everyone is to turn in now.” 

“Why?” Andy wondered aloud, for usually they could stay up past midnight if they dared. 

“Because it is his Lordship’s wish!” Mr. Carson was still quite testy, “So I suggest that you follow it out!” 

Eager to avoid the chopping black, Andy collected his pack of playing cards and headed up the main stairwell. Daisy took off her apron, slightly taken aback as the night kept getting weirder. She hung it on a dirty hook in the kitchen, but paused at the stairwell to stare at Carson reproachfully. 

“…Mr. Carson.” She spoke up softly, “Is Thomas in trouble?” 

“No, Daisy.” Mr. Carson didn’t seem to want to burden her with the truth, perhaps thinking her too naive and fragile to handle it. “No one is in trouble.” 

“So… she looked from Carson at the doorway to Thomas still sitting at the servant’s table. Mrs. Hughes was now at his side, keeping a wary hand upon his shoulder. “He didn’t steal anything?” 

“No.” Mr. Carson lied again, “He did not.” 

Daisy took a nervous step into the servant’s hall, worried at Thomas’ pale and hunched profile, “Are you alright Thomas?” She finally asked, “You look awful-“ 

“He’s perfectly fine, Daisy. To bed with you. All of you-“ Carson gestured about the servant’s hall where a few were still dawdling. 

As if commanded by Mr. Carson’s voice, Bates returned from upstairs looking perturbed. 

“Ah- Mr. Bates.” Carson greeted him, “I’m sure his Lordship has spoken with you?” 

“He has.” Mr. Bates said. 

“Very good.” 

“Shall we walk home?” Anna offered, coming up to her alpha’s side with both their coats of her arm. 

“His Lordship says Mr. Carson will dress him for the night.” Bates was clearly confused. “And that we’re to retire early?” 

“That is correct.” Mr. Carson said. “So off you pop.” 

Bates blinked; clearly no one had ever told him to ‘pop off’ before. He put up his hands in a mock form of surrender, and left down the hallway with Anna at his side. 

Up Baxter went, followed by Moseley. Both of them kept looking like they wanted to talk to Thomas, but neither could get past Mr. Carson. Gertie and Peter were quick to follow them up. With the grunt work of the house resting on their shoulders, they were delighted to have a few more hours to rest. This left Thomas downstairs with only Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Carson. 

Mrs. Patmore turned off the lights in the kitchen, yawning as she took off the bonnet covering her frizzy orange hair. Gray gleamed at her roots, making her look older than she probably was. She rubbed at her eyes, yawning a bit. 

“I’ve left a spare serving in the refrigerator.” She said to Mr. Carson, “And a thermos of tea just like you asked. If you need anything else, I’ll be in my room.” 

“Thank you Mrs. Patmore.” He said. She headed up the stairs without another word. 

Now it was just Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson alone. Mrs. Hughes waited a moment or two, pensive lest someone poke out of a hallway and throw their plan off. Thomas suddenly felt more isolated and vulnerable than ever, almost rooted like cement underneath her shoulder grip. 

“Everyone’s gone up?” She asked softly. 

Mr. Carson poked his head into the kitchen, and then into the hall. “Indeed they have. I’ll make my rounds and lock the doors. Take Thomas into my office.” He said, before heading up the stairs without another word. 

“Come on now-“ Mrs. Hughes was tugging at his limp arm upon the table, “Up you get.” 

On instinct alone, unsure of what else to do anymore, Thomas followed her. She took him down the familiar path to Mr. Carson’s office, though it felt ten times longer. He felt as if he was walking to the gallows as she closed the door after them both, effectively sealing them in. Thomas was put in the visitors chair, with Mrs. Hughes behind him once more holding him at the shoulders. 

For several long minutes, everything was quiet. The fragility of the moment was unnerving, so that every tick of the mantel clock seemed capable of shattering it. Thomas could swear his heart was trying to break out of his chest, hammering against his lungs and ribs till his muscles felt sore. His face felt numb; his fingers were tingling. 

He mildly wondered what would happened if he just jumped up and started screaming. 

The door to Mr. Carson’s office opened again, and Carson walked through with a canvas bag over his shoulder. Lord Grantham was right behind him, and Carson closed the door after them again so that for the second time today Thomas was sealed in with the three people who could wreck his life the most. This time, however, the odd silence that so usually followed crying was present with Lord Grantham in a dinner jacket and that bizarre canvas bag taking full presence. What was in it anyway? Irons? Were they going to manacle him now? 

Something was certainly clinking inside of there, and it was doing nothing for his nerves. 

“Is that everything?” Mrs. Hughes asked, gesturing to the canvas bag over Mr. Carson’s shoulder. 

“It is.” Mr. Carson said, “It’ll go out with the trash tonight, and good riddance.” 

“Very good.” Mrs. Hughes seemed pleased to know that sin was leaving her presence. She could have been a nun in a prior life.

So it seemed the wine was in the bag… among other things. 

“Up you get.”, Mrs. Hughes said softly, commanding him to rise from the visitor’s chair so that she could push it across the room. Thomas did as he was bade, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to try and get some warmth back into his body. He felt horribly cold all of a sudden, like he was naked instead. 

Lord Grantham opened his mouth to say something, but Thomas beat him to the punch. In some way, be it meagre or grand, he wanted to control the outcome of this scenario. 

“So what now?” He mumbled. “Irons?” 

“Certainly not.” Lord Grantham didn’t sound offended, merely keeping his stance as clam and collected as he dared. Toffs always had a knack for bottling their emotions. Maybe it was something in their genes. 

“I’ve spoken to Mr. Carson about it.” Lord Grantham began, “I am saddened to admit it’s something we’ve been debating on for quite a while. Frankly we should have done it earlier instead of sending you to Dover.” 

“You’re going to cut off one of my fingers.” Thomas blurted out. He had no idea where that came from. Lord Grantham stopped dead, shocked. 

“What?” He was truly thrown. “I- no. No one is going to cut off your fingers. Do be quiet until I tell you to speak Thomas. You’re only extending this nonsense further.” 

Mr. Carson gave him such a fierce glare that Thomas immediately clamped his lips shut. 

Lord Grantham squared himself up again, returning to his normal composure now that everyone had been assured Thomas would go to bed tonight with ten fingers and toes. 

“We’ve been blessed in Downton to have relatively well behaved omega, so the need for corporal punishment hasn’t been used here in nearly a decade.” 

Corporal punishment. They were going to beat the living hell out of him. “Jesus.” Thomas bleated out. 

“It’s my desire that we not rely upon such punishments,” Lord Grantham was quick to say, as if protesting his innocence before a court. “but Carson and I have decided that, just this once, we’ll bring back the rattan.” 

Oh goody. 

Thomas brought a hand up to his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he remembered getting caned at school across the hands for being naughty. He’d also been caned in Sunday school, particularly when he’d started questioning the existence of the Supreme Alpha in a material world. Sister Agatha hadn’t taken too fondly to Thomas’ constant pestering. 

The fact of the matter was, Thomas hadn’t been caned since he was fourteen years old, and he wasn’t eager to get back on the bandwagon at the age of thirty-fucking-six. 

Thomas swallowed around a bit of stomach bile that stung the back of his tongue. 

“We should have done this in 1912.” Lord Grantham went on to say, “But the shock of the war drove our minds from your escapades…” He paused, looking down at his polished shoes before glancing back up at Thomas sweating and shaking before him like a nervous horse, “So I suppose we’ll do it now, and call it clean.” 

Thomas didn’t know what else to do but nod, though by this point he was shaking wildly and felt he might fall into a seizure. He wished he could burst into tears but knew he would be berated if he did. Better to just suck it up and get it over with. His hands would hurt like hell by the end of it but at least it would be over.

And he wasn’t a footman anymore, so he wouldn’t have to worry about polishing with swollen fingers. 

“Now Thomas-“ Mrs. Hughes was beside him, speaking softly into his ear like she thought he might vomit or faint if she did anymore, “Don’t make yourself ill.” She even dared to rub his back, an oddly tender thing to do all things considered, “It’ll be over in a moment and we’ll say no more about it. We’ve already agreed on a count of fifteen, and that’ll be the end.” 

Fifteen. Jesus hell they were going to hit him fifteen times.  
One for each bottle of wine he took; that was oddly appropriate now that he thought about it. 

“I won’t have you sniveling!” Mr. Carson warned, still taking the stern approached, “not when it’s your own atrocious behavior that’s put you in this position.” 

“Carson-“ Lord Grantham still spoke in a soft voice. “Let’s not make this any more painful than it already has to be.” 

Thomas closed his eyes, ready to be sick. “So what now?” He croaked, extending his hands outward, half-glove and all so that the punishment could begin, “We just… go at it?” 

“Er-“ Mrs. Hughes reached out, gently taking his hands and putting them back down at his sides. “That’s not how one punishes an omega, Thomas.” 

But of course.  
Thomas grew sick to his stomach, almost certain he was going to be ill so that he instinctively turned way to seek the wastebasket in the corner of the office. He didn’t make it two steps before Mrs. Hughes was at his side, helping him to turn back around. 

“So what now?” He spluttered, horrified, “I pull my dress and you just go at it till you’re happy?” Mr. Carson especially who’d already made such a scene of Thomas needing to be punished back in 1920. “I suppose you think this is perfect. Horsewhipped, just like you always wanted.” 

“The two situations are completely at odds.” Mr. Carson flustered. Funny how he always got nervous when Thomas brought up that awful conversation. “Had I known you were an omega at the time, I would have been less inclined to strike up anger.” He paused, pursing his lips, “You were confused by James, I see that now. But I won’t have your clouded judgement running ram-shod over this house again. You need to walk the straight and narrow, so that’s how we’ll have it.” 

Mr. Carson walked around his desk, pulling out his hand drawer to reveal a thin rattan cane, pale yellow with a red leather handle. Thomas had never seen it before, and wondered how long the damn thing had been hiding away. It made the situation only seem more awful and real; was it Thomas imagination or was the cane tipped in a sharp point? 

Mr. Carson put the rattan cane in full view upon his desk, coming back around to take up the visitors chair so that it could be drug in full focus of the room. Lord Grantham folded his arms over his chest, perturbed as Carson picked up the rattan cane again and gestured from Thomas to the chair in a matter of fact style. 

Thomas hid his face in his hands, able to feel the heat in his skin with just a mere touch. “No more putting this off.” Carson demanded, “You’ll take your punishment like a proper omega, and learn the lesson it bears. Stealing from an alpha above you is a criminal offense and keeping material of an immoral nature goes against the way of the rod.” 

He gestured from Thomas to the chair again. 

“Go on.” He ordered, “Kneel up.” 

“I don’t want you to do it-“ Thomas protested, for somehow it just seemed all the more personal and shameful coming from Carson. “Not after- anyone but you-“ 

Carson looked to Lord Grantham.  
Lord Grantham shook his head. 

“It goes against the honors of my station to raise a hand to another.” Lord Grantham said, “Even my own omega servant. Some Lords can stomach it but I cannot. Not after watching my own father beat every man, woman, and child that crossed him.” 

“Mr. Carson won’t harm you-‘ Mrs. Hughes beseeched, trying to touch Thomas between the shoulders again. Thomas leapt at the sensation, over stimulated. 

“Harm me?!” Thomas balked, “He’s going to whip me bloody! How is that not harming me?!” 

“Whip you bloody- what is this a Penny Dreadful?” Mrs. Hughes was quite fed up with his anxiety, “Mr. Carson is going to punish you for stealing and keeping immoral items. I assure you he isn’t going to brand you with an iron or make it any worse than it needs to be.” But Thomas doubted this highly. 

“You do it.” Thomas begged. 

“I most certainly will not!” Mrs. Hughes was scandalized at the mere suggestion, “It was my idea to have you write lines-!” 

“I’ll do that!” Thomas was quick to leap on the idea. He’d write the hell out of lines to get away from Carson spanking him. 

“No, you will not.” Mr. Carson shot that idea down like a grouse at a summer watch, “You will kneel up against this chair and raise the back of your dress.” 

“Why?” Thomas begged, finally reduced to clasping his hands before Mr. Carson to finally ask for mercy like he knew he always would, “Why does it have to be this?” 

Mr. Carson gave him no answers. Instead he took the tip of the rattan, and ever so lightly tapped the back of the chair. The strike of wood on wood was ugly and sharp in Thomas’ ears. 

Mrs. Hughes tenderly put her hand on his shoulder, carefully steering him over to the chair till his knees touched the edge of the seat. 

_This is happening_ , Thomas thought, horrified as he kneeled up against the spine of the chair with his feet dangling awkwardly over the edge. He gripped the top of the chair with sweaty hands, his fingers trembling wildly as he drew in one sucking breath after another. _God help me, this is actually happening_. 

And though his bottom lip quivered horribly, no tears fell. 

Mrs. Hughes kept her hand upon his shoulder, ever present at his side. Thomas wondered if she was trying to comfort him or make sure that he stayed on the chair. 

Carson seemed to realize that Thomas wasn’t going to comply and reached around to gently pluck up the edge of Thomas’ black dress. 

It rose along with his chemise. Thomas pinched his eyes shut, desperate to deport himself mentally from this scene. 

But then Carson was back at it, angry again. 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Mr. Carson seemed to have found the flask and fags in his garter belt, and pulled them both free to put them on the desk with a sharp ‘smack’ that made Thomas jump. 

“Honestly…” Lord Grantham sighed. 

“I ought to raise the count on you!” Mr. Carson was in Thomas’ ear, indignant. Thomas flinched again, drawing back only to lean heavier on Mrs. Hughes’ touch. “Drunkenness while working-!” 

Thomas felt a terrible whimpering sound issue in his throat. Lord Grantham caught it, and reprimanded Carson again. 

“We’ll keep the count at fifteen.” Lord Grantham warned, “This isn’t mean to be some kind of torture scene. It’s an act of discipline.” 

“I had sterner strikings for failing to finish dinner.” Carson grumbled, “Is there anything else in your garters that I should know about?” 

Thomas said nothing, shaking his head with his lips and eyes both pinched shut. 

“No tumbler and jar of olives?” Lord Grantham offered, for some reason trying for a joke in this awful moment. Thomas did not respond, nor did Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes. Lord Grantham seemed to realize his attempt at calm was failing. “Carson.” He finally said. 

Some kind of ‘go’ signal. It made Thomas begin to shake again. 

“Count.” Thomas heard Carson order, and grabbed the edge of the chair instinctively expecting untold amounts of pain to follow. 

But nothing followed.  
Then- 

Thomas gasped as a sudden sharp sting caught him across his backside. Carson wasn’t trying to beat the hell out of him by any means. With his knickers on, the rattan didn’t strike his bare skin either, and so the blow was softened.  
But only just.  
Thomas kept his eyes shut, anything to dispel the notion that the was actually happening. 

He’d been expecting something much more violent, but that didn’t make the situation any less awful. 

“One.” Thomas spluttered aloud, realizing in the awful silence that he’d forgotten to count. 

Carson hit him again. “Two.” 

And again, “Three.” 

Mrs. Hughes kept her hand on his shoulder the entire time. Thomas didn’t know what her intentions were anymore. He only prayed she was trying to support him in his moment of terror. Lord Grantham kept silent, making sure Carson didn’t get too enthusiastic in his determination for order. Thomas suddenly realized that Mr. Carson had a hand on his waist, as if trying to steady his blows with proper aim. 

“Four. Five.” But the burning in Thomas’ skin was growing constant now, flashing piping hot when Mr. Carson struck him with the cane. “Six.” He bit out the word. 

God how he wished it would stop. 

He kept his eyes pinched shut, determined not to cry, not to bring himself even lower.  
But the urge was terribly strong, and soon he knew he was going to lose himself to it.” 

“Eight.” he trembled, his fingers shaking upon the top of the chair, “N-nine." 

And when the tenth blow struck, Thomas was rendered absolutely speechless, knowing that to speak would be to cry. To be whimper. To show his distress 

The next blow did not come. 

“…Count.” Mr. Carson warned. 

Thomas let out a blubbering noise, feeling Mrs. Hughes dare to touch his face so that she could brush back his bangs. Thomas pulled away from her touch, spurned into terrible plumes of misery by both of them. 

“Do you want me to start over?” Mr. Carson warned when Thomas still did not sound the ‘tenth’ count. But Thomas’ skin was on fire and his heart was breaking under emotional duress. To start over would be hell on earth. Anything but that-! 

“No-“ Thomas blurted out, his voice broken and thick with unshed tears. 

“Then count.” Mr. Carson was not cruel in his tone. Merely firm. 

Thomas sniffed, pinched his eyes even tighter.  
There was a wetness on his cheek. He damned himself for the sensation of it. 

“…Ten.” He whispered. 

Mr. Carson swatted him twice in quick succession, clearly trying to get the punishment over with. The pain from the act was so blinding though that Thomas shrieked mid word, shocked. “Eleven- Twelve!!” 

He whimpered aloud.  
_Let it end_ , he begged the universe. 

Mr. Carson took a steadying breath, pausing in his swatting. Thomas did not dare open his eyes, did not want to see the rattan swinging when it finally cracked against his abused skin. 

“Thirteen! F-fourteen!” 

But when the final swat came, Thomas said nothing.  
Mr. Carson did not make him, dropping the back of his dress again. 

He felt like a fool. Like a child. Like a worthless insect crawling on the face of the earth, dragging his body through the mud. Worthy of nothing decent. Of only scorn. His face was on fire- his bottom just the same. the pain radiating from his backside was so intense he thought it a miracle that he did not immediately break down and weep. Instead he merely struggled with sound, his mouth slightly open as he chewed on the pleas and indignations forming in his mind. 

Why this?  
Why now?  
Why him? 

But he already knew the answers to each of those questions, and he was sickened in the soul. 

Finally after several terrible seconds of silence where Thomas only whimpered with his eyes shut and Mrs. Hughes continued to hold him by the shoulder, Lord Grantham spoke again. 

His tone was much changed: Somber… regretful. 

“I take absolutely no pleasure in doing this to you, Thomas.” Lord Grantham paused, “But you cannot steal from me, nor drink on the job, nor frolic about with… devious materials. It’s obscene and unbecoming of such a beautiful omega. I’m determined to try and give you a better life, but I can’t hand you over to another member of the peerage if you’re going to be a handful. You’ll end up in a situation that I can’t save you from…” He paused again, “And I’d never forgive myself if you left Downton only to fall into another type of Dover.” 

Thomas didn’t answer, for with each word that Lord Grantham spoke he only continued to whimper and cry pitifully in silence. His cheeks were horribly wet. 

“I know it’s hard for you to believe,” Mr. Carson was the next one to speak. How dare he sound disturbed and reproachful in this moment, when Thomas’ backside was burning like the surface of the sun!, “But I took no pleasure from caning you. I know you to be a quick and efficient worker. An intelligent young man and a compassionate omega. All I want is for you to strive for excellence. To put this foolish nonsense behind you. You’ve stolen from me several times over the years. and made a mockery of this house’s values. I cannot allow it to carry on, Thomas. Not when you’re an omega.” He paused, regaining a bit of his stereotypical sternness, “It is your place to serve, to honor, to care for the alphas of this house. Not to steal from them. Mrs. Hughes has urged me to be gentle with you, to remember that you are in a frail way. July was…” Mr. Carson didn’t seem to know a good word, “July was a horrible month for you, and August faired you no better. But I am determined some good should come of September, even after this.” 

A heavy hand was on Thomas’ shoulder. 

And just like that, Thomas snapped out of his daze, frightened to find that he was effectively sandwiched between an alpha that would cane him and an omega that would allow it. 

His burning eyes snapped open to show him everyone staring at him with bizarre concern. Even Carson seemed unsure if he should continue talking, the rattan now sitting upon his desk and his hand upon Thomas’ shoulder. 

Thomas stumbled off the back of the chair, backing up several paces. With each step he took, the muscles in his backside screamed with frustration. 

“Don’t touch me!” Thomas wiped at his wet face till his cheeks were dry again, bitter and humiliated. 

Horribly horribly humiliated… and he knew more tears were coming. Any second now he’d start on a second wave, howling like a wolf to the full moon. 

“Thomas, don’t be like that-“ Mrs. Hughes beseeched, “Mr. Carson was not trying to hurt you. He’s only doing what any other butler would do. He’s a good man, and you know it-“ 

But Thomas knew nothing anymore, save that his backside burned and he wanted to go home. 

Whatever ‘home’ meant now a days. 

He fled from Carson’s office, running from the rattan cane like it were a live snake intent on biting him. He fled down the servant’s passageway, mindless to the way Mrs. Hughes called after his retreating back. 

He stumbled up the servant’s stairwell, each flight just making his backside burn more. For some ridiculous reason he wished he could press his bum against something cold- like a tile floor or the inside of Mrs. Patmore’s refrigerator. 

But that sort of indecency would probably earn him another caning. 

He reached the attic floor, and flung himself through the door that divided alpha from omega. He reached his room and desperately tugged the door open, slamming it shut behind him before anyone could follow through. Finally alone, finally able to let his guard down, Thomas burst into noisy tears which pealed from him like someone was prying them out of his chest with a crowbar. 

He fell onto his bed, neatly made. His valise was missing from beneath it, and he knew why. 

Thomas howled into his quilts, the noise muffled by his mattress and flannel sheets. He cried and cried, fists clutched into the blankets beneath him as he hid from the world. 

He cried, wishing that for once in his life someone would hear him and take pity on him.  
….Shockingly enough, someone did. 

It surprised him when he felt a soft dip in the mattress beside him, but he needn’t have worried. It was only Baxter, no doubt having heard him screaming like a banshee and coming to see why. But instead of pestering him for answers she merely laid her hands upon his back and head, stroking his hair carefully lest she pull at a tangle and cause him more pain. 

“Shh now.” She whispered. It didn’t stop him from crying, but it helped him not to feel so alone. 

And then there was another voice. 

“Is everything alright?” Daisy spoke up. She must be at the doorway, as timid as ever. She even seemed fearful. 

“I’ll take care of it, Daisy.” Baxter said, “Best go back to bed-“ 

“…Goodnight, Thomas.” Daisy mumbled, the sound of the door closing a sure sign of retreat. 

Thomas sucked in one shuddering breath after another, in a fragile way.  
But slowly, his tears dissipated into shaky breathes. And then into soft huffs. 

Still Baxter did not leave his side, rubbing his back like a mother might her babe. 

But when the door opened again, several long silent minutes later, Thomas did not make to sit up or engage. Let all the world think his asleep, he prayed. Let no one pester him further today. 

What a horrid, horrid day. 

“Mrs. Hughes-“ Baxter whispered. “What’s happened?” 

“Is he asleep?” Mrs. Hughes whispered back, creeping across the room so that her footfalls barely made a sound on the ancient swollen wood. 

“I think so.” Baxter kept stroking his skin, “He was in such a state, I thought someone had died at first. What on earth happened tonight?” 

“Mr. Carson had to cane him.” Mrs. Hughes admitted. 

“He never-!” Baxter was deeply affronted, and that made Thomas feel very satisfied indeed. 

Good, he thought bitterly, let someone take up for me. 

“He had to.” Mrs. Hughes was very somber indeed. A dip on the mattress gave signal to her sitting next to Thomas on his other side. “Thomas stole from his Lordship again. It had to be done.” 

“Surely not….” Baxter murmured reproachfully. 

“Fifteen bottles of port wine.” Mrs. Hughes said sadly. Baxter sucked in a breath. 

“Oh Thomas.” Her hand paused upon his back. Thomas made no noise, praying she would leave him be. 

“Mr. Carson had to cane him fifteen times for it. I suppose we’ll all be in the dog house now.” 

“I’ll talk to him.” Baxter whispered, “He’ll come around eventually. Mr. Carson didn’t mean it in a cruel way, surely. He wasn’t too… unkind?” 

“I’ve seen him hit chickens harder.” Mrs. Hughes muttered, “But Thomas ran from him like he was Jack the Ripper.” 

Baxter sighed. For a moment both women were silent. Then Thomas heard an odd thunking noise. 

“I managed to pry Mr. Carson away from this.” Mrs. Hughes whispered, “It’s Thomas’ valise. There’s a suit inside that he treasures, along with some books. He can’t have the rest back but I made sure he’ll be able to keep his suit. It’s not proper for Mr. Carson to take it away. He paid for it, after all, fair and square.” 

Thomas heard the odd sound of the valise being pushed underneath his bed, and praised God about that Mrs. Hughes had a decent heart. She’d even made sure he got to keep his books. 

After a moment, Baxter spoke again. “I don’t want to wake him, but he can’t sleep in his corset.” 

“No, he can’t.” 

Suddenly two pairs of hands were rousing him, pulling at him so that he was forced to sit up though he kept his eyes closed. 

“Come on now,” Mrs. Hughes was endearing and kind, carefully unbuttoning the front of his dress so that she could help Baxter pull it over his head. Thomas kept his eyes shut, feeling the only guide alone for his senses as he felt the straps of his corset begin to be tugged. For a moment there was only the odd sound of leather pulling through loop holes as Thomas laid his head on Baxter’s offered shoulder. 

When the corset finally peeled away from him, Thomas felt a cold rag touch his face. He jumped and blinked open his eyes twice to see Baxter was wiping his face with a rag to try and clean up the mess of his humiliation and tears. 

When she was finished, Thomas did not even spare another glance to her ministrations, falling back down onto his pillows. 

They weren’t done with him thought; Baxter was clearly taking off his shoes, garters, and stockings, the whole collection pulling away in one sweep as she allowed him to stay in his chemise. It would work like a nightdress for tonight. 

Someone lay a quilt over him. Maybe Mrs. Hughes, maybe not. Either way, Thomas heard Baxter say, “I’m going to iron your dress. If you need me I’ll be right next door.” 

The door closed, which meant that Mrs. Hughes was alone with him in the room.  
Thomas refused to speak to her, finding his chin close to wobbling again. It was her at his shoulder that had sparked such sorrow in him, for surely she must be aware that he’d trusted her to keep him safe from Carson. But how could she, when she was his omega and under his thumb? 

“Forgive me, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes sounded contrite, “I had no choice. You gave me none.” 

“How could you-“ his voice was thickened from the pillow. “I trusted you.” 

“And I trusted you.” She reminded him. 

“I weren’t tryin’ to steal-!” He doubted she believed him anyway. Technically he hadn’t thought it stealing at the time, but he’d known instinctively it would stick a craw in Carson. So he really hadn’t been completely innocent. 

“I know…” She just kept rubbing his back, petting his hair absently in the same way Baxter had before. 

“It weren’t for Carson to go through my things-“ Thomas couldn’t help himself, he still felt so utterly humiliated at the thought of Carson finding his pictures and… other things. 

“It was.” Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t bend from her stance. 

“I hadn’t even used it in ages!” But honestly was that excuse enough to justify having one in the first place? 

“It’s the fact that you had it, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes whispered, “It’s the devil’s toy. You cannot have… things… of that nature. That’s for your alpha to give you, and none other.” 

And though he tried to summon up within him something akin to hatred for Mrs. Hughes, he found it utterly impossible. If he tried, he could be as spiteful and merciless as a cobra. He could slaughter, and snipe- break down any barrier put up any wall… but as much as he tried… as much as he pushed…. he could not hate Elsie Hughes. 

It was impossible. He needed her too much. Relied upon her kindness when no one else would give. 

“I wish I could hate you.” He admitted, voice warbling in the pillows, “But I can’t. I need you too much.” 

She seemed touched by his words; maybe she knew how much it took for him to admit them. 

“I know you’re upset, and I understand.” She soothed, “But what’s done is done. Mr. Carson is very sorry—“ 

“No he isn’t!” Thomas lashed out. 

“He is.” Mrs. Hughes didn’t take it personally, nor attempt to reprimand him, “He’s very sorry for what you had to go through, but he was as gentle with you as he could be, and he didn’t cane your hands or beat you hard. You need to accept that.” 

But accepting that meant accepting he deserved to caned in the first place. That was something Thomas just couldn’t do. He felt so horribly violated, to exposed, that his only reaction was to clam up and wait for the danger to pass. 

Mrs. Hughes was right though… the deed was done. There was no point trying to run from danger. Danger had kneeled him up to a chair and had its way with him. 

“I know you’re humiliated and embarrassed,” Mrs. Hughes paused in her pettings, “But no one holds what happened tonight as a comedy against you. It was your actions that put you in that chair, and no one else’s. Honestly we were going to give you a caning back in 1912 but you ran away before we could. And just so you know, I had to give Daisy a switch before when she put soap in the soup.” 

“Did you give her fifteen?” Thomas bit out into his pillow. 

“I gave her five, and she howled like I’d given her fifty.”  
That sounded about right. 

“I know it’s hard to see, but we love you so fiercely here.” Mrs. Hughes whispered. But how could they love him if they were content to cane him? “So no more nonsense, I beg of you. No more drinking. And absolutely no more of those…unmentionables. When your alpha comes along, then you’ll have those conversations. But until then, it’s not good for you to think about such things nor act on them. It leads to blindness and illness.” 

He’d heard it all before from his mother- a religious omega determined to stave masturbation in her children. 

_“The Devil will come through you and tell you to think unholy thoughts. Never do it!”_

But god when Thomas had been young and trying to stave off the symptoms of a heat, that wooden phallus had felt more akin to God than the Devil. 

“I’m going to let you sleep now. But if you need Ms. Baxter, she’ll be right next door. Mr. Carson wanted me to wish you goodnight. Shall I tell him you said you’re sorry and that all is well?” 

Was he sorry for taking the wine or having ‘indecent’ items? Not really.  
Was he sorry that he’d been caned by Carson?  
Oh yes. He was terribly sorry for that. That was going to give him nightmare for years. 

So he nodded into his pillow, not speaking but not denying. Mrs. Hughes was satisfied, petting him tenderly as she rose off the bed. 

“Very good.” She whispered. She tucked him in better, making sure his feet were covered. “I’ve a cup of tea for you on your bedside table. Goodnight, Thomas.” 

As she left, Thomas mumbled something that might have passed for a ‘goodnight’ back.  
But he was exhausted, too weary to lift his head from his pillows, and sleep overtook him soon enough after. 

 

 

The next day, Thomas woke up feeling like hell. His head was pounding, his sinuses blocked, and he ached all over (particularly on his backside). Sometime during the night, Thomas had knocked one of his pillows off onto the floor and was now cradling his other pillow like a babe to his breast. The worst was that he had a kink in his neck and it wouldn’t go away. 

He heard Gertie knock on his door, signaling the six a.m. waking up call.  
Thomas didn’t respond to it. His limbs felt heavy, like cement was coursing through his feeble veins instead of blood. He fell back asleep almost instantly, managing to push his lone pillow underneath his head to try and ease the pain in his neck. 

When he woke up again, it was to Mrs. Hughes sitting by him on the bed, feeling his forehead. 

He blinked open his aching eyes, and found her concerned, pondering his condition. His second pillow was back on his bed; clearly Mrs. Hughes had put it up there. 

“Are we feeling well today?” Mrs. Hughes asked. Thomas shook his head upon his pillow. “You’re warm.” She worried, continuing to feel his forehead. 

She let go of him, only to rub his shoulder, “Can you sit up for me?” 

It was difficult, but Thomas managed it along with her help. As he did so, his head began to pound, and he groaned rubbing his eyes. It was difficult to swallow; his throat felt raw. 

“Stick out your tongue.” She urged, and Thomas opened his mouth so that she could pinch his chin between her fingers and look inside. 

“You don’t have spots on your tongue.” She sounded most relieved, “Do you have a cough?” 

Thomas shrugged. It was difficult to say but he hadn’t been coughing that morning. His throat just felt raw. 

“Mm.” Mrs. Hughes plumped his pillows now that he was sitting up, and pulled down his bed covers proper so that he was no longer under just a menial top quilt, “I tell you what, I’ll let you sleep and come check on you at lunch with a tray. You probably tired yourself out last night. Get some rest, and keep still.” 

Thomas crawled underneath his covers; they felt heavy against his skin. He closed his aching eyes again as Mrs. Hughes left his room, and did not bother to open them again after she’d shut the door. 

He was asleep again before ten minutes was out. 

~*~

 

While Thomas Barrow lay recovering from a hellish night in the attics, Robert Crawley found himself being driven about his estates with the company of one Lawrence Gray. 

It had been shocking, to watch the affair unfold last night. God only knows Robert had felt sorry for the poor creature, but the fact of the matter was Thomas couldn’t continue to steal and make a mockery of Carson while residing upstairs. The shocking part of it was the pictures and… other items. When Carson had told him the full extent of the damage, Robert hadn’t truly believed it. 

But then Carson had given him proof and…well… 

It was difficult to restrain his imagination. He’d been bred on the classics, educated at the best schools, and had learned all about the origin of the way of the rod. How omegas functioned and craved their alphas. The pictures had been so graphic, so pure of intent, that Robert had suddenly understood Thomas’ sexual desires. Though he contained them and hid them from the world, he was still an omega in need. 

And so, when Carson had offered the idea of caning, Robert had not turned it down. 

Of course, Carson had gone unbelievably easy on Thomas all things considered. Robert had seen his father beat the hands of a footman bloody with that same cane. Had seen him whip Rosamund in the place of her nanny and strike his own mother with the back of his hand.Carson had struck Thomas with clothes on, and had only hit him fifteen times. Robert knew Carson’s strength as an alpha, and a man of prolonged servitude. If needed, Carson could probably break the neck of another man. 

But he’d restrained himself, and swatted Thomas as carefully as if he were swatting a disobedient toddler. 

In a way, he had been. 

The entire night, Robert had tossed and turned in bed till Cora had rolled over and presented him her neck. The smell of lavender, so lovingly close to her pulse, made him feel sleepy and content but violent dreams overtook him even then. Of Thomas over his lap, wailing as he struck him repeatedly with his own hand. 

Robert had jerked awake some time before dawn, and had found it impossible to go back to sleep. 

This hadn’t exactly been an asset. All week he’d been preparing to meet with Lawrence Gray, another member of the alpha pedigree and Earl of Lincolnshire. The south of Grantham and the north of Lincolnshire touched in a thick boundary carpeted in farms older than the lawsuits that divided them. With income tax rising and agriculture struggling to keep up, Robert had decided that the best way to save the farms laying at the border was to pool his resources with the Earl of Lincolnshire… and see if something couldn’t be done. 

Days ago, he’d rang Belton House and had spoken with Lawrence, agreeing that they might meet and survey the territory. Gray had been oddly… enthusiastic… which was bizarre because the man had a reputation for being sharp and without humor. Still, he’d agreed to ride with Robert, and observe their territories. To cap it all off, Gray would be attending dinner with local members of the upper class, perhaps even stopping at Downton for a short while to enjoy the hospitalities Robert could offer. 

So here he was, slightly exhausted, traveling in Henry Talbot’s best car with Tom and Gray, wondering at his future and how he might cement his reign as Earl of Grantham. 

Really, this wasn’t the time to be thinking spanking Thomas with his bare hand but boy was the image tempting. 

Lawrence Gray wasn’t a man for conversation, and it was difficult to enjoy the car ride with him. He was a stern, austere sort of man, younger than Robert by a good twenty years with sharp dark eyes and black hair that came down in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. His long hair was unorthodox for a man of his position, but what he lacked in conformity he made up in authority. Lawrence Gray was an established architect, a man of science and politics that had fingers in several pots. This wasn’t to say that he had many friends- mostly just the men he worked with. Lawrence Gray seemed to have a hard time socializing with other people… in particular making conversation. 

Ergo, the car ride was uncomfortably quiet. 

So Robert did the only thing he could truly think to do. He took Gray back to Downton. 

Some things were just easier to handle over tea and biscuits, and Tom was clearly growing uncomfortable with the stern authority Gray imposed over the car. 

…There was something odd about Gray. Robert just couldn’t figure out what. It was like he was restraining himself somehow, behind a stiff Bellstaff coat and starched navy waistcoat. But why restrain? What threat could Robert possibly pose to his dignity? 

As Tom pulled the car back into the drive for Downton, Gray spoke up for the first time in an hour. He tipped his pointed chin, smiled, and said, “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” Robert could not help but agree. Downton was his third parent and his fourth child, its beauty was not lost on him. His family flag waved on high, flapping in the crisp autumn breeze, and the sound of baying hounds could be heard on the outskirts of the woods. Neighboring counties were beginning to enjoy the start of hunting season. Robert had forgone them this year, simply due to his gastrectomy earlier in the summer. His doctor had warned him not to push his luck. 

As they pulled up around the house, Andrew was quick to greet them at the front door. Tom deposited them, taking the car to pull it around back towards the garage where Henry would no doubt be tinkering with some other contraption. As Andrew took their coats and stood stiff at his post, Gray looked about the entrance hall to touch the fine greek columns which supported her base. 

“My own estate brings me nothing but trouble in the way of her care. I confess it’s both a blessing and a burden to be her master.” 

Robert understood Gray’s problem intrinsically. 

“Shall we take tea in the library?” He offered, sweeping a hand to the north across the main hall. 

“That would most agreeable.” Gray said. 

So Robert caught Andrew’s eye and noticed him scuttling off (no doubt going to find Carson). He walked Gray across the main hall, pausing as Gray noted the architecture of Downton’s upper floors and main stairs. 

“Marvelous.” He complimented, “You’ve aged well with the times. Keeping up standards and keeping up period is not easy.” 

“I’m glad someone else recognizes my troubles.” They walked into the library, and Robert showed Gray to the velvet couches that framed the marble fireplace. The pair of them sat on separate couches, like opponents in a bizarre game of friendly chess. If Robert was the white king, regal and kind, Gray was the black king… waiting for a slip-up with an iron grip on his ebonized cane. 

“I face the same problems at Belton House.” Gray confirmed, “I think the pair of us might be able to aid one another in this time of changing taxes. Some of our farm pieces couple nicely together. There’s no point in keeping property lines if they’re not helping the whole of our estates.” 

“I quite agree.” Robert said, pausing as Carson entered with tea. “Ah, Carson-! We’ll take tea.” 

Carson dipped his head preparing them both a cup of fine rosebud brew. It was the autumn speciality, a delightful sign that Christmas was soon to approach. 

Robert accepted his cup, pleased that Carson should put a splash of milk in it just like he’d always agreed to.” 

“Lemon.” Gray added, and Carson dutifully added him a small slice so that the air was suddenly full of the smell of citrus. He handed over both teacups, serving Robert first as tradition required, then took his place by the tea set with his hands folded pointedly behind his back. He was as much a part of the house as its architecture. 

“How are your staff? I’ve had to make a few cuts, myself.” Gray asked politely. This was an odd question, and one not commonly asked. Still, Gray was wearing a smile (if you could call it that) and he didn’t look too threatening… For the moment. 

“As have we.” Robert said, for now the only maid that could truly be boasted was Thomas. “I’ve had my fair share of troubles but I like to think we’re doing well, all things considered.” He paused to take a sip of tea. 

“Oh, I completely understand.” Gray took a sip of his own cup, “I’ve even been looking into taking an omega, if you can believe it. But finding one up to my standards is almost impossible. The youth are slacking these days, and few respond well to discipline anymore. What would I give for a servant and an omega all in one?” Gray shrugged. 

Robert’s mouth suddenly felt quite dry, despite the tea he was drinking. He narrowed his eyes, considering the advantages of informing Gray about his own servant omega just upstairs. 

“Have you thought of taking another omega?” Gray asked. 

“No-“ Robert paused, truly considering it. Had he thought of taking another omega? … Not actively but… sometimes he thought about it in the dead of night. Like last night, par example. 

Though it wasn’t fair to dream of Thomas in that way, not when Thomas had been so afraid of Carson’s caning. 

“No, I’m quite content with Cora.” He continued on, taking another sip of tea. “Only that.. I’ve ben having to deal with an omega as of late that needs an alpha, and quickly.” 

“Oh?” Gray sat his teacup aside, gently laying his ebonized cane against the arm rest of his sofa so that he could lazily drum its head. Robert noted it was in the shape of a falcon. Perhaps the Gray crest? “Surely not one of your own brood.” 

“Indeed.” Robert said. “I have in my possession a male omega, if you can believe it.” 

Gray chortled. 

“You seem to have a habit for attracting them. There must be something in the tea.” 

And how could Robert deny it, when omega males were as rare as blue cut diamonds? First Matthew, now Thomas… maybe there was something about Downton that attracted them. 

“He’s a servant of mine, actually. A footman-“ 

“That creature at the door?” Gray even turned around on the sofa, wondering in Andrew’s distant direction. He seemed dismayed, “Surely not.” 

“No, not Andrew.” Robert was quick to dismiss the notion. “His name is Thomas Barrow. He sort of rose through the ranks but he started as a footman. Then he was a valet for a bit, and finally he became my under butler. Now he’s my day maid….” 

“So he lied about being an omega.” Gray deduced. 

“Indeed he did. For twenty years.” 

“Interesting!” Instead of being irritated as Robert might have expected, Gray was curious to know more. So he wasn’t an alpha desperate to show off his authority it seemed. 

Robert was relatively surprised.

“Would you believe that I’m interested?” Gray added.  
Robert paused, his mouth becoming dry again. 

He tried not to appear flustered, smiling as pleasantly as he dared, “Most are.” was all Robert could manage to say. He didn’t know why but he felt wary of showing Thomas to his man. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gray, for he knew Gray to be a man of good (if stern) character. It was that Thomas had experienced a terrible night, and even on the best of days could be slightly caustic to alphas. If Thomas said something offensive to Gray, Robert could lose his generosity. In this shifting world, that was not something Robert was prepared to do. 

“May I see him?” Gray asked. 

“Well…” Robert paused, “He’s had a terrible night. He won’t be good company. I worry he might offend your sensibilities—“ 

“I’m not looking for a handout.” Gray assured him, “Whatever he says to me, it won’t affect our business.” 

Well. You couldn’t ask for more than that. 

“Carson-“ Robert turned to the man, “Have Thomas brought to us, and…” He gave his butler a pointed look, “Try to keep him in good moral.” 

“I will aim to M’lord.” Carson replied smoothly, and left the room. 

~*~

 

Thomas spent the morning in bed, and when he woke next it was to Mrs. Hughes bringing him a lunch tray. Mrs. Patmore had made him a beef soup, which made his throat feel slightly better, along with a strong chamomile tea that soothed his eyes and stomach. It was difficult to say what was truly wrong with him; maybe he was just miserable and the emotion had taken a toll on his body. Either way, food and rest was slowly making him feel better. After he ate lunch, he went back to sleep and stayed that way until he was woken again by a soft knock upon his door. 

Thomas opened his eyes, blearily registering from his open pocket-watch upon his bedside table that it was two in the afternoon. He rolled a bit in bed, his arse throbbing beneath his covers, and grumbled. 

He might have pretended to be asleep had Charles Carson not opened his bedroom door. 

It was awful, to see Carson in the light of day. The man looked no different from the night before, but seemed sternly apologetic all the same as he shut Thomas’ bedroom door and came to stand at his side. 

What on earth could Thomas say to him now? “Thanks for that caning last night, it was a real corker.” 

“His Lordship is taking tea with a Lord that would care to see you.” Was Carson’s way of greeting him. Was it Thomas’ imagination or did he seem… nervous? “Get dressed now and go down to the library.” 

He supposed there wasn’t much point in fighting anymore. Was there. 

He sat up as best he could in bed. His arse was still throbbing and it was difficult not to try and lean to one side in an attempt to get some relief. Carson noted his lunch tray, but said nothing in the way of irritation or disdain. 

“… How are you feeling?” Carson asked. 

“Poorly.” Was the only reply Thomas could come up with. He still felt oddly fevered but clear headed. Perhaps he wasn’t truly ill after all. 

“Work will make you well again.” Was Carson’s advice, a show of how his generation had performed behind him. “Laying in bed all day stiffens the joints. A hot bath and a cup of tea will put you right.” 

Hurray for simple solutions. 

Thomas didn’t make to move out of bed, feeling oddly nude in front of Carson despite having a chemise on. In the man’s presence, his arse seemed to throb even more. 

Carson opened his mouth, but then closed it. Thomas blinked, watching him warily.  
Carson opened his mouth, and then tried again. 

“I’m sorry, Thomas.” He finally said. 

Thomas swallowed, a solid lump in his throat. 

“It was never my intention to bring you pain.” Carson said. Thomas looked away, unwilling to stir up Carson’s anger more after last night. The fact of the matter was, was that whether or not Carson had meant to bring Thomas pain… he had. Quite a lot of it. His flaming arse was proof of it. 

“You…” Carson sounded unsure, “You do understand that? That I didn’t want to bring you pain?” 

Thomas looked at Carson, and found him worried. It was rare that Carson ever cared about what he thought. Maybe Carson just wasn’t used to the uncomfortable situation of looking like the bad guy. Thomas was a pro- he’d been at it for years. Carson would learn. 

“Thomas…” Carson seemed to recognize there was anger in Thomas’ eyes. He sat down on Thomas’ bed, placing his fingertips together in deep thought, “I had to do it. You stole, many times over the years. Things of great value. As an alpha governing over you, I couldn’t allow it. But that doesn’t mean that I enjoyed caning you, or making you cry. It…” Carson was bitter, “It wounded me to the core.” 

Thomas doubted that. 

“I know I owe you an apology.” Carson said. “I wish I could give you more. But you have to be willing to give me the same. Neither of us can be slack in our slippers.” 

But Thomas didn’t own slippers. 

Still, he found it warming to have Carson apologize in person. He doubted that Carson would go back and change things, but at least he was showing some kind of remorse. That was a hair shy different from 1920 when he’d found Thomas revolting. Behavior like that deserved a reward, so Thomas nodded and pretended to be completely fine with the fact that Carson had spanked him worse than a lustful alpha in rut. 

Carson was uplifted by Thomas’ show of agreement, and even dared to give him a small but sincere smile. 

“Good.” He patted Thomas’ shoulder. And to think last night those hands had been swatting him something fierce, “Then let’s say no more of it and get on with our day? Unless….” Carson paused, “Is there something you want to say to me?” 

Just one thing, actually, “Why couldn’t I have just written lines?” Thomas whispered. 

Carson sighed, “Because it wouldn’t have been as effective… as sorry as I am to admit it.” And the worst part was, Thomas rather agreed with him. Writing lines would not have been near as effective as spanking him with that rattan. 

And then, in a shocking show of kindness that Thomas had not been expecting, Carson reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out Thomas’ pack of fags. Thomas was taken aback, amazed that Carson would still allow him to smoke even though he was an omega. Maybe Carson knew that cigarettes soothed Thomas, gave him a sort of oral fixation…maybe he figured after last night, Thomas needed a drag. 

Either way, as Thomas pulled out a cigarette, Carson reached over to his bedside table and offered him his lighter so that Thomas could strike up the end. He took a deep drag, grateful for the stinging burn of nicotine in his lungs. 

“Now then.” Carson was satisfied. “A handshake, to seal our promise to one another.” What exactly that promise was, Thomas didn’t know. But he took Carson’s hand either way, and shook it. Carson wasn’t quick to let Thomas’ hand go. Thomas could feel a slight shuddering twitch in the tips of Carson’s fingers. He wondered if Carson was truly so nervous to touch him. 

Maybe he really was remorseful. 

Carson reached up with his other hand, and patted Thomas’ hand so that he was now sandwiched. 

“I promise you that I will never cane you again… unless you do something unthinkable.” Carson said like a faithful vow. “Do you promise not to do something unthinkable that would change my mind?” 

Thomas couldn’t imagine what that would even be. So he nodded. 

Carson smiled, pleased. “Then you’re needed downstairs in the library. So let’s put you to rights and make sure you’re presentable.” He rose from Thomas’ bed, reaffirmed, and headed for the door. He paused on the threshold, giving Thomas one final “Good man.” before closing the door so that Thomas could have some privacy. 

Only then, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, did Thomas permit a scowl to cross his face. 

He had never before in his life been a ‘good man’. He didn’t intend to start now. 

He rose from bed at last, and winced at the sting of his arse hitting the air. He walked over to his floor mirror and carefully lifted the back of his chemise to see the damage. 

His arse was wounded with several raised cherry red welts. There was no sign of blood, no scratch… but the flesh would be abused for a while now, and it would take days for the welts to go down. How on earth was he going to sit for meals? 

Bitter, Thomas pulled off his dirty chemise and put a new one. It was tender process, carefully replacing his kickers and pulling back on his stockings. He had to be careful each time he bent over not to wound his arse further. He toed on his shoes, pulling on his corset by pre-lacing the back and merely snapping the clasps in the front. He had to adjust it twice so as to be able to breath better. Thomas then pulled on his dress, grateful that Baxter had ironed it the night before. He looked semi-presentable, and washed his face to comb his hair before deciding it was time to go down. 

So he went down, walking slowly lest he cause himself more discomfort. 

He took the main staircase, passing by Anna who paid him no mind and Moseley who did much the same. Thomas held open the door for Moseley as he passed, noting that he was taking a refilled teapot in the direction of the library. 

“I’ll take that-“ Thomas said, for it was his destination to. Bemused, Moseley handed it over. It was comforting, to have the familiar weight in his hands again. 

“About last night, Mr. Barrow-“ Moseley began. “Ms. Baxter was worried you were in a way-“ 

“Ms. Baxter worries too much.” Was all Thomas had to say. It wasn’t exactly a lie, per say. It seemed like Baxter always found something to worry over in the end. 

Moseley waffled a bit for a retort, but failed. Thomas did not care to continue conversation forward, so he left Moseley baffled in the doorway of the stairwell, bearing the refilled teapot towards the library door. When he arrived, he carefully balanced his tray upon his entire left arm to open the door with his right, stepping inside to close it succinctly. 

“What a neat little package.” Came a new voice from across the room. “I can’t tell what smells more lovely. You or the tea.” 

Thomas looked around, confused. There, upon the couch, was a man he’d never seen before in his time at Downton. He was about Thomas’ age, with long black hair and a sharp pointed chin. He has this sort of austere quality about him, clearly in fit shape with a fine navy tunic on and an ebonized staff in hand. He rose from the couch as Carson took the tea-tray away from Thomas; Thomas noted that over the man’s shoulder, Lord Grantham seemed slightly wary from the couch. 

Thomas blushed, wary to meet the man’s eyes after last night. 

“What a stunning creature you are.” The man said. Thomas did not appreciate the compliment, but had to respond all the same. 

He dipped a bit, “M’lord.” Was all he said. 

The man walked forward, and, in a move that Thomas could not have predicted, swooping an arm to take up Thomas’ hand in a poetic gesture if only that he might kiss Thomas’ knuckles. Thomas was baffled, amazed at the forwardness as he glanced first at Carson (who was scandalized) and then to Lord Grantham (who winced). 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Thomas Barrow.” The man said smoothly, “I am Lord Gray, Earl of Lincolnshire. But you may call me Lawrence if you like.” 

Uh— he would be doing no such thing, thank you very much! 

Thomas pulled his hand away, trying to keep to a stance of decorum. 

“I shouldn’t dream to be so forward, M’lord.” He warned. Lord Gray just smiled. 

“That’s a fine scent upon you.” Lord Gray said, slowly beginning to walk around Thomas much like a predator wolf would stalk an animal in pasture. “A perfume?” 

Thomas couldn’t fathom what he was smelling. As far as Thomas knew the only thing he smelt of was sweat and beef soup from earlier. He doubted either would be sold as a perfume. 

“No, M’lord.” He said, catching Lord Gray’s eye as he walked back around. He was still smiling, as if enchanted by Thomas, which made no sense because the pair of them had never met before and they certainly weren’t hitting it off now. 

Lord Gray didn’t seem convinced. He took a step forward, then another. Thomas was unnerved, and wanted to step back or press himself flat against the wall to hide from Lord Gray’s penetrating stare. 

Lord Gray leaned in even more, so that they were mere inches apart… and sniffed. 

“Lovely.” He murmured, his voice soft in Thomas’ ear, “Like a peach.” 

“O-only peaches smell like p-peaches.” Thomas stuttered, “People can’t smell like fruit, M’lord.” 

“And yet you do?” Lord Gray said with a smile, “Another way to make you unique.” 

Thomas looked away, very uncomfortable. Lord Gray pursued him. 

“You have such lovely eyes too, the color of a winter’s morning. Won’t you look at me?” He then reached up to touch Thomas underneath his chin. He tried to make Thomas look up. 

_Okay, this really really needed to stop right now_. 

Thomas took a firm step back, so that Gray was now several feet in front of him and not inches. 

“Forgive me, M’lord-“ Thomas’ tone took a sterner quality. “But I don’t take kindly to strange alphas putting their hands on me. I’m not a piece of artwork on display in a gallery.” 

“You should be.” Was Gray’s calm retort. Thomas was taken aback. 

“Has anyone called to court you?” Lord Gray asked. 

It seemed Lord Grantham had grown too uncomfortable for this conversation to continue. He rose up from the couch, setting down his teacup to stop Lord Gray’s continued interrogation. “Lord Gray-“ 

But Lord Gray just gave him a friendly smile and waved him off. Like he was an irksome fly. Like none of it mattered. His authority in the room was staggering. It was like he owned the place despite not being the current Earl of Grantham. Even Lord Grantham was flabbergasted. 

“Well, little peach?” He asked Thomas. Thomas did not appreciate the nickname and refused to answer it with a stern frown. 

“…No one has called to court.” Lord Grantham spoke again. Lord Gray rolled his eyes, not even looking at Lord Grantham to answer his comment. “It has been my intention to find him an alpha but I haven’t had the time to look into the matter fully.” 

“I’ve decided I shall court you.” Lord Gray said.  
Thomas narrowed his eyes, unsure what any of that meant. Did he want to be bosom friends or something? 

“I don’t wish to be courted, M’lord.” Thomas said. 

“I’ll write.” was Lord Gray’s reply. 

“…I won’t write back, M’lord.” Thomas snapped.  
But instead of being put off, Lord Gray just gave a gentle laugh and waved his hand through the air again. He dismissed Thomas just as easily as he dismissed Lord Grantham. It was absolutely insane. 

How did he have such a commanding presence. It was like… Thomas was drunk.  
He sniffed. Why did he smell wine?  
Had they been drinking port before they arrived? 

Lord Gray was just giving him another enchanting smile. 

“I don’t need correspondence, divine Thomas.” Lord Gray said, “I’m not writing to you to be your pen pal.” And with that he decided that the conversation between them was over. 

“Now off you pop.” Lord Gray said, “Don’t worry your pretty little head.” 

He swatted Thomas’ backside.  
Thomas yipped, unable to hide the pain that flowered at Lord Gray’s touch. 

Even Lord Grantham hissed in sympathy. 

Thomas’ cheeks burned with humiliation, looking downcast to avoid Lord Gray’s confused gaze. How could he know that Thomas’ backside was laced with welts? That only last night, Thomas had been kneeling up on a chair with the other two men in the room, having the living daylights spanked out of him for stealing wine and owning a dildo? 

Christ, what had his life boiled down to. 

“Oh dear-“ Lord Gray was a mix between confused and concerned, but Thomas highly doubted he was truly sympathetic, “I didn’t mean to press on a wound. You’ll have to forgive me my darling-“ 

Thomas had had his hands over his backside, tenderly rubbing at the stinging pain; he gasped when Lord Gray took up one of his hands again if only to caress his knuckles. 

That strong wine smell hit Thomas again, leaving him feeling punch drunk. 

“I can only imagine what might be occurring beneath your dress.” Lord Gray murmured. He kissed Thomas’ knuckles. 

The lack of control, the smell of wine, the unwanted touch, all of it was stinging Thomas’ hypersensitive flesh. He didn’t want a part of this. 

He backed up, wrenching his hand away from Lord Grantham to stumble back to the door of the library. 

“Stay away from me!” Thomas snapped a finger in the man’s face. “You hear me?! You stay away from me. You don’t come back here. You don’t write to me- you stay away!” He shouted the last two words. 

Lord Gray recovered, careful to school his expression into something calm and manageable despite Thomas running from him like he was a plague bearing rat. 

“I wouldn’t dream of alarming you, little peach.” Lord Gray said. 

“Stay away from me.” Thomas could think of nothing else to say, and abandoned the library at once to head back upstairs. He could think of nothing to firmly tell Gray no. Nothing else to get Lord Gray’s attention and make it stick. Maybe Lord Gray would get the point and leave him alone. Even if he did smell of wine. 

But Thomas doubted it had fully done the trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Thomas getting caned by Carson was an erotic experience and I'm not sorry one goddamn bit.


	8. Caustic Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Gray writes to Thomas.   
> Thomas writes back. 
> 
> Everyone is delighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter than most my chapters, but I think you'll enjoy it.

_Litigo 18:22: “The alpha who finds an omega finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Supreme Alpha.”_

 

Thomas was glad to go about his life and forget the ugly occurrences of early September. By the end of the week, the welts on his backside had decreased to mere red stripes, and a few days later they’d all but dispersed entirely. 

Though Mr. Carson had told the staff that the theft issue was resolved and Thomas was innocent, Thomas still found himself getting dirty looks. Bates wasn’t blind, and Anna knew more than she left on. Baxter knew everything, so Moseley did too… and Daisy was just as oblivious as ever with her head stuck in the kitchen. In an attempt to avoid the staff as much as he could, Thomas decided it would better to miss meals entirely and instead sneak his rations out of the pantry while it was unlocked. He’d never been one for big meals anyways, so it made sense of him to graze during the day on apples, biscuits, and camembert. Of course, this meant that he didn’t get much in the way of protein, but Thomas didn’t care. He’d never really liked meat anyways, besides fish, and wasn’t too heartbroken at its loss. In an attempt to keep up his energy, he started eating more nuts, and constantly had almonds or peanuts in his dress pocket to nibble at during the day. His flask was gone, but Thomas could easily get a cup of tea from the kitchen if he needed one while he ironed. 

He shrank back from the public eye, more often than not hiding in the linen pantry or up on the gallery floor while the family lazed about during the afternoons. 

About two weeks after Carson’s spanking, Thomas had his head shoved in the pantry and was piling morsels into his pocket. He took camembert, almonds, grapes, and even the slim remainders of a summer sausage which had gone up the night before on a platter for the family. He had just grabbed an apple when he heard a tender voice behind him. 

“Having a snack?” 

Thomas jumped, looking around, and found Baxter watching him amusedly with a letter in hand. 

“My dinner, actually,” Thomas corrected her. 

“I suppose you don’t want to eat with the rest of us?” 

“It’s better if I keep to my own. You know that.” Thomas turned back around and dared to snag another slice of cheese. Even without port wine to accent, he still liked the creamy taste. 

Baxter didn’t go away; Thomas looked over his shoulder to find her worrying at her bottom lip. 

“What is it?” Thomas asked. “More scolding?” 

“A letter actually.” 

Thomas grimaced, thinking of the vile alpha Peter Coyle in prison. No doubt he was harassing Baxter through the mail. The scumbag. 

But instead of relaying fears of Coyle, and prison trash gossip, Baxter handed over an unopened letter to Thomas, who looked down to see that the post bore his name. It came from a ‘Belton House’, which was unfamiliar to Thomas. It was in Lincolnshire County, to the south of Grantham… yet again unfamiliar territory. 

“Belton House?” Thomas wondered, imagining that it might have been a former ad responding to his request for information on an open post. He doubted Lord Grantham would let him go now— curious, Thomas opened the letter with nimble fingers and pulled out fine parchment. At the top, there was an unfamiliar crest, of a peregrine falcon clutching crossed spears, foreshadowed by an enormous ‘G’ in the background. Thomas felt the parchment beneath his fingertips. Ivory coated… certainly not the kind of parchment a member of the servant class would use. 

Thomas began to read, only absently holding onto the his apple in his other hand. 

_To Thomas B.—_   
_Belton House, September 16th, 1926._

_The beauty of Downton Abbey was such that I will long remember it, despite my visit to its ancient halls being fleeting. I hope that you enjoyed our meeting thoroughly. How exquisite a spectacle, to see you before me in the flesh when only words had tried to encompass your beauty before. To me there was great significance in our meeting, for those who aspire to love must first cross the terrible bridge of anonymity whose various borders we breeched. Now I am known to you, and you to me. Would you believe me if I claimed I had once seen you before, sleeping like an angel in the arms of the Brigade? The chains upon your flesh enraged me. I nearly convinced the brute carrying you to give you over, but he seemed intent on taking you back to Lord Grantham. I followed, claiming business with neighboring estates. Shall I tell you a secret, divine Thomas? I never cared for business with his Lordship. Our estates flourish well on their own. My only desire was to see you again. To see you without chains, and a rose to your cheeks. Even now the smell of peach haunts me. I have called for my cook to lace my dishes in it, to dine upon the syrup until you are always on my lips. The taste of you has brought me great courage to write this letter, and ask you to return a love which is as haunting as the taste of peach in each dish I devour. I nearly broke my silence in the library, but in plain truth desired to keep our knowing secret from Lord Grantham who I suspect may have favors for you. Now, away from prying eyes and ears, let me assure you that you are of my earnest love, and I beg of you to think of me with favor. You are to me dearer than all the world besides, and always will be. Tell me that I may come to you again, and say such affections aloud. Tell me that you return my connection, my plight, and you shall make me happier than any words could express. This may seem too abrupt— but were I to write a million messages, they would but repeat that I love you and ask you to love me._

_Ever your most affectionate,_   
_Lawrence Gray, Earl of Lincolnshire_

The apple accidentally slipped from his hand. 

 

 

Bruised apples aside, Thomas told Baxter nothing of the contents of his letter nor anyone else as he went about his days. Instead, he hid the letter in his room, pouring over it late at night to try and decipher some kind of hidden meaning in the text. Alden had claimed that someone had tried to buy Thomas on the train. It seemed he now knew who. He’d followed Thomas to Downton, perhaps even hunted him down, desperate for an angle in with Lord Grantham. If that angle was estate business then so be it. Thomas wasn’t a fool. He knew a Lord Gray was a cunning man even by their solitary meeting alone. The lacing of dishes in peach syrup certainly didn’t give Thomas a sense of comfort. It made him feel like a pervert was peeping in on him through his bedroom windows, though this would be quite impossible unless the pervert in question had scaled the abbey walls to peek in on the attics. 

Thomas tried to smell his own flesh, to get out the scent of peach that Lord Gray so illustriously described… but he couldn’t scent anything there. He was only just beginning to truly flesh out the scents of other alphas and omegas in the house. He found it was easier to scent alphas for some reason; maybe because of their more dominating persona. Thomas had at first thought that Lady Mary’s scent of mint and bayberry was a perfume; now he knew different. He’d instead simply been smelling an heady aroma that enveloped the sheer air around her. It unnerved him, to find that there were clouds about people which (if approached upon) could gas out and turn into a bomb of smells. It made Thomas even more reluctant to approach the rest of the staff. 

Lord Grantham had a rather strong scent about him, something close to Frankincense that reminded Thomas of far off stories in desert lands. He wondered if there was some bizarre connection between Lord Grantham’s obsession over Egyptian history and his scent. 

Tom Branson on the other hand had a rather airy scent of cypress. A clear reminder of how he often found solace in the outdoors. Thomas could remember Lady Sybil describing Branson’s scent as something glorious and freeing. 

_“I flee through the trees when he holds me in his arms, papa!”_ she’d cried out.   
It hadn’t made sense to Thomas at the time, but he understood it now. 

Mr. Carson was more difficult to explain.   
He had a sharp crack around his persona, a sort of …. christening in the air that floated through the entire staff invigorating all who touched it. It was cool, light, but also slightly overbearing to where you could get a headache if Carson lorded over you for too long. Thomas finally put a name to it after watching Daisy suck on a peppermint stick on her afternoon off…. peppermint. 

Bates was another heady scent…. Sandalwood. Thomas didn’t like it. It made his lungs feel clouded, like he was being swam over by a million emotions (none of them pleasant). Anna seemed to get drunk on him, hanging on his every word and praising him to no end. 

Andy…well… Thomas still hadn’t figured him out. It was like Andy’s scent was still forming; maybe it had something to do with age? Then again, of all the members of staff, Thomas had known Andy for the least amount of time. So maybe it had less to do with the age of the alpha over the depth of the connection. 

Oh- bugger it all. Thomas didn’t care about scents! He didn’t care about classifying the alphas he met into who smelt fruity and who smelt like incense. All he wanted was to be left jolly well alone— why was that so hard for everyone else to understand? The imbecility of it all… 

Several days after receiving Lord Gray’s bizarre letter, Thomas found himself upstairs in the beige master room making Lord and Lady Grantham’s bed. Here, above all else, the smell of frankincense and lavender hoarded over the air. It was most obvious in the pillows- clinging to the spot where Lord Grantham would lay his head. 

He was alone, the day maids downstairs sorting through the linens. They’d just put fresh sheets on the master bed; Thomas was tucking down the corners in the way he knew Mrs. Hughes would like. 

Speaking of which- 

Mrs. Hughes was clearly prowling the gallery floor, for suddenly she was there in the doorway watching him plump the pillows and tuck in the bottom sheet. She nodded, content, walking around the perimeter of the bed to observe it from all angles. 

“Very good.” She said, “Crisp corners- you’re catching on.” 

But was it really so hard to make a bed? He shrugged. 

“You’ve a guest in the library.” Mrs. Hughes informed him. Thomas paused, his hands still outstretched over Lord Grantham’s more ornate top pillows; he looked around at her, an eyebrow arched. 

“Am I going to like this guest?”   
“Probably not.” 

And so Thomas descended the main stairs already fully aware of who would be waiting for him in the library. 

He schooled his expression into something close to cold disdain, trying to put his anxious mind at ease as he went over the thousands of reasons in his head why, even on a good day, Lord Gray would never be his alpha. The biggest and most important reason was that Thomas didn’t want him to be his goddamn alpha. 

_So there_. 

He was going to put a stop to all of this nonsense today. He was going to walk into the library, throw open the doors, and tell the whole world-! 

But even as Thomas did just that, pushing the library door open wide with a fire in his eyes, he was put off by the man he found sitting on the couch before him. 

Lord Gray sat on the visitors couch. Across from him were Lord and Lady Grantham, the three of them clearly engrossed in ‘tea talk’. 

For some reason, when Thomas remembered Lord Gray, he did so in a less than positive light. His chin had been sharper, in Thomas’ mind; his eyes less kind. But the fact of the matter was that there was nothing truly sinister about Lord Gray. Nothing abysmally off putting save for the way that he was automatically so friendly with Thomas. It wasn’t English. It wasn’t _normal_. 

Lord Gray was wearing a maroon vest today; Thomas could see a gold Albert chain swinging from a button hole, hiding his pocket watch in his vest pocket. He still had abysmally long hair; didn’t he know the fashions? His sharp nose and gleaming dark eyes reminded Thomas a bit of a falcon… maybe that was why it was the Gray family crest. 

“Hello, pet!” Lord Gray seemed bizarrely delighted to see him.   
This was the second time they’d met. It didn’t make any sense. 

“I wasn’t aware that I was an animal, M’lord.” Thomas said, his dry tone making his stance clear. 

At the side table, Carson stood keeping pasture over a beautiful set of fine china which steamed, emitting a smell of august harvest rose buds. Little almond and lemon scones covered a two-tiered china tray alongside a fine dish of clotted cream and strawberry jam, while another tray hosted an array of cucumber sandwiches and egg and cress sandwiches. 

Lord Gray came around the couches, till he stood before Thomas with a gleaming look in his eyes. 

“So witty.” Lord Gray praised him, “That’s why I like you.” And with that he reached out- whether to touch his hair or his face was never discovered as Thomas stepped back. 

“Is there something that you need from me, M’lord?” Thomas asked. 

“Only to enjoy your presence.” Lord Gray said, “I wanted to take tea with you.” 

But that was ludicrous. Carson was using the butterfly bloom set, a Wedgwood and worth far more than Thomas could ever withstand. When Thomas took tea, he did so on simple ceramic, not with fine English china. 

And he certainly never had egg and cress sandwiches. 

“I’m a servant, M’lord.” Thomas felt like he was speaking to a small child, having to explain the word ‘no’. “It would be improper for me to take tea with you.” 

“Well thank goodness we don’t care about what’s proper, neh?” Lord Gray was like a schoolboy, delighted in his teasing and running amuck. He unfortunately had a point: Thomas didn’t care about being proper. Carson certainly did, however, and he looked ready to have an aneurism at the idea of Thomas’ lower class lips touching the Wedgwood china. 

Lord Gray extended a hand to Carson, silently asking for tea. Carson dutifully poured a cup, handing it over with a soft “M’lord.” Instead of drinking it himself, Lord Gray turned and offered the teacup to Thomas. Suddenly all eyes were on him, as even Lady Grantham sat up straight in her seat to see what he would do. Thomas blinked, taken aback, and folded his hands warily over his chest. 

_Put your foot down now_ , he heard O’Brien’s voice in his head. 

“I should it make it clear, M’lord, that I have no desire to continue your bizarre infatuation with me.” Thomas warned, turning a bit towards the library door in a clear indication that he was about to leave, “So if that’s what you came for-“ 

“How do you take your tea?” Lord Gray asked. 

“Honey and lemon-“ Thomas responded without thinking, pausing to look back around so that he could see Lord Gray taking the offered honey and lemon from Carson. “Did you hear what I just said?” 

“I prefer to keep my without additives.” Lord Gray said, turning back around with the garnished cup. He stirred it carefully, never dinging the fine spoon against the rim of the teacup. “But I will take lemon from time to time. Do you know there are teas where flowers unfold in your cup?” He asked with a small smile, “Rather mystical isn’t it. I think I might bring you some-“ 

Thomas glanced to Lord Grantham, who seemed very uncomfortable, then to Carson who looked ready to burst into flames from embarrassment. Thomas blinked, turned back to the door, and reached for the handle, “I’m going to leave now. Goodbye-“ 

“Thomas-“ Lord Grantham beseeched softly. 

“Lord Grantham, I don’t want to be a part of this-!” Thomas beseeched, “I thought I made it quite clear just now?” 

Lord Grantham seemed to be imploring Thomas silently to give Lord Gray a chance. Thomas felt his mood turning sour. Honestly… no one seemed to think he knew his own mind. 

Lord Gray chuckled, just a tiny bit. Thomas glared at him, affronted. 

“Did I say something funny?” Thomas snapped, dropping the doorknob to jaunt his hands upon his hips. “Because I don’t recall telling a joke.” 

“You’re genuine.” Lord Gray said with a gentle smile. “I find it refreshing. Sit down, won’t you?” He gestured to the red velvet couch across from Lord and Lady Grantham. 

“No.” Thomas snapped. 

“Thomas-“ Lady Grantham winced. 

“Oh for god’s sake!” He realized that he would be forced to contend with his nonsense no matter which way he turned, so he did the only thing he could think of. It would be absolutely against procedure for Thomas to dare to sit on the family couch. Guest chairs were placed all around the rim of the room and ranged from leather suede-back to simple wooden chairs. Thomas took one of these, very close to Carson, but only sat on the edge so that the barest bit of his bottom was touching the wood. 

Lord Gray laughed outright. 

“Look at you!” He jabbed at Thomas, shaking his head as if finding Thomas to be an oddity, “Hiding in the corner like a spinster aunt.” He sat down Thomas’ denied teacup upon the side table near the couch, walking forward with a purposeful stride to take Thomas’ hand and pull him bodily off the chair. He essentially drug Thomas to the couch- 

“I won’t sit on the couch!” Thomas tried to pull his hand away, “I don’t even know you!” 

Lord Gray didn’t listen to him. They stood before the couch, the backs of their knees touching the velvet. Lord Gray sat, taking Thomas with him. 

“We’ve corresponded.” 

Thomas bristled as Lord Gray let go of his wrist to relax against the corner of his end. They made stark contrasts, with Thomas bolt upright while Lord Gray leaned into the spine. 

“You wrote to me.” Thomas corrected, “I never responded.” 

“When did you write to him?” Lord Grantham asked. Was Thomas wrong in thinking he heard slight irritation? 

“A few days ago.” Lord Gray said. “I had to make my affections known, I couldn’t bare keeping the little peach in the dark.” 

Thomas opened his mouth to reprimand Lord Gray on the usage of the detestable nickname, only to be cut off by Lady Grantham. 

“Is this true, Thomas?” She seemed amazed. 

“…M’lady.” Thomas dipped his head. 

“And you didn’t reply?” Her lips were curved into the tiniest ‘o’, unsure of what to make of the social encounter. 

“I didn’t want to continue this nonsense, M’lady.” Thomas said. Lady Grantham made a tiny noise through her nose, pursing her lips. 

“Oh don’t take on so.” Lord Gray urged him with a small if friendly smile, “Love isn’t nonsense.” 

This was true, but Lord Gray was most certainly not in love. “Maybe not, but you don’t love me.” 

“Are you in my head?” He asked. 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know I don’t love you?” 

Thomas let out an exasperated huff of air; he was starting to grow exhausted from all this back-and-forth, “I know because we’ve never met save for twice. You wrote me some flowery post script to try and woo me. It won’t work. I’m not unknown to the art of infatuation, and whatever you feel for me is based purely off the ego, or the physical alone.” 

“Oh, no…” Lord Gray sat up better on the couch, picking up Thomas’ denied teacup to carefully stir it again, “No, I quite disagree,” He withdrew the teaspoon, dabbing it delicately with his pinky finger so that two stray droplets of tea fell back into the cup below. He set the spoon on the rim of the saucer with a soft ‘clink’. “I care very deeply for you.” 

He offered the tea to Thomas for the second time.   
Just to get him to stop, Thomas took the teacup and glared into its amber depths. It did smell incredibly good, and Thomas had never drank from Wedgwood china before. He took a small sip, finding the brew exquisite, and remarked that it wouldn’t be half bad to put up with Gray’s imbecilic notions if only to score a few more rounds of tea off the dithering fool.

But Lord Gray was beaming when Thomas looked up from his tea.   
Lord Grantham and Carson were stunned. 

He looked at them all, taken aback. 

“… Why are you staring at me?” Thomas demanded. 

“I’m amazed at the depth of my feelings, I suppose.” Lord Gray schooled his expression back at once, “Maybe I never realized I could feel this deep.” 

Thomas tersed, rolling his eyes as he took another sip of rose hip tea, “Skin deep.” He muttered into the cup. 

“Your wit moves me.” Lord Gray said. Thomas licked his lips, chasing honey from his skin, “Your sarcasm. Your view on the world is much akin to mine. We’re both jaded, Thomas… I have to have an omega, and you have to have an alpha. We find ourselves in a cosmically aligned position.” 

“You are delusional.” Thomas set down his tea cup, “You know nothing about my view on the world, and I certainly do not need an alpha.” 

“And yet…” Lord Gray tilted his head, “You drank your tea.” 

“…Well I am English.” If he was to be damned for that, then someone better bring out the rope to hang him. 

Lord Gray watched him for a minute, regarding how Thomas sat on the very edge of the sofa and did not take another sip of tea. Thomas glared, never breaking eye contact as he held his ground. 

“You’re new to this game.” Lord Gray deduced. “Quite deluded in your ignorance, what a shame-“ 

“Excuse me?” Thomas was hot to reply, “I’ve never been called ignorant a day in my life and I won’t start now just because you have a bruised—“ But before Thomas could say ‘ego’, Lord Gray cut him off with a wave of the hand. 

He was so damn dismissive, couldn’t anyone talk around him? 

“Ah, forgive me.” Lord Gray said as if Thomas had misinterpreted him. 

“Oh I see, you meant ‘deludedly ignorance’ in a nice way?” Thomas sneered. 

“Allow me to explain, little peach-“ Lord Gray drew close on the couch, and Thomas reached out for the arm of the sofa behind him, drawing into its fabric to stay away from Lord Gray. This didn’t really help him, it only make him wedged between Lord Gray and unbending fabric. 

“Do I look like a frui-?!” Thomas was cut off as Lord Gray put a finger on Thomas’ lips.   
It stunned him into silence. He’d never been touched in such a forward way. 

Lord Gray smiled, dropping his finger. He placed his hand on Thomas’ knee. 

“When an alpha offers an omega food or drink, it’s a sign of courtship.” Lord Gray explained, “Should the omega accept, then the courtship is reciprocated. Should the omega decline…well…” Lord Gray gently squeezed his knee. 

“Wait!” Thomas leapt from the couch like it were aflame, hands up as if before the police. Lord Gray seemed taken aback, “No, nononono!” Thomas gestured rapidly from himself, to the teacup, to Lord Gray, “That’s not what I meant! I didn’t know that was a rule! If I’d known, I’d never have—“ 

“Oh don’t take on so-“ Lord Gray rose off the couch, trying to reach for him. Thomas took several steps back, suddenly against the mantle so that the warmth of the fire began to sting his legs through his stockings. “I’m not going to eat you alive. I find it to be… mystical, don’t you? That you took the tea even without knowing what it meant. A bit like destiny pulling us together.” 

“I need to go-“ Thomas blurted out, for the more that Lord Gray talked about ‘destiny’ the more Thomas wanted to be sick. “I don’t love you and you don’t love me, and that tea cup—!” Thomas walked as he talked, pushing right past Lord Gray in a most ungentlemanly manor to get back around the couch and towards the door which he took in hand. “That tea cup means nothing!” He shouted, quite angry, “So don’t you dare write to me again!” 

He left the library at once, and as if pursued by a tiger he ran across the main hall towards the servant’s stairwell. Baxter and Anna were just outside of it, passing off a button box between them for some shared task. As they saw Thomas run, the pair of them gaped in surprise. 

“Thomas, what’s wrong-?” Baxter asked at once. 

“Has something happened—“ Anna didn’t get to finish her question. Thomas bolted through the door and up the stairs to the attics. His first stop was to the bathroom, where he sequestered himself and jammed two fingers down the back of his throat until he triggered his gag reflex and vomited up the rose-tea. His lunch went along with it, but that was just the way life went. 

He hid in the attics for another half-hour, watching from an unoccupied alpha bedroom window until the Chrysler Imperial parked outside the abbey slowly drove away. 

 

 

Days past, and a bizarre mood enveloped the house. 

Thomas was not a stranger to having whispers follow him, but he certainly was new to smiles. The maids giggled at him (even obnoxious Amelia), and Daisy kept trying to get peeks at him through the kitchen. Anna and Baxter talked in hush whispers about him. Even Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore seemed to be talking about him when they thought he was out of hearing range… but Thomas didn’t need to be able to hear to know what they were talking about. 

Lawrence Gray. 

He’d stopped thinking of him as ‘Lord’ or an Earl. Now he only thought of Gray as a pest. 

When he’d been a footmen, he’d helped care for Lord Grantham’s many hunting dogs. They come bowling Thomas over, licking his fingers and whining in his ears. Thomas had groomed them from time to time, and when he’d done so he’d always been careful to find ticks or parasites in their ears. They’d whined, pitiful, and grateful when Thomas had relieved them on their burden. 

That’s what Gray was; a tick in his ear. 

But no one saw Gray as a pest; they saw him as some kind of a love-sick fool. They seemed to find it amusing that Thomas should be pursued by a member of the peerage; a man that couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. When Thomas proclaimed his lack of interest, no one believed him. They thought he was playing hard to get. 

So Thomas began to avoid the staff entirely, going so far as to take all breaks and any other moment out of their presence. It miffed him to no end that the people who ought to know him the ‘best’ were the people pushing this ‘courtship’ forward. 

What scared him the most though was how little control Thomas truly had over the situation. If only he’d known that drinking tea was some sort of signal to Gray- he would never have even touched the cup. Gray had offered it to him twice, which made Thomas wonder if Gray would have continued to try and make Thomas take tea repeatedly. Would he have just kept coming back? Would he have left Downton and never returned? Thomas knew nothing about Gray… save that he didn’t seem to understand the definition of ‘no’…. 

That sort of idiocy in a man never boded well. 

Three days after Gray’s disastrous visit, Thomas found himself (once again) ironing linens, though this time from Lady Mary’s room. The scent of mint and burberry just seemed to cling to her pillowcases, even after they’d been heavily washed. Thomas had to resist the urge to sniff them, finding that in some strange way the comforted him. Now that he’d been off suppressants for nearly three months, he was finding it easier to track smells, to notice how alphas and omegas interacted differently around one another. The docile submission in the staff that Thomas had surely sworn was just Carson’s iron thumb turned out to be Carson’s unyielding alpha presence. He wasn’t a toff, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t exude power with the best of them. 

As Thomas finished ironing Lady Mary’s top sheet, the door to the hall opened revealing Mrs. Hughes bearing a letter. 

Thomas looked at her, spotted the letter, then immediately ducked his head down to continue ironing. 

“No.” He said, without even asking first. 

“Thomas, you act like he’s a snake about to bite you-“ 

“I won’t saddle myself with a pompous arrogant fool that can’t handle rejection.” 

Mrs. Hughes made a noise of shock, hands on her hips as she tutted at his cold demeanor. 

“Thomas, of all people I should think you’d know the power of love when you see it.” 

Thomas glared at her, or at least tried to.   
It was always difficult to summon anger against Mrs. Hughes. How dare she exist and be so lovely at the same time. It wasn’t decent. 

“I also know the power of a spoilt little rich boy that’s never been told ‘no’.” 

“Well then—“ Mrs. Hughes took his letter in hand, running her thumb along the seam to open it. “I suppose you won’t mind if I read it?” 

“By all means, be my guest.” Thomas muttered, starting on Lady Mary’s pillows. 

_“Divine Thomas-“_ she began aloud. 

“I don’t wish to hear it read aloud.” Thomas warned her. Mrs. Hughes extended the letter to him with a playful smile. 

“Either you read it or I will. Your choice.” She teased. Thomas struck a hand against his face with a loud ‘smack’, dragging his palm down forcefully against his jaw so that his nose was slightly deformed in the press of it. He sighed, reaching down into his garter to pull out his pack of fags. If this wasn’t worthy of a cigarette, nothing was. 

Mrs. Hughes didn’t even tell him off, letting him smoke as he relaxed against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. 

Mrs. Hughes reshuffled the paper of his letter, starting again with a sweet smile. When she spoke, she brought flowery life to the words that Thomas knew wasn’t present in the original draft. Coming from the mouth of a loved one, the words were warming and endearing. Coming from Gray… they were disturbing. 

_“Divine Thomas,”_ she began again, _“Excuse me for writing this letter. I was much vexed when you left me the other day, and now I feel ashamed and ask for your forgiveness.”_ She gave him a rather stern look. 

Thomas arched an eyebrow. 

_“I scarcely had the courage to go to you today, and yet unhappiness follows me like a plague when I think of a world without you by my side. Thomas, my love for you cannot be expressed in words. I have heard and read of omega’s devotedness, and if I could only experience a little of it from you, this earth would be heaven to me. What shall I do to win your heart? Hereafter I will never contradict you in anything. My whole study shall be to please you and make you happy. And can you love me a little in return? I feel that I shall be rewarded with a loving smile when next we meet. Till them, my darling… Lawrence.”_

Mrs. Hughes sighed as if finding it all very dreamy, only to turn and scorn as she tried to appeal for Thomas’ more sensitive side, “Thomas. He’s besotted with you! Show the poor man some mercy.” 

“I’ll have that, thank you-“ Thomas took the letter from Mrs. Hughes, folding it up and tucking it into his garter beneath his chemise. He knew Mrs. Hughes would only grow to pester him about it; the fact of the matter was the Gray she was envisioning and the true Gray were two completely different people. Thomas had a feeling that Gray wasn’t writing out of his heart; he was writing out of his wits. Trying to envision some way to woo Thomas. 

“Write back to him.” Mrs. Hughes beseeched. “Say something, anything—!”   
Thomas shook his head. She let out an exhausted noise, clearly giving his cold attitude up for a lost cause. 

“You know, Thomas… You’d be a lot more happier if you started letting good alphas in and stopped living your life like a Penny Dreadful. Misery isn’t enchanting!” 

He resolved not to let Mrs. Hughes read any more of his letters after that. 

 

That night, tucked away in his bedroom, Thomas sat before his writing desk, his pen perched between his teeth. He sucked lightly on the nib, teasing the copper tip till he could taste the tang in his mouth. Careful not to get any ink on his teeth, Thomas silently composed the best take down letter he could muster, drawing on all the cold indifference his English omega mother had bred inside of him. 

_“A pity earned is a penny lost.”_ she’d warned him… so Gray would be receiving no pity from him whatsoever. 

 

Thomas put pen to paper, writing in the best Hancock he could produce. 

_To Lord Gray, Earl of Lancashire_.   
_Downton Abbey, September 23rd, 1926_

 

_I resolved myself never to waste paper writing to you, but clearly you can’t take the hint so I have to speak up lest I lose my self respect. Unless you are an idiot of grizzly proportions, you must be aware that I don’t like you, will never like you, cannot like you. You cannot imagine me compliant simply because of my omegan gender. Had I known of the rules of courtship, I would have abided in them with care and never drunk the tea you offered. Don’t give me another word about that ‘cosmic destiny’ crap. That might work on flowery toffs, but not me. My lot is for the practical and the physical. We don’t live in castles, we work in them. I have no desire to be courted, no desire to know the touch of any alpha. My time at Dover Castle showed me nothing but apathy and violence towards my sex, and I refuse to be pained anymore in my life. I demand of you to shirk this nonsense at once, remember yourself, and seek the doorstep of some other omega. You bring a bad taste to my mouth, and a dark cloud over your family’s name._

_Thomas Barrow_

 

You’d think a bloke could take a hint like that. 

 

 

Two days later, Thomas found himself in the pantry sneaking into a box of raspberry biscuits that he’d found most agreeable. They were strictly for the upstairs lot, far to expensive to be bought in mass consumption for the servants, but at the very bottom of the box there was always a few broken biscuits that couldn’t be put on a tray, not to mention powdered sugar which had fallen off of earlier biscuits when they’d been removed. 

Thomas’ tiny desert was interrupted by a terse cough; he whipped around, hiding the box behind his back (though it was terribly obvious) Only to see the Bates both watching him amusedly from the door. 

“You’ve a bit at the corner of your mouth.” Bates said smugly.   
Thomas poked at it with his tongue, not even bothering to try and keep his decency. He then rubbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, putting up the half-finished box of raspberry biscuits. 

Bates offered him letter, waving it in the air.   
Thomas groaned with a mouth full of half chewed biscuit. 

“Oh fo- go- say-“ Thomas spat, unable to get out a garbled sentence, stuffed by biscuits.   
He swallowed, painfully, then pushed his way out of the pantry past Bates and Anna. 

“Have a little mercy on him!” Anna beseeched, followed after him in good humor, “He’s in love!” 

“He’s an idiot, an’ I told him to clear off!” Thomas snapped He headed into the servant’s hall, determined to grab the afternoon paper before Moseley squirreled it off somewhere. Thomas searched the fireside, but found the paper missing. Fuming by the fireside, Thomas went so far as to look around the squat piano and the back chairs where the maids liked to have their tea. He found a book of poetry, but no paper. 

Bates came to his side, still holding the letter. 

“Some alphas are more stubborn than others,” He suggested, “Maybe that’s why he’s such a good match for you” Bates offered the letter, which Thomas took only to try and toss into the fire. 

Bates caught it in the air like one would catch a streamer, grabbing it just before the paper could be singed by the flames. 

“Some regard you show him.” Bates grumbled. 

Thomas rolled his eyes, falling into the armchair by the fire to flip through the poetry book. Dickens. He’d read it several times before. 

“Are you at least going to read it?” Anna asked. 

“I thought my intentions were made clear when I threw it into the fire.” Thomas grumbled, turning another page. 

Bates and Anna refused to shift in front of him, the pair of them odd dark blurs over the edge of his vision as he consumed himself with the Dickens novel. Some bullshit about a ghost- these stories were all the same after a while. 

“Thomas…” Anna’s tone was starting to turn judgmental and goody two shoes again, He wished he still had his flask to down a shot of port, “It’s not nice to leave him pining.” 

“I told him to leave me alone. Many times.” Thomas snapped. He set the book aside, glaring at Anna from his chair. She didn’t look ruffled, nor did Bates. “I refuse to be bullied.” 

“How is he bullying you.” Anna asked in such a way that it was clear she thought he was pulling her leg. 

But Thomas was far from joking. “He won’t leave me alone!” Thomas leapt out of the chair, infuriated that no one could understand the terror of being backed into a corner by such a demanding alpha. “In my last letter, I made my position expressly clear! And still he continues to harass me! Because he knows that he has the upper hand, that he’s an alpha and rich- what am I but some cattle he can buy at mass market! You think I’m going to go down without a fight-“ 

“Thomas, Lord Grantham is a good man.” Bates cut him off, the smell of sandalwood beginning to overwhelm him. Thomas grimaced, waving his hand about his face. 

“Stop that.” Thomas muttered, bitter. 

“What?” 

“Stop… making the room smell.” Thomas glared, “You’re giving me a headache.” 

Bates blinked, taken aback. 

“…. I can’t stop.” Bates finally said, “I could sooner touch my elbow with a finger of the same arm. 

Thomas’ eye twitched. 

He opened his mouth, a bizarre question coming to mind but one he ultimately needed to know the answer to. 

“….Do I…?” Thomas paused, shifting a bit in his position. He didn’t know how to word his question and he probably didn’t want to ask anyways, “Never mind. Either way-“ 

“Look, Lord Grantham wouldn’t have brought forward an alpha that he didn’t trust.” Bates urged him. “He’d have made enquires, looked into Lord Gray’s background. If he’d found anything, even the smallest of insinuations, which declared Lord Gray unfit for an omega, he wouldn’t have brought the man to the house. He wouldn’t have wanted him around Lady Grantham…Anna… Mrs. Hughes. He would have seen to it. Surely you must know that.” 

Thomas blinked, the smell of sandalwood still strong in his nose. 

He liked to imagine it was true, but he doubted it was. 

Bates offered him the letter again. “Read what he has to say at the very least. You never know. He might be saying goodbye.” 

Thomas snatched the letter from Bates hand, ready to chuck it at his head if it would get the whole experience over with sooner. He tore the letter open at the seam, pulling out the fine paper only to see with dismay that the correspondence was several sheets long. He let out a terse huff of annoyance, completely ignoring Anna and Bates before him as he began to read: 

 

_To Thomas B_.  
_Belton House, September 24th, 1926_

 

_Thomas_ , 

_You will surely think that I am a fool to write to you again, but I rather expected more from you. The Brigade encompasses only a small branch of Alphas, and though I am known to their circle I am far from constant in their companionship. Indeed, you shall find Lord Grantham is also aware of the fabled Alden MacNaire. They took Dover Castle by storm around a decade ago, leaving the Baron of Dover quite homeless in the loss of inheritance. A shoddy thing to do to a man of the peerage, but the Brigade felt they were owed something by the British public. I share your feelings for them, Thomas, and urge you to look at me afresh. To imagine me not of their ilk. Do not forget, I bade them to give you to me when you were on the train, drugged and chained. To see you in their grips, at their lack of mercies, made me go weak at the knees with anger. To see any omega so horribly treated by them makes me feel powerless, like a broken fool good for nothing. What is the point of being an alpha if you cannot protect? Particularly someone as wonderful as you. Thomas, I assure you that I have nothing but the tenderest feelings for you. You might find me a fool, and enquire into my sensibilities, but they are not lacking. You think you are a stranger to me, but I know much about you_.

_I know that you are the son of Nathaniel and Alice Barrow of Stockport, clockmakers for many generations. You fled their domain at the age of fourteen, frightened to be wed to the textile seamstress, Bedelia Harmen, your mother’s associate at church. You have attended many houses in your career, though your longest stay has been at Downton. You briefly left due to service, which I find honorable though slightly silly. An omega’s place is not on the front lines, as I’m sure you realized when you got there; still, you served your country well and put on a brave face in the fight against the Germans. Brava, my darling. Brava.”_

Thomas stopped reading, finding his breath drawing short in his chest. 

Bates’ words were still bouncing about in his head, the smell of sandalwood making it hard to think, so Thomas rose up out of his chair and left the Bates in the servants hall as he pursued a more quiet venue. Mrs. Hughes’ sitting room would do nicely at this hour of the day, and he sequestered himself there to curl up in one of her visitors chairs. 

So it seemed that Gray was not writing to say goodbye, but was that really surprising? If Lord Grantham really had checked into Gray, then maybe Thomas was wrong for initially thinking that Gray was like the Brigade. It seemed that Gray despised them just as much as Lord Grantham… and that was slightly comforting. If he wasn’t like the Brigade, then maybe he was just a putz that couldn’t handle rejection simply because he was rich. 

_Or maybe…_ a tiny voice spoke up in the back of Thomas’ head. _Or maybe he really does love you_. 

Thomas was baffled by the concept. To ignore it he just kept reading. 

_“I know that you lied to MacNaire about your bond with the blinded Lieutenant Edward Courtenay. Would it amaze you to hear that Courtenay was not a stranger to me in life? We dined together at Exton Hall often, and spoke on many topics. I therefor know you admired him but nothing more, for I regret to tell you that Edward was much beloved to a Lady Amelia Whexley of Sussex. Don’t let it bother you, my darling. What’s gone is past, and Edward is at peace now. Amelia moved on eventually after grieving for many years and wed another alpha, Lord Charles Connett of Kent, a man that Edward would have much admired. Even now, on the memorial of his passing, Lady Connett puts out a white candle for him at mass. I have joined her once or twice, while passing through Kent to do business. Last year, I lit a candle for Courtenay along with another boyhood companion of mine who also committed suicide during the war. He shot himself in the head… even now I cannot bear to write his name. It hurts too much.”_

Thomas paused, genuinely taken back. 

So it seemed that Lawrence Gray had known Edward. That he’d even known Edward’s betrothed and had been good friends with him. 

He didn’t know what to say. He was too blown over by the thought that Gray had put out a candle for Edward at mass… that he had done so for another friend, and was emotionally traumatized to the point of not saying his name. 

That sort of human emotion touched Thomas deeply. It resounded with him on a personal level, and fleshed Gray out to be more than just an alpha looking for an omega. It was endearing. He wanted to know more. 

He continued reading. 

_“I admire your cleverness, divine Thomas, and so would Edward… I told Lady Connett of your story, and she replied that she would be happy to share Edward in death if it meant that an omega would be saved from the clutches of Brigade. I quite agree… and no, I shant be revealing your little lie to MacNaire. As far as I am concerned, he can rot in an early grave.”_

Thomas made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, flipping to the next page.   
He was taken aback for a second time when a little flower fell down from the dried paper, clearly having been pressed there. It was a peach blossom. The sticky dark brown outline of where the flower had been pressed smelt heavily of the buds aroma, and Thomas brought it to his nose to get a whiff. 

Again, it brought another level of humanity to Gray. That he might pause in his day to add this sort of token to a letter that he could have just as easily scrawled up and shoved into the post. 

Thomas held the dried bud to his lips with one hand, using the other to continue reading the final sheet of paper. 

_“Sweet Thomas, since our last meeting, you have constantly been in my thoughts. From your actions, not your words, I have gleaned that the love I have cherished for you is in a slight degree reciprocated even though you may not wish to acknowledge it before my person. Am I wrong in this conclusion? I pray not. If I am right, may I hope that some day in the near future you will become my mate? I will be frank with you… I wish to bond with you. To mate you. To breed with you. You are the one omega in the world for whom the intensity of my love is equaled only by its sincerity. Financially, I am a man of greet peerage and stability. My home is Belton House, an esteemed mansion close to Grantham county. My prospects are great, for what greater inspiration can an alpha of peerage have than the love of the omega he works for? I claim no superiority over you my darling. I merely beg you to accept my name, my only plea being that I love you._

_I feel sure that you will give this matter serious and deliberate consideration; that you will write to me frankly, and believe in my affections. With deepest respect and admiration, I anxiously await your reply_. 

_Lawrence Gray”_

Sometime during reading the final paragraph, Thomas’ mouth had fallen open so that the bud merely hung in front of his lips instead of touching the skin. 

He looked up from the letter, absolutely stunned.   
“Fuck me” Was all he said. 

 

The whole rest of the night, Thomas found himself transfixed around the contents of his latest letter, wondering what the hell it all meant. Only weeks ago, Gray was a stranger and on difficult terms with him. Now Gray was begging to basically marry him, and more than that. 

Thomas’ brain was swimming in the thought of… more than that. 

The idea of being bred by anybody made Thomas sick to his stomach. He remembered Daphne, heavily pregnant and laying dormant upon her bed, unable to even so much as lift a finger for the stress on her delicate body. He thought of Lady Sybil, how her screams of pain had echoed down the gallery floor and into the servant’s stairwell. 

He thought of Matthew Crawley. How his stomach had swelled to the point of horrible pain. How by the end of it, Matthew had been pale and sickly, exhausted, completely unable to care for himself. Lady Mary had been in a state, desperately trying to keep him healthy till George’s early birth. 

And look how that had turned out. 

Thomas couldn’t believe that his own body was capable of the same thing. That, under the right circumstances, he too could become pregnant and… and…   
It was like something out of a god damn horror story. 

He took dinner in his room that night, unable to bear the idea of facing a meal with Bates watching him like a hawk across the table. 

The fact of the matter was that Thomas didn’t know how he felt about Gray anymore. He didn’t know how to communicate with a man who was still so two-dimensional. He needed experiences, shared memories. Maybe a sit down with Gray alone that didn’t involve a cup of tea or Carson looking over his shoulder. There was also the fact that Thomas was absolutely miserable in Downton. It felt like he had no place here, no outlet. Like Lord Grantham was just keeping him around strictly because he’d been here before the war and Sybil’s death. It wasn’t fair to Thomas; he wanted to grow. _Needed_ to grow! How was he supposed to live if he was just stuck here at Downton underneath Carson’s thumb? 

Carson had sworn to Thomas that he’d never use the rattan on Thomas again… but Thomas didn’t know if he believed that. 

Lord Gray was a man who could offer Thomas a way out. He had money and power; he knew nothing about Thomas’ sullied reputation at Downton… that could be to Thomas’ advantage. 

Maybe he could use Gray to get out of Downton.   
Maybe in the end he might even like Gray… but Thomas doubted it. 

So Thomas sat at his writing desk, just like he’d done nights before, and wrote another letter. 

Or tried to. 

_“Lord-“_

Thomas scrapped the paper before he even got out another word, blowing hair through pursed lips so that they made an obscene fluttering noise. 

No. Lord was too informal. 

_“To Lawrence Gray—“_

Christ he sounded the like the Dowager; he scrapped it again so that his floor began to collect crumpled paper like dust bunnies. 

_“Dear Lawrence Gray—“_

But even that didn’t sound right. If Thomas were writing a letter to Baxter, he wouldn’t use her full name. It would sound too formal, too long winded, like he just wanted to put more words on the paper instead of getting to the point. 

So he slowly pulled out one more sheet to crumple the first, shaking his pen to refurbish his ink flow as he set to write one more time. 

_“Dear Lawrence,”_

Thomas tilted his head left and right, admiring his handwriting in the lamplight.   
Yes, yes that ought to work. 

_“I received your letter”_ , Thomas paused, _“and I thank you for the kind words that you bestowed upon my old friend, Edward Courtenay. How do you know so much about me? Have you sent men upon my name? What else have you gleaned about me from their findings? You speak of loving me, but if you truly love me, why do you run ram-shod over me when we’re in person? You treat me like my opinions are of little consequence. Like I’m a child.You can’t possibly love me if you think me a fool. I confess that I do not know what my feelings are for you at present. At times, you annoy the hell out of me. At times you frighten me. I have only met you twice; neither affair was pleasant for me. Surely you cannot think to actually love me with only two ugly meetings under your belt. How am I to know of the honesty of your affections when I know nothing about you? Merely your name and where you live. I could claim the same of the King and half a dozen other men, though they’ve never asked to mate me. You speak too quickly, and force your affections upon me. You want to mate me but you know nothing about me, merely my background. What of my soul? What of my self? These are the questions a mate ought to know the answers to before a proposal is accepted. I know nothing of you. Part of me wonders if I even should. I am disturbed by the lopsidedness of our liaison.”_

This letter was getting weirder by the second.   
Thomas stopped writing, and realized he didn’t have a damn clue about what to say next. 

_“I do not know what else to say_  
_Thomas Barrow”_

And then he folded the letter in thirds. 

 

 

The next day, Thomas was mercifully distracted from the bizarre figure that was Lawrence Gray by the main stairwell being re-carpeted. Patches of the covering were wearing thin, drawing loose threads whenever the maids when over them with a hoover. In order to re-carpet them, twelve men were called in from York to tear out the original carpeting, do any reparation work needed, then lay down new carpet atop the cleaned stairs. 

Thomas oversaw the entire affair with Mrs. Hughes, the pair of them working as a team to monitor the men from both the gallery and the main floor. Thomas’ attention was focused solely on the massive grandfather clock that was being lifted and taken down to the main floor. He wanted to clean her thoroughly, and make sure that she was up to snuff. In the many years that Thomas had worked at Downton, the main staircase had never been re-carpeted so he’d never had a chance to truly look over the clock. 

She was a magnificent creature, a George the third mahogany long-case clock. A De Bolton, in make and over two hundred fifty years old. She had a moon arch, which was delightful to watch pass about the rim as day turned to night. She also had an eight day striking movement, so she could keep time in several ways not just by the hour and minute. Her hood had swan neck pediments, with ball and spiral finials that gleamed in the sunlight streaming overhead. Naturally she had an inlaid door flanked with Corinthian columns, but it was her height that impressed Thomas the most. Seven feet tall, towering over Mr. Carson so that Thomas had to have a step stool just to clean her intimately.

To say he was giddy was putting it mildly. He was practically vibrating to get a chance at winding her gears. Of course, lifting her up was absolutely impossible, so Thomas used the willing strength of eight men to have her brought down the main staircase so that she could rest on the floor of the main hall. 

“Carefully, carefully!” He all but fluttered about the men, watching how they grunted and strained to lower the De Bolton back onto her feet. One man had veins puffing along his forehead and temple. Mrs. Hughes was several paces back, eyes narrowed as she observed the other four men tearing up the carpet. For every step that was revealed, another layer of dust went flying into the air. 

The front doors of the abbey were wide open, letting in a cool stream of air along with a few yellowed leaves. Tiaa ran back and forth, delighted to have free passage as men made a constant stream back and forth out of the hall with dirtied aging carpet rolled up into sausage shapes. Carson’s team, consisting of Moseley, Andrew, and Peter, laid down beige canvas that created a runway path for the men to walk on so that dirt could not contaminate the main hall furniture. The maids were busy covering each chair, table, lamp, and sofa with canvas clothes. the room had turned on its head in the staff’s determination to keep the dirt down. 

“Don’t lower her down like she were a dining room chair!” Thomas begged the men as the began to set the clock upright. They were moving far too fast, “That clock is two hundred fifty years old-!” 

“Bloody omega-“ one of the men grunted as she strained to keep the clock steady, “Always nosin’ about-“ 

“Oh shuttup!” Thomas snapped, angrily, “Or I’ll push this clock over and let it fall on you!” 

“Best do what he says Frank.” Another work said. “You’ve got a bad enough back already.” 

Frank just scowled, and gave one grunting heave so that the clock was finally put upright with all working parts in order. The eight men fell back, sweating and cursing softly as they sopped their brows with dirtied handkerchiefs and wheezed with hands on knees. 

“Shit what did that thing weigh?” Thomas overhead a man said, “I’ve helped picked up heifers that weighed less!” 

But had he ever picked up a heifer as pretty as this? That was the real question. 

“I suppose now’s a good a time as any to look at the back of her.” Mrs. Hughes said. The pair of them poked their heads around, and Thomas found the mahogany dismally dirtied. He winced, dismayed. 

“She needs to be washed, not with water and soap-!” Thomas added, for the idea made his skin crawl, “I’ll need the keys to the pantry-“ 

“Oh no you don’t.” Mrs. Hughes tutted, giving him a dark look. “I saw what you did to that box of raspberry biscuits… You’ll stay right here and I’ll fetch what you need for you.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes, dismayed. “I’ll need powdered asphaltum in a mixture with double the amount of benzole. Do we have either?” He’d have to run to the village if not. Maybe while he was out he could get his own damn box of raspberry biscuits. 

“We have just the thing.” Mrs. Hughes said. Thomas’ lip curled at the thought of his lost box of raspberry biscuits, “You wait here and I’ll get it for you.” 

Thomas contented himself with the De Bolton, growing entranced in his work as he opened up the back of the case and set to gaining an inventory of her gears. 

She had an escapement set, which kept her date dials turning. The teeth of the wheel were growing dulled from constant clicking against the pallet which was just as dull. Rolling up his sleeves, Thomas carefully reached into the clock to unscrew the collets holding the pallet and wheel together… or at least tried to. Christ, what would he give to have his fathers tools as his disposal! 

Finally it came free, leaving Thomas’ hands covered in dirt and oil, swelling from the pressure. He unscrewed the collets, carefully pulling the pallet and wheel off their dial realm to hold them up into the light. He rubbed his thumb carefully along the wheel, turning muddy brown back to a brassy gleam. Thomas could likewise now see the double-ended suspension, used at the top of the pendulum to flex so that the pendulum could swing free. She was in horrible shape— they would have to order a new one. 

Thomas set the wheel and pallet at his feet, along with the two collets, reaching deep into the belly of the clock to pull the double-ended suspension loose. 

But it snapped in two- brittle and rusted from overuse and lack of care. 

“Oh-!” Thomas cried aloud, dropping painfully to his knees as the pendulum crashed to earth within the belly of the De Bolton. He grabbed it just before it could fall, pulling it out to cradle the broken parts against his chest. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay-“ He spoke as if to a frightened babe, collecting the hand washers that dropped like pennies and the springs that clattered. He made a handsome little pile in his lap, squatting upon his calves as he tried to do damage control. He would have to go to York, today- he’d have to collect all the parts and try to repair the clock by nightfall. It would take exhaustive effort but Thomas was certain he was capable of it. Certainly more so than anyone else in the house. 

“I can fix this.” Thomas whispered to the parts, sorting them in his hands, “This is fixable-“ 

But his words were drowned out by a growing voice which lingered somewhere over his shoulder, sucking away Thomas’ attention from the broken clock parts in his hands which were crying out for help. 

_“What of my soul… what of my self? These are the questions a mate ought to know the answer to before a proposal is accepted. I know nothing of you. Part of me wonders if I even should.”_

To hear his words repeated back to him out of Lawrence Gray’s mouth was a peculiar thing. He looked around, perhaps moving too slowly to be polite, and sure enough found Gray just behind him in a traveling belstaff coat and top hat. He took his hat off, droning it politely to Thomas. He was smiling, looking very at ease though he still had his falcon staff and leather riding gloves on. 

Thomas rose up from the floor, having to go slowly lest he tear the false fabric of his stockings. His hands were filthy, in no condition to be near a member of the peerage; he whipped out his handkerchief and began to clean his fingers lest he accidentally stain Lord Gray’s clothes. 

Lord Gray had his letter in hand. He brought the paper gently to his lips, kissing the stiff parchment. It was poor quality and lacked a header like his own stationary, but he treated it as if it were straight from the King’s office. 

Thomas was shocked when Lord Gray reached out to take his hand. 

“Don’t-“ Thomas beseeched, for his skin was still dirty, “I’m dirty from the…” but the word ‘clock’ died on his lips as Gray pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles. 

If he found it worthy to kiss Thomas when he was covered in rust and clock grease, he was a bird of a different sort. He doubted Lord Grantham had ever been dirty a day in his life. 

“I see you’re hard at work.” Lord Gray praised. “I’m of the opinion a beauty like you should never have to work.” 

“When did you get here?” Thomas asked, for surely his letter could have only just arrived at Belton House. My god- it had only left this morning? How had he gotten it so quickly. 

“I was in the village.” Lord Gray explained. “The post master was kind enough to deliver it to me in person. I’ve been doing business with Lord Grantham.” 

“But you don’t want to.” Thomas repeated from Lord Gray’s letter, recognizing that Gray had no honest business interest for Downton Abbey. 

He was here for Thomas and Thomas alone… even if Lord Grantham didn’t recognize it. 

“No.” Lord Gray confirmed, “I don’t want to.” 

There was something in his smile that gave Thomas pause, made him blush, and he pulled his hand away to step back to the De Bolton so that he might continue collecting broken clock pieces. He put the parts in the pockets of his dress, having nothing else to carry them in. 

“Ever the clockmaker’s son.” Lord Gray praised, “And yes… you are correct. I had men enquire into your background. Business purposes only.” 

“And Edward Courtenay?” Thomas asked, though he did not look back around. 

“I was angered when I found out that you were once MacNaire’s captive. I wanted to know what grounds he held you on.” Thomas saw Lord Gray shift in the reflective glass of the De Bolton’s face, shaking his head, “He prattled as usual… he does so like to hear the sound of his own voice.” 

Thomas could not help but agree. 

“So you know I tried to attack Lord Grantham.” Thomas deduced, “And lied about being an omega… that… that they used the dive on me.” He had to block his mind from conjuring up grueling memories in the presence of Gray. Taunts were lingering just below the surface of his subconscious, waiting to jump out at him and make him shake. 

Lord Gray took another step forward to avoid being trampled by men uprooting carpet. In doing so, he stood side by side with Thomas so that the fabric of his belstaff and the fabric of Thomas’ dress were touching at the hem. 

“… It would be impossible for you to trust me after such a disgusting experience with alpha dominance… but I beg of you,” Lord Gray turned, imploring Thomas, “Give me a chance.” 

“…Why.” Thomas asked. He did not shy away from catching Lord Gray’s gaze. The pair of them stared at one another, each entranced by what the other saw. Thomas could see his reflection in the dark of Gray’s eyes. He wondered if Gray could see himself in Thomas’ irises. He looked oddly small in Gray’s eyes, for Gray was taller than him and looked down on him. 

“Because I love you.” Lord Gray answered simply. “And I cannot live without you.” 

Thomas looked away, unsure of what to say. Such pretty words were easy to issue but hard to back up. 

“Prove it.” Thomas said, returning his attention to the De Bolton. 

“Gladly.” Lord Gray said, tucking Thomas’ letter into his inner coat pocket to then pull out a slim black box. Silver printing on the top read _Stonegate_ , a Leed’s based jewelry store that sold finery to the upper class. He opened it to reveal a gold pendant upon a thin chain. It was a flat disk, with no true mark to it save for an inscription on its front: _“Divine”_. 

 

Thomas stared, his mouth falling open again.   
Jesus hell- was that real gold? 

Lord Gray took the necklace out of its holdings, pocketing the box to drape the necklace around Thomas’ neck so that it lay cool and still at the base of his throat. 

“A token of my affection.” Lord Gray murmured against his ear, hands fumbling at the back of Thomas’ slim neck.

“What am I— why are you— now look here!” Thomas beseeched, stumbling over one sentence only to let it drop and start another one. He was flabbergasted, absolutely flabbergasted, and had no idea what to say or do. He’d thought they might write a bit more, perhaps catch a bite to eat together. But finery? Gifts? Thomas had never signed up for this and had no way to reciprocate. It unnerved him, made him feel like he owed Gray somehow, and the sensation made his stomach churn wildly. “I don’t know the rules of this game!” 

“And yet you play it with such skill.” Gray murmured in praise. 

“What does this mean?” Thomas demanded, afraid. “What does this coin mean?” 

“It means that you’re beautiful.” Gray whispered, so that no one else could hear. It shocked Thomas, to know that they were in a packed main hall full of visiting works and peter the hallboy running around with canvas sheets… but no one had approached them. No one seemed willing to get near Gray. The smell of port was returning, making Thomas feel drunk again, and with a sudden lurch he realized the smell hadn’t been the consumption of port but Gray’s presence. 

It was his aura, his alpha drive… his scent. He smelt like port.   
What the hell was Thomas supposed to make of that? 

He looked around at Gray, and found the man directly behind him. Gray smiled down at him, placing his hands upon Thomas’ shoulders. His palms were large and warm, covering his slim joints with ease. The smell of port was bathing him… covering him up… drowning him.   
His eyes closed without much thought—

“Alright, I’ve got you several mixtures— oh!” Mrs. Hughes’ Scottish brogue cut across the tension like a damn knife. Thomas stumbled away from Gray, clutching at his throat where his new necklace lay and sucking in breath after breath to try and dispel the smell of port from his lungs. Christ!! 

He staggered around, sweating, and found Gray looking severely put out as if Mrs. Hughes had spoiled all his fun. There she was, now between them, staring up at Lord Gray amazed with two bottles of mixed tonics in hand. 

“Lord Gray!” Mrs. Hughes was all a dither, setting her tonics upon a side table to primp the back of her hair and smooth her black dress, “I’m terribly sorry M’lord, I didn’t realize you’d come to call-!” 

Lord Gray had recovered himself, which was a far cry from Thomas who was still weak at the knees, “Forgive me, Mrs. Hughes. I merely wished to pay court to my divine Thomas.” He tipped his hat to the housekeeper, before putting his top hat back upon his head. 

Both Mrs. Hughes and Lord Gray turned to look at him. But Thomas didn’t know what to say and frankly was terrified of the necklace that lay choking him at the throat. What if it was Gray’s intention to bond with him? What if the necklace was a heavily weighted gift that he was oblivious too? Was it really just a necklace? Was it really just a simple gift? Could Thomas trust this man? 

Did he even want to? 

“…I don’t know the rules of this game.” Thomas warned, voice grave and dry. He swallowed several times, determined to regain his composure. 

“Well,” Lord Gray offered as he flexed his leather riding gloves upon his hands, “If you like your little token, you might show your appreciation to me as well.” 

“How?” Thomas asked, “When I don’t even know you?” 

“However you feel best.” Lord Gray replied smoothly. “Love follows no set path, divine Thomas…. but I look forward to our correspondence.” 

He reached out. 

Thomas knew what he wanted, and though it might send the wrong signal he let his hand slip from around his neck so that Gray could kiss his knuckles again. Mrs. Hughes’ eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hairline at the open display of affection. But Gray refused to back down or pay her any mind, caressing Thomas’ knuckles against his mouth until the skin was wet and beaded with dew. 

“… Until next time, little peach.” Lord Gray murmured, letting go of his hand. He turned, and tipped his hat to Mrs. Hughes again as decorum demanded of him, “Mrs. Hughes. A lovely day to you.” 

“…M’lord.” Mrs. Hughes was just as shocked as Thomas, speechless in the wave of port that seemed to cloud around Gray in a haze. 

Lord Gray gave him one last lingering look, then turned to leave. Thomas watched him go, his hand (still wet) drifting back up to his throat so that he could touch the gold pendant upon his neck again. 

 

He could feel the word ‘divine’ inscribed beneath the grooves of his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to comment.


	9. Belton House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas enters the last stage of omega courtship with expected turbulence and unexpected consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **As a trigger warning there will be a scene of body gore in the form of a nightmare and a scene near the end of this chapter of domestic abuse. Be aware if that triggers you it is coming up!**
> 
> Also, there will be two quotes from Bram Stoker's Dracula. I obviously did not invent those. 
> 
> Belton House is an actual place, and can be seen online. I'm going to be posting a pinterest with pictures from this story including dresses Thomas' wears, items we see, and rooms. I'll let you know when that's up if you're curious at viewing it for yourself.

_Litigo 10:6: “Blessings are on the head of the righteous alpha, But the mouth of the wicked alpha conceals violence.”_

 

Thomas had a very particular memory that involved the late Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary. 

When they’d been courting, on and off again in a ridiculous and drawn out affair, Lady Mary had debated heavily over what to give Matthew in a type of courting-gift. The only reason Thomas knew about any of this was because O’Brien had overheard Lady Mary speaking to Anna, and had relayed the news to Thomas. At first Lady Mary had seemed to favor jewelry of some type- perhaps cufflinks or a pen tie. Matthew hadn’t liked the idea of any of that, thinking it un-genuine. In the end she’d grown much too exhausted by the whole attempt of putting on a facade and had instead gone against the wishes of Lord Grantham to give Matthew something far less shiny. 

A little toy dog that was apparently her treasure from childhood… to keep him safe, she begged. 

It had been in his pocket when the car crash occurred. 

 

 

Thomas had absolutely no idea what he wanted in a love token. He’d never imagined himself receiving one, so he’d never thought about what he’d like to receive period. Now that Thomas had one, he wasn’t sure about all the hubbub. I mean to say— having a necklace was nice, but what was he supposed to do with it? Well, the answer was simple. He was supposed to wear it. But it didn’t seem very functional or to his style. To have a brand around his neck with the word ‘divine’ just made him feel…. cheap. Like a whore. 

_“Oh I’m divine because this one man said I was divine. That makes sense! See everyone, I have worth now! An alpha told me so!”_

But at the same time (and though it hardly boded well for his self esteem) Thomas didn’t want to take it off. He’d never been given such a nice gift before, and the only jewelry he’d ever owned had been a simple set of cufflinks given by Lord Grantham for ten years ‘loyal’ service. The fashions of servants were modest, so Thomas could keep his necklace on and beneath the hem of his chemise. It warmed during the day, growing hot against his skin. By the end of the day, it stuck to his skin with sweat, so that more often than not the word ‘divine’ was branded into Thomas’ skin backwards. 

…He didn’t know what the symbolism might suggest behind that. 

 

There was also the question behind what to do in return for Lord Gray. 

Thomas had a feeling that love tokens such as this weren’t mean to be one sided interactions. He’d have to give something to Lord Gray, but the question was… what? 

Lord Gray probably had ten thousand cufflinks, ties, tie pins, and such. There was no point in even trying to one up him, there. So what could Thomas possibly give him back that would be adequate to a solid gold necklace? He didn’t have the money to present him with a gift of equal worth. Would he be satisfied with something out of a servant’s pocket… or should Thomas try to go to Lord Grantham for help? 

No, that would never do. Thomas was far too humiliated before the man, anyways. 

Of course, he knew what the solution was, but that didn’t make the conquest any less appealing. 

After September’s awful caning episode, Thomas had decided that the less he saw of Charles Carson, the better. He daren’t ever admit it, but he’d dreamed more than once of being beneath Carson’s hands again. Sometimes it had been like a nightmare, but other times? Well… Thomas was ashamed to admit it but one time he’d dreamed of Carson caning him and he’d liked it. The feel of being beneath an alpha’s gaze, being made into a dutiful omega. 

He’d awoken drenched in a sweat, aroused, the gold chain of his necklace clinging tight to his throat so that it was almost choking him in his thrashing. He’d told no one but the dream had haunted him all the next day, particularly when he saw Carson ironing the newspaper for Lord Grantham’s breakfast. His hands had seemed obscenely large. It had made Thomas feel sick to his stomach. 

Several days after receiving his necklace, Thomas found himself outside of Carson’s office door, hesitating between knocking or not. He finally resolved himself to when he heard the sound of Amelia coming up the hall and wanted to avoid running into her. Despite having his necklace beneath his dress, Mrs. Hughes had wasted no time gossiping with Mrs. Patmore about his ‘love token’ and suddenly the whole downstairs staff knew about it. It didn’t matter that Thomas hid it; the guilt was evident in the blush spreading across his cheeks. 

He knocked on Mr. Carson’s office and entered, finding the man inside going through the daily accounts forwarded over from Mrs. Hughes. He glanced up at Thomas, stilling in his chair as he narrowed his eyes. 

“Do you require something?” Mr. Carson asked. It was rare that they were alone together now a days… particularly when Thomas had spent the last several weeks determinedly avoiding Carson like the plague. 

Thomas decided that actions spoke louder than words. He reached about his neck, and found the latch for his necklace. Undoing it, he allowed Carson to finally get a glimpse of the fabled love token, which Carson took to inspect under the light of his desk lamp. It gleamed brilliantly between his thick fingers. 

“Am I to presume this is the necklace Lord Gray gave to you?” Carson asked. 

“How do I respond.” Thomas asked. 

“With gratitude I’m sure.” Carson turned the necklace back to front, trimmed nails skirting over the word ‘Divine’. 

Thomas pressed on, “He seemed to expect me to do something. To say something. What does an omega typically do after receiving such a token?” 

“Generally they show their favor.” Carson said, finally handing the necklace back to him. Thomas quickly did the clasp up behind his neck, stowing the necklace underneath his chemise to hide it again. “Perhaps by giving a handkerchief or cufflinks. A watch chain even.” 

He’d presumed as much. 

“Does it have to be expensive?” Thomas asked. “A tit for tat?” 

“Certainly not.” Carson harrumphed, taken aback by Thomas’ shrewd tone. “This is hardly a show up of money, love tokens are about affection, not worth.” 

“What did Mrs. Hughes give to you?” Thomas asked. 

“…A picture frame.” Carson replied. His voice turned tender with the memory. Thomas wondered why a picture frame of all things, but didn’t ask. 

“What did you get her?” 

“A house.” 

Thomas scoffed, rubbing his brow where a tension headache was beginning to form. Fuck it if he could ever afford anything as nice as all that. 

 

“I need to go to York,” Thomas said. Carson quirked a bushy eyebrow. 

“And why should I allow that?” 

“Well if you think you can find something in the village that will suit an Earl?” He sneered. but instead of being off put, Carson relaxed back in his chair with a knowing expression of smugness. 

“You mean to say you return Lord Gray’s affections?” 

But Thomas couldn’t say that because he didn’t. Honestly, he didn’t know what he felt for Lord Gray. Part of him wanted to return his affections but part of him didn’t even believe Gray liked him in the first place. Part of him just wanted to be free of Downton. Part of him didn’t want to be left behind. It was all so horribly confusing that Thomas could bear to be questioned on it. 

“I’m going to York.” Thomas decided. “Make of that what you will.”   
But Carson still looked horribly smug. 

 

The next day, Thomas was given leave by Mr. Carson to go to York, and found himself for the first time since Dover outside of Downton’s comforting walls. It was absolutely humiliating, to be seen in public in a dress, but he wore a heavy coat and kept his head down as he bought a third class ticket and sat in the back of the train. He suddenly founded bombarded with smells, on the verge of a headache, as every type of alpha sweat imaginable hammered on him. It would be one thing if people left him alone, but several alphas on his way to York seemed intent on catching his eye. There was a businessman in a second-class suit, who smelt awfully of cigar smoke and attempted to catch Thomas in conversation while they rode to York. There was a journalist at the bus stop who tried to impress Thomas with ludicrous tales of his published accomplishments, all the while smelling horribly of sweet champagne. Thomas took the bus to a small business district in the heart of York, finding himself pensive as he stared into the mouths of gift shops dotted with pubs and wares. He spotted a woman across the street, clearly a noble of some type, winking obscenely at him. Thomas didn’t want to know what odor she emitted; he had a feeling it would be a gaudy perfume. 

Mercifully, as Thomas rounded the next shop corner, he found himself in front of a small shop that bore the title _‘Cupid’s Grace’_ … clearly a place for love tokens. 

If that didn’t set him right, he doubted anything else would. 

Thomas entered the shop, finding it centered around a donut counter framed with fine glass boasting everything from tie pins to lockets. More cases lined the outer walls; shop attendants littered the gallery floor, showing off rings, bracelets, earrings… anything you could think of really. 

Thomas’ paycheck had come down horribly since July. He only had two pounds to spare, and he didn’t want to use all of it on something stupid that he would probably later regret. 

“May I help you?” Thomas was startled out of his dismal thoughts by a rather perky store attendant. A young woman in her twenties, smiling pleasantly with hair bobbed in the latest style. Thomas wondered what her life was like. If she had freedom to do as she liked; if she was a Beta without worry. 

“I need to buy a love token. It’s just that I’m not particularly well endowed money wise. Two pounds is my limit.” Thomas said, attempting to keep his voice low. There were several other alphas roaming the store floor, curious about the omega male so obviously in their midst. Thomas wondered how many male omegas there actually were in England. So far, Thomas had only seen one more… a small boy in the infirmary of Dover Castle. 

He wondered where that boy was now, and if he was safe. 

“I have many selections that might interest you.” The Shop assistant assured him. She took him to the back of the store, where several glass cabinets hosted a variety of tokens stamped with various images. Everything from letters, to animals, to buildings… ships, angels, English landmarks… everything. Thomas was slightly dumbfounded. 

“All of these are underneath a pound.” she told him. “Is there any in particular that you like?” 

Thomas frowned, rather captivated by a small token which boasted the impressive display of Big Ben in excellent detail, “I don’t know that much about him. I’m unsure what token he’d like best.” 

“What about his initials?” The assistant offered. 

“L and G.” Thomas said. She looked about, lips pursed, then pointed to a carved half-dollar featuring an ornate ‘L’ marked with a pie circling. 

Technically it would work but it didn’t feel natural. It didn’t feel right. None of this felt natural really. How could he give a love token to someone that he didn’t even love? 

“I dunno.” Thomas mumbled, unenthusiastic. He just wished this errand could be over with so that he could go home. He had the day off- and he wanted to use a few hours of it to catch up on some rest. He’d been having trouble sleeping as of late. “All he really does is send me ridiculous letters.” 

“Why not this is?” The assistant offered, showing him the small half dollar token that featured the image of a letter. 

Honestly it would work as well as any. Thomas shrugged, agreeing with half-hearted satisfaction so that the assistant opened the glass counter with a key and pulled the token out. 

It cost him half a pound, but at least he didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

~*~

 

Thomas ended up sending the love token to Lawrence in the mail, without a letter or anything else in the way of explanation. He doubted Lawrence would need one, and maybe now at least he wouldn’t be so unbelievably rude to Thomas in person. He told no one what he bought in York, though everyone from Gertie to Mrs. Hughes knew he’d gone with the intent of buying a love token. Thomas couldn’t stand the smug atmosphere that seemed to follow him around. No one seemed to believe his lack of satisfaction wasn’t some part of a stunt. Anna giggled behind her hands, Bates rolled his eyes, Baxter gave him tender smiles and Mrs. Patmore poked more fun at him than Gertie. The only person who gave him any peace was (disturbingly enough) Carson, who instead of regulating Thomas allowed him to slip by unnoticed into the linen cupboard or the pantry whenever it became too much. 

Which was often. 

Three days after sending off the love token to Lawrence, Thomas found himself taking his tea break in the servant’s hall. The only reason why was because a copy of Dracula from his Lordship’s library had wound up on the table and Thomas was determined to get a read in before Andy or Moseley took off with it. 

_“The career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those children whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if she live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her power over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood with that so wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tiny wounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their plays unknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor lady whom we love shall again be free.”_

Thomas read, a cup of tea cooling in his hand as he slowly flipped the page of the book. The quiet calm of the servant’s hall soothed him. Made him feel safe in his solitude. It seemed everyone else was off doing work somewhere else and thank god for it. 

_“Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free. To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is not: ‘It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it was the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would herself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?’ Tell me if there be such a one amongst us?”_

A cool finger touched his cheek, stroking the flesh that it found. 

 

The terror at being touched when he wasn’t expecting it, particularly while reading a gothic horror novel, scared Thomas shitless. 

He let out a little shriek of shock, both book and teacup sent flying as he threw up his hands to shield himself from a supposed Nosferatu. The sound of crashing china was particularly telling, and Thomas knew he was in for it later with Mr. Carson for breaking a cup. 

There was no Nosferatu, only Lawrence Gray. 

Thomas gazed up at the man dumbstruck, unable to fathom how Lord Gray had come to be in the servant’s hall of Downton Abbey. Had he just knocked on the door and been let in by an un supposing maid? Was Carson aware he was downstairs? 

Was that why no one else was in the servant’s hall? Had they been told to clear off? 

“…How did you get down here?” Thomas demanded. Lawrence smiled, oddly tender in that moment as he gripped the back of Thomas’ rocking chair. He wore that same maroon vest as before, but around his neck there now hung a thin silver chain with Thomas’ love token strung at its center. It looked oddly out of place on him… too lower class to be fit for a Lord. 

Thomas found he didn’t want to look at the token. It felt almost incriminating. 

He dropped to his knees, plucking up the shards of broken teacup that were now staining the pages of his Lordship’s book with tea. Oh god he was in for it now! 

“Damn…” Thomas hissed. “Damn, damn, damn-“ 

“Let a maid tend to it.” Lawrence said, reaching out with that same hand again to once more touch Thomas’ cheek. 

“This is his Lordship’s book.” Thomas said, “He’ll be furious to know it’s ruined-“ 

“I’ll get him another copy.” Lawrence said. “Walk with me.” 

Thomas doubted he had very much choice when push came to shove. 

He stood up, dusting his knees free of grime from the floor. Lawrence took him by the hand, which didn’t seem to be a very good idea. If anyone saw them with hands clasped, Thomas was certain he’d get an ear full on propriety and decency. Their separate lifestyles were bound by different rules. 

Lawrence took him out the back door, which it seemed he’d only spotted because Andy was coming back inside from having fetched more firewood. He gaped at Lawrence, amazed, but had to duck out of the way as Lawrence strode up the hall taking Thomas with him. Andy opened his mouth, perhaps caught between wanting to address Lawrence and wanting to demand what the hell was going on. Thomas had no answers for him either way, at Lawrence’s disposal for how he tugged Thomas along. 

They left Downton through the back area, the pair of them crossing the green lawn which was slowly starting to turn a dull brown for the approach of Autumn and the lack of rain. Lawrence’s grip was forceful, a testament to the man’s strength though he hardly looked the part of a muscle man. He took Thomas along until they reached a rather large oak tree on the center of the property, underneath with an iron bench sat. Lawrence was the first to sit down, taking Thomas along with him by his unyielding grip. 

Thomas didn’t know what to do but play along. His stomach lurched with fright as he realized this was the first time he’d been alone with Lawrence, the first time someone else wasn’t watching. 

Now that Lord Grantham or Carson wasn’t watching, would Lawrence’s behavior change. 

Lawrence seemed to be steeling himself up, preparing to say something that would take some courage. 

“I’ve decided I’d like you to visit my home.” Lawrence finally said, “I spoke with Lord Grantham earlier today. He’s agreeable.” 

“Why would you want me to visit your home?” Thomas asked, wary of whatever answer he’d get. 

“I want you to see the condition of your future home.” Lawrence explain. Thomas’ stomach was beginning to twist into painful knots from anxiety. 

“Lawrence…” Thomas looked down at his lap, threading his fingers together till they formed a solid wall of flesh, “I don’t know how I could ever marry you when you’re a stranger to me.” 

“Ask me what you wish to know. Make enquiries. I’m only a stranger because you wish me to be.” 

But life didn’t work like that for an omega, particularly a servant. He didn’t get his way just because he ‘made enquiries’. 

“It doesn’t work that way for me.” Thomas warned. “I don’t get to make enquiries. I don’t have the authority to, particularly against a lord. You came to Downton out of nowhere and demanded to court me without ever once bothering to see if I wanted to be courted back.” And now the more he thought about it, the more out of control the situation had become. 

Thomas suddenly realized that he didn’t love Lawrence, and it disturbed him. No matter how much he wanted freedom, it wouldn’t be worth it to be the omega of a man he didn’t love. 

He stood up, suddenly determined in that moment to finish this affair once and for all… if you could even call it an affair. 

“This has gone on long enough.” Thomas said, “I should never have sent you that coin. I’m sorry I even did.” Thomas smoothed his dress upon his thighs, trying to work up his nerve. “I don’t want to pursue this courtship anymore.” He took a step in the direction of the abbey, determined to leave Lawrence to work out the rest for himself on the bench. 

But then Lawrence shot out to grab him by the wrist, and the smell of port was suddenly surrounding him. He looked around, afraid of what he’d see. A mad alpha, a furious lord… but instead he only found Lawrence worried; a bizarre fondness etched the man’s face. 

“Are you frightened of me, little peach?” he asked. 

“I’m petrified.” Thomas said, and he had every reason in the world to. Lawrence gently pulled him back to the bench, until Thomas was sitting again. He held Thomas there, gently stroking the flesh above his knuckles where the skin turned fine and white. 

“Don’t be.” Lawrence urged. He didn’t speak with anger. “You’ve accepted nourishment from me, and affection. All that’s left is for you to accept my accommodations. To find them agreeable to your nest. I’m sure you will, once you see them. You know that your time here is coming to a close. I’m the next natural step in your life.” 

He spoke like a doctor to a patient. Were these the emotions of a man in love? 

“You say these things with such detachment.” Thomas wondered. 

“Well I am an Englishman.” Lawrence mirrored his words from the other day with clear humor. 

If Lawrence was to be believed, Thomas realized how dangerously close he was to being a mated omega. Not even five months ago, such a concept would have seemed absolutely ludicrous to him. Impossible. Now here he was in a dress and a corset, with a love token around his neck, and what could be said besides the obvious? That Lawrence was clearly holding the upper hand in this courtship. That really, if he wanted to, he could drag Thomas off by the neck and who would dare to stop him? Maybe in Thomas’ fantasies, Carson or Lord Grantham would save him out of some type of patriarch affection… but he doubted it. 

“So…” Thomas swallowed several times, suddenly feeling a tight knot in his throat, “You… Are you saying… that… you want to…” The word ‘mate’ was impossibly tight in his mouth. “Mate me?” He almost squeaked. He coughed, trying to regain his voice. 

“Is that so surprising?” Lawrence asked. 

Yes. Yes it was incredibly surprising. 

“Thomas…” Lawrence began, “I am not of the same caliber as Alden MacNaire. I do not bully. I do not threaten.” He brought Thomas’ hand up to his mouth, and carefully kissed the skin that he found. 

It made Thomas’ throat clench up again. 

“I merely beg that you pity me in my adoration.” Lawrence said, “I cannot live without you, my darling. Please… show me favor.” 

Show me favor- but honestly what did that mean? Thomas didn’t speak like a toff, and he couldn’t understand them when they tried to worm love through riddles. 

“So… So say if I like your house.” Thomas murmured, “Then what?” 

“Then we mate.” 

Thomas jerked his hand away from Lawrence, desperately trying to not imagine what that would mean. Christ just— just— mate?! Like- 

Thomas was finding it difficult to breath. To concentrate. He felt like he was being enclosed in a box even though he was in the open air. 

He took several deep breathes, or at least tried to. 

It was a lost cause really. 

“So…So say I…” He couldn’t even fathom the concept, “Do I get to stay here or-“ 

“Stay here?” Lawrence was baffled, “Heavens no, you come with me! You nest in my manor-“ 

That was ridiculous. People did not nest. Birds could nest, and so did several other animals… but not humans. And certainly not Thomas. 

Lawrence rose up from the bench and carefully placed his hands upon Thomas’ waist. The touch was disturbingly straightforward, and did nothing to sooth Thomas’ nerves. The smell of port clogged his nose, making him feel drunk though he’d not touched a drop since the disastrous incident of September. 

“Thomas,” Lawrence murmured, “I wouldn’t dare send you away. I’d think to the children in your womb. They’d need to be near their father-“ 

Thomas nearly vomited from fear.   
The idea of being pregnant filled him with such unavoidable dread that he could not contain himself. He fled from the scene as if Lawrence was coming after him with a pickaxe. To hear Lawrence say his desires out loud was disturbing on a level Thomas had not expected. It was like Thomas had already found Belton House to his liking and was forever damned to be with Lawrence. Like he was absolutely stuck, with a babe in his belly. As Thomas ran, he found himself pressing a hand to his stomach, desperate to seek out the taught flesh there, bound tight by a corset. There was no bump, no feeling of life beneath. He was safe. He was himself. 

 

~*~

 

Early in the hours of the morning, the abbey lay absolutely silent. 

Daisy slept without care, dreaming of graduating from Oxford with honors. Mrs. Patmore snored slightly from her own cot, the bed beneath her creaking under her weight. Baxter dreamed of nothing in her own bed, her mind sunk beneath the blackness. 

But Thomas was an omega of a different breed, tossing and turning as restless dreams took him over. 

_He was laying upon a medical cot, his legs strapped to holsters the elevated his knees. He felt… hot. Tight. Constricted, like he couldn’t gain proper breath. He was sick to his stomach but couldn’t vomit, constipated and without any type of relief. Like he might explode_. 

_Thomas opened his aching eyes, only to be blinded by fluorescent light above him. He was naked, his skin glistening with a pale sweat_. 

_To his terror, he realized that his stomach was massive. Swollen round as if he’d swallowed a watermelon. The skin was pulled so taut that Thomas could see the veins just underneath_. 

_Something was stirring beneath his flesh_. 

_A horrible, slicing pain suddenly broke through him, as a creature beneath the skin of his swollen stomach swiped its hand across his muscles. He could see the individual fingers. the strong brace of a palm. But the fingers were curling into razor sharp claws, and suddenly bloody bruises were appearing beneath his skin as the demonic babe in his stomach began to claw its way out of him. Scrape him raw from the inside out!_

_Thomas screamed at the top of his lungs, thrashing upon the medical cot, begging for help, for anyone to save him!_

_But no one was coming_. 

_The monster beneath him gave one final vicious swipe and broke free of its womb and prison. An infantile hand, donned in sharpened bloody claws broke from Thomas’ stomach, shooting straight up so that crimson blood gushed from Thomas’ belly to spill over onto the bed. White turned red, flooding over in a tidal wave as the creature clawed itself out inch by inch-!_

_Thomas saw two black lifeless eyes emerge from his stomach-!_

 

Thomas shot up in bed, shaking wildly with a sweat as he sucked in breath after breath. Whether he had screamed in real life or not was impossible to say, but his throat was burning raw and he felt certain he would vomit at any second. 

But one minute passed to two, and soon he felt that he could trust his senses again. 

In the cold moonlight spilling from his overhead windows, Thomas examined his stomach. 

It was flat, healthy and whole. There was no demon baby to be found.   
…..Yet…. 

~*~

 

The next morning, Thomas had no appetite for breakfast. He felt as if he hadn’t slept all night, which he knew was inaccurate given his disturbing demon baby dream. But just like in fiction, the monster seemed to have sucked the life out of him. Thomas existed as if still in his dream, stumbling upstairs to the pink room which he dusted with minimum enthusiasm. 

He kept trying to tell himself that it was impossible. That he would never be pregnant. That even if Lord Gray did take him for an omega, he’d never be successful in getting what he wanted. But Thomas’ heats seemed to insist otherwise and though he hadn’t had one since June it was nearly October now. Thomas knew his next one was disturbingly close. He prayed that his body wouldn’t be able to regulate normally, that it would be a while before he started to truly experience heats again… but honestly his guess was as good as a strangers by this point. 

What if he did fall into a heat?   
What if he did… mate… 

Thomas closed his eyes, feeling close to being nauseas again.   
When had his life stopped being his own? 

A soft, tense cough gave Thomas pause. He looked over his shoulder to find Lord Grantham in the door of the parlor. He looked… unhappy. 

“Thomas,” He said, “You’re to come with me and her ladyship to Lord Gray’s estate in Lincolnshire. Today.” 

“I don’t feel up to the travel, M’lord.” Thomas said, and it was far from an excuse. Something about the dream last night had made him… loopy. Fatigued. “I’m unwell.” 

Lord Grantham nodded, but didn’t seem to register Thomas’ excuse as a legit physical limitation, “I can understand if you’re nervous, but Lord Gray’s intentions to you are nothing but honorable.” 

“You don’t know that for a fact, M’lord.” Thomas said. 

“I as good as.” Lord Grantham said, “I wouldn’t have agreed to his courtship if I didn’t find him a worthy suitor.” 

“But you know nothing about me, M’lord.” Thomas wouldn’t even look at Lord Grantham anymore, timidly dragging his polishing cloth against a side table. “How can you assume what is worthy for me and what isn’t?” 

Lord Grantham paused. He looked somber, “I can merely deduce a man’s character and business. Nothing more.” 

“I care nothing for money, M’lord.” Thomas said, “I only care for the heart of a man, and I know nothing of Lord Gray’s heart.” 

But Lord Grantham just gave him a little smile and dismissed him once again, the way all alphas did when the knew they were safely in charge, “Well it’s a little too early to be talking about the heart Thomas-“ 

Early? _Early?_ How on earth was this early when Lawrence was five minutes from throwing him on the bed and having his merry way? When Thomas was having dreams of demonic clawing babies and there was a love token around his neck? By his timing, ‘early’ had passed many weeks ago. They were now squarely in the fixture of ‘right on time’. 

“Early?” Thomas demanded, “The man’s trying to marry me and you think it’s early?” 

“Our lot do things differently.” Was Lord Grantham’s only excuse. It was a feeble one. “You’ll see after you're mated-“ 

“That’s not set in stone!” Thomas warned. It seemed he was the only one to think so. 

“You drank tea that he offered, you accepted his token of love. Should you think his house in order, it will be set in stone." 

Seeing a loophole, Thomas took it at once, “Well I’ve just decided I don’t find his house in order.” 

“You can hardly decide that when you haven’t even seen it.” 

“It’s so disastrous I don’t want to see it! That concludes the courtship.” 

Lord Grantham looked torn between laughing and sighing, his long term relationship with Thomas’ irritable mood swings leaving him well prepared for this ludicrous conversation. 

“We’re leaving on the eleven o’clock train and should arrive around one. Wear something fashionable. I told Mrs. Hughes she could go through one or two of Lady Edith’s cast offs. You should be about the same size-“ He paused, grimacing at the breadth of Thomas’ shoulders which were surely slightly larger than Lady Edith’s, “More or less. You’re excused from work, so you’d best get ready now. And don’t forget to wear your love token.”

Bitterly, Thomas conceded he’d never taken it off in the first place. 

 

His outfit was eventually decided for him in part of Lady Edith’s peach day coat. It was one of the few that offered a tying belt, and one she’d given up years ago due to a fraying on the left shoulder. Mrs. Hughes managed to beg over a straw cloche as well, one of the lesser expensive items that Lady Edith had in her possession that was only marked by a simple white band around the bend. With two parts of his outfit decided, the third came naturally…. a peach dress that the Brigade had forced him to take with triangular white banding beneath the breasts and a floral edge to each of its three layers. It was far too feminine for Thomas’ tastes, far too frilly, but what choice did he really have? It was either wear what he was given or abuse the trust of Carson. 

After September, Thomas was staying as far away from that subject as humanly possible. 

With the lowered neckline of his peach dress, Thomas could no longer hide his love token. It was garishly obvious upon his neck, glinting gold in the autumn light as he stepped outside of the abbey with Lord and Lady Grantham in tow. 

In his mind, he was praying that Belton House was a small and country cottage set on the outskirts of town. Something manageable and familiar to Thomas’ mind. Of course, the reality was far from the imaginary, he knew this. Lawrence Gray was an earl, which meant that he’d be abiding in a house similar to Downton Abbey. With luck it would be smaller, less grand, but Thomas’ fears were soon to be discovered as he boarded the eleven o’clock train (for the first time in first class). The seats were made of a fine leather, and unlike in third class they were offered a dining cart where Lord and Lady Grantham ordered a cup of tea. Though Lady Grantham was kind enough to offer Thomas a cup of his own, garnished with cucumber sandwiches on the rim, Thomas found he could not eat. An ugly feeling had taken him over as they slid into southern countryside full of large oaks and bountiful green acres. Grantham and Lincolnshire were not much different in setting, but Thomas felt as if he was stepping into an alien world when they exited onto the platform. 

Lord Grantham cut a path through the crowd of lower class travelers, his top hat holding another half-foot above the rest of the crowd. Lady Grantham took his arm; the pair of them were a bizarre block for Thomas, who walked behind them with his head down to keep from attracting attention. 

Of course, being a bloke in a dress, he was bound to garner a few looks of surprise. 

Outside the train platform, the same red Chrysler Imperial that had been parked outside of Downton Abbey during Lawrence’s visits was waiting for them. Beside it, the chauffeur was waiting with his hat tipped back to keep the sun out of his eyes. He was an older gentleman, wearing a uniform that reminded Thomas of the days when Branson had been the one behind the wheel. 

“Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham-“ He tipped his hat to both of them, “Mr. Barrow?” He added as Thomas appeared from behind, sour at being noticed. 

“Indeed, my good man.” Lord Grantham said. 

“Right this way, M’lord.” The chauffeur opened up the door to the backseat, helping Lady Grantham into the backseat first so that Lord Grantham could follow, “Lord Gray is expecting you.” 

Suddenly Thomas was the only one still outside the car. He reached for the door to the front seat, but the chauffeur kept sweeping his hand, urging Thomas into the back. 

“No need,” Thomas tried to say. 

“Lord Gray insists,” Said the chauffeur at the same time. 

It seemed Thomas had no choice, and bitterly crawled into the backseat for the first time in his life. It was bizarre to not be facing the road directly. He instead found himself looking out the side window, wondering at how he wouldn’t get car sick on the way there. His stomach gave a slight lurch as the car took off from the station; he grabbed the side handling to steady himself. 

“This is your first time in the backseat.” Lady Grantham spoke up after a moment. Perhaps she could tell by the way his face was turning green. 

“Mm.” Thomas didn’t want to risk speaking, gently touching his lips with his fingers. 

“Try to keep your eyes on the horizon.” Lady Grantham offered, “That always helped me when I was a girl.” 

Just to gain some more stability, Thomas rolled down the window of the back seat, cranking the slower shaft inch by inch so that he could get a steady stream of cooling air. It made him feel a little better, but only just. 

The town of Belton was rather similar to Downton. It hosted a simple town square, many shops and churches slowly pittering out to quiet country lanes where family houses were marked by mile long posts keeping in cattle and sheep. A farmer or two passed them by, enormous carts laden down with hay driven by Clydesdales that took up half the road. 

Another ten minutes of fine green countryside made Thomas feel slightly less queazy. He contented to stare out the window, leaning a little upon his elbow so that the cool air could touch his face. Wisps of ebony flickered in the wind, where his hair had grown past the point of normal male decency. His hair was starting to grow to the length of Lady Mary’s which disturbed him but was apparently the fashion where male omegas were concerned. For once in his life, Thomas didn’t want to be seen as fashionable. 

 

And then he spotted it on the horizon. 

“Oh my god-“ Thomas blurted out, horrified by what he saw. 

Belton House was not a simple country cottage. It was the same size as Downton Abbey if not larger. She was a shaped a bit like an ‘H’, with massive front steps extending out over a seat of finely cropped green. A balustrade and cupola surmounted her roof, puncturing the blue English horizon, with six little chimneys stacked (three on the left and three on the right). Thomas’ mouth dropped open at her fine white marble; the Carolean architecture that doomed him with obvious wealth… the house crest embedded in stone above the second floor. The peregrine falcon extended her wings wide, beak opened eternally to scream out her silent protest at the weight of the house which held her down. 

A horrible, ugly weight began to fall upon Thomas’ shoulders. He felt small, powerless, terrified in the face of the house. 

He began to wonder internally if he would ever be free again. If he would ever live a life that could truly be called his own. His title had been dropped from servitude to slavery… even if no one would acknowledge it. 

“Lovely.” Lord Grantham was pleased at the sight of Belton House. 

“I think that’s Carolean architecture-“ Lady Grantham leaned a bit toward the window to see better as they turned into the long gravel drive which swooped around the south entrance of the house. 

The nearer they got to the door, the more Thomas wanted to scream. 

“This was a terrible mistake.” Thomas managed to get out. The sorrow in his voice was overwhelming. “I can’t do this, I don’t want to do this-“ 

Lord Grantham reached out and put a hand upon his knee.   
Thomas jumped; he’d never been touched by Lord Grantham in such a way. It was alarming, even if it was meant to be soothing on some level. 

He caught Lord Grantham’s eyes, and found them full of sympathy. 

“I understand if it’s overwhelming, but give him a chance, Thomas.” Lord Grantham said, “You’ve worked in a large house for many years. You understand how these things go. It’s difficult to be on the other side of the coin, but Matthew made the transition and so can you.” 

“Matthew was not a servant, M’lord.” Thomas reminded him. 

“He wasn’t an Earl either.” Lord Grantham countered. Lady Grantham gave him a sad smile from the opposite side of the backseat. 

The car stopped. 

 

Thomas took a shuddering breath, turning to look once again out the window. 

The sight of the entire staff, lined up to receive him, made him feel horribly clammy and ill. There was the butler, a thin and gaunt man with sandy hair lined in gray. He looked to be about Carson’s age, and stood at the side of a plump shorter woman with steely gray hair wound into a loose bun atop her head…. the housekeeper. Next to her were two lady’s maids, one older and one younger. The older woman seemed stern and sharp with a hooked nose and dark hair streaked in gray. The younger reminded Thomas oddly of Edna; she had the same heart shaped face and blonde hair. Beside the younger lady’s maid was a man about Lawrence’s age. He reminded Thomas of Bates, with the same color hair and large shoulders. His gate, however, was strong and he had no need for a cane. There were four maids in starched white aprons that curled upon their shoulders in fine frill…. Two footmen who looked disturbingly like Thomas and William had Thomas had dark brown hair instead of black. 

 

To the left side of the staircase stood the family. 

Lawrence, in huntsman suit of Savile row with a dark green tie and light pink handkerchief tucked into his breast. He looked oddly elated, a bizarre expression for his normally stoic face. Thomas’ love token flashed in the sun, obvious outside of his cream shirtsleeves and olive vest. 

To his left was a young woman, maybe a few years his junior in a dark purple crepe dress shouldered in fine lace and two lapels buttoned with ivory nobs. She had dark brown hair and a pointed nose, an obvious relation to Lawrence and perhaps his sister. She wore her hair in a coiffure and had pinned it back with an ivory comb. There was something oddly anxious about her, as if she half expected someone to snap at her for a lack in decorum and was desperately trying to stay in line. 

To Lawrence’s right was an older woman who looked, in a word, ‘stuffy’. She had iron gray hair piled atop her head, and wore a lavender day dress that might have been better suited for 1890 with frilly lace at the collar and puffy sleeves. She was shorter than the others, but looked far more foreboding and had a menacing scowl in place that could have rivaled the Dowager on a bad day. 

She made Thomas’ stomach clench, as if in warning. 

The chauffeur hopped out of the car, and came around front to open it wide for his passengers. Lord and Lady Grantham were the first to clamber out, the image of English civility in their fine styles and upper class wealth. 

Lawrence immediately walked forward, and shook Lord Grantham’s hand. 

“Lord Gray-“ Lord Grantham paused, glancing back at the car where Thomas was still tucked inside. He found he didn’t want to get out. Didn’t want to see anymore of Belton. 

He wanted to go home.   
He wanted to be left alone by this frightening family. 

“A bit spooked.” Lord Grantham said in consolation. Lawrence didn’t seem to hear him, already slipping away from Lord Grantham to stand just outside the car door so that Thomas’ vision was wholly swallowed up by him. 

The smell of port began to fill his nose. 

“…Thomas.” Lawrence murmured, extending his hand. In his lean forward, his love token slid a bit on his chain, dangling in the open air. 

Nervous, Thomas took his hand. He did not know what else to do. 

Lawrence pulled him out of the car, till Thomas was standing in the open air in full view of the staff and family of Belton House. He felt as if even the family crest was judging him, the falcon’s beak wide open in shrieking dismay at the omega on her doorstep. 

Everyone was staring at him. The staff were enraptured, his visit like a striking column in their daily newspaper. The maids in particular were ogling at him, eyes wide at the side of a male omega for the first time in their sheltered lives. 

Lawrence stepped forward with Thomas, pulling Thomas in his wake. Lord and Lady Grantham were right behind them. The chauffeur was pulling the car away, taking it around the western side of the house. The older woman was watching Thomas like a hawk; perhaps she was Lawrence’s—? 

“Allow me to introduce my mother, the Dowager of Belton.” Lawrence said… so that solved one mystery. 

Oddly enough, she did not look like her son save for in her eyes. They were the same haunting black, glaring at Thomas as if he’d done her a personal injustice she could never forgive. 

“How do you do.” The Dowager extended her hand, allowing Lord Grantham to clasp it in his own. The upper class did not shake, they merely… touched. It was a bizarre recognition. She did not make to offer her hand to Thomas, instead focusing her gaze solely upon the peerage. Perhaps she did not want to touch the hands of a servant. 

“How do you do.” Lord Grantham replied. 

“It’s a beautiful estate you have here.” Lady Grantham complimented; years of battling her own Dowager had easily prepared her for her stiff opponent. 

“Thank you, Lady Grantham,” The Dowager spoke in a pinched voice, though it was oddly warm, “You’re most kind. I do hope the abbey is doing well?” 

“Splendidly.” Lord Grantham boasted, “And I’m glad to see the same of your own.” 

“Times are changing but we’re keeping up,” It seemed the story was the same everywhere. 

“My younger sister, Anthea-“ Lawrence gestured to the younger woman at her mother’s side. Anthea still wore that bizarrely nervous expression; perhaps she was on edge with everyone. 

“How do you do.” She clasped hands with both Lord and Lady Grantham. 

“And this stunning creature is Thomas Barrow.” Lawrence placed his hands carefully upon Thomas’ shoulders, as if in an act of endorsement. “The omega I’ve told you both so much about.” 

The Dowager looked him up and down, neither offering him a ‘how do you do’ or a hand to shake. “Too skinny.” Was her only reply. 

“Oh mama-“ Anthea was exasperated; Lawrence’s hands tightened upon Thomas’ shoulders. 

“Skinny omegas are not good for bearing children.” The Dowager warned, “And I do not approve of our bloodline meddling with the lower class.” 

Thomas flushed bright red, horrified at being objectified before the entire populace of Belton House. 

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Lord Grantham tried to sway the conversation in a more genial direction, “Many of the oldest families have taken in omegas of the lower class… my youngest daughter took an alpha of Thomas’ class and their union was beloved by all.” 

“Until it ended.” The Dowager added.   
Lady Grantham tensed, something oddly sickening crossing her eyes. Like she was viewing the death of her daughter again and again, forever on a reel locked in her mind. 

Anthea tried for a better start, offering Thomas her hand. But Thomas had never shaken the hand of a member of the upper class, and didn’t know how to do so without making a fool of himself so he bowed his head and offered her a cordial, “M’lady.” 

Anthea opened her mouth then closed it, stunned. 

“Honestly, you needn’t call her that.” Lawrence chastised. 

“I’m a servant, I shouldn’t be impertinent.” Thomas muttered back. 

“But you can forget all that dribble now,” Lawrence said, as if Thomas could easily shuck off his entire life’s understanding as easily as one might shuck off a pair of boots. “And speaking of servants.” 

He pulled Thomas away from his family, both of who looked unpleasantly taken aback. Lawrence strode across the gravel, tugging Thomas along by his elbow so that he had to grab at his straw cloche to make sure it stayed on his head. 

The pair of them came to stand before the staff, all of whom straightened up imperceptibly at Lawrence’s approach. 

“A few faces you might care to meet,” Lawrence said, “Mr. Wallace, the butler-“ 

“Mr. Wallace.” Thomas held out his hand at once so that Wallace could shake it. Wallace seemed surprised, but took his hand none the less. Here was something Thomas could connect too and understand. If there was anything he knew, it was the staff of a large house. Wallace gave him a kind smile, much more warm than Carson had ever been on the front end. 

“Mr. Barrow, if I may be of any service to you-“ Mr. Wallace began with the age old line. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Wallace.” Thomas cut him off, “But I look to my own butler at home for orders. I fear I don’t know how to address you save for as a footman or valet… so truly it’s the other way around between the two of us. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please let me know.” 

“Understanding new roles comes with time, Mr. Barrow.” Mr. Wallace was obviously humored by him, and flashed him another well meant smile. “This is the housekeeper, Mrs. Gibson.” 

Thomas shook Mrs. Gibson’s hand at once. She, like her butler counterpart, seemed warm and compassionate. She reminded Thomas strikingly of Mrs. Hughes. “How do you do, Mr. Barrow. We’re very glad you could visit Belton House.” 

“I apologize for all the trouble this has caused,” Thomas said, for he was certain the maids had been run off their feet this morning, “I know you’ve been worked off your feet for my arrival.” 

“Oh we’re used to the work as I’m sure you know.” Mrs. Gibson said. 

“My own housekeeper Mrs. Hughes-“ Thomas paused, for some reason saying Mrs. Hughes’ name outside of Downton made him feel horribly homesick, “She’s very dear to me.” 

“I’m familiar with her name,” Mrs. Gibson said, “She’s a good Christian woman.” 

“Thank you-“ Thomas just kept shaking Mrs. Gibson’s hand, grateful for her presence, “Thank you for everything.” 

He paused, looking down the line at the rest of the staff. 

“Perhaps it might make you feel better to know the rest of the staff.” Mrs. Gibson stepped slightly out of line, turning so that she could take Thomas down the rest of the way where the others were waiting. 

“This is Mr. Roland, Lord Gray’s valet.” Mrs. Gibson said. Roland offered his hand for Thomas to shake which he did at once. Roland had an unnervingly strong grip, and looked like the sort of man who could handle himself in a bar fight. 

“Her Ladyship’s maid, Ms. Clement.” Mrs. Gibson gestured to the younger of the two lady’s maids who was much in the way of the notorious Edna when it came to looks. Still, she had a much warmer air about her and automatically shook Thomas’ hand. 

“The Dowager’s maid, Ms. Holmand,” The older Lady’s maid was slightly more stoic in her grip, but what she lacked in compassion she made up for in honesty. Perhaps her enthusiasm had been driven out of her by this bizarre family that she served. 

“Our two footmen, Christopher and Benedict.” Mrs. Gibson looked slightly more stern when she approached the two men. Christopher was obviously first footman- he held himself in a much more strict manor that Thomas could recognize from his own youth. Benedict was unnervingly like William, shorter and more naive with a boyish grace in his gangly limbs and chubby cheeks. 

“How do you do-“ Thomas shook both their hands (but was careful to shake Christopher’s first), “I was a footman for many years. I understand your work very well, and know how hard you have to push yourselves. Thank you for receiving me.” 

“And of course, our maids.” Mrs. Gibson took a certain amount of pride in her maids, which wasn’t too hard to understand. As housekeeper, she platooned them about like a General going to war. There were four of them; Thomas had to wonder how many of them were full time maids and how many of them went home at night. “Claire, Lydia, Eleanor, and our head housemaid Sarah.” they each curtsied in turn. 

Thomas found his eyes catching Sarah’s. She, of all the housemaids seemed the most drawn to him, with frizzy auburn hair and gleaming emerald eyes. Thomas wondered if she had Irish blood in her. She gave off a certain energetic charm, clearly bossy with the other maids. 

She was grinning at him. Thomas smiled back. 

“Mr. Barrow.” She even dared to stick out her hand. Mrs. Gibson looked ready to shoot her for her impertinence but Thomas took her hand and once and shook it eagerly. 

“Sarah.” He smiled, “Thank you very much for all your hard work. If there’s anything you ever need of me, don’t hesitate to ask-“ 

“Oh for god’s sake little peach.” Lawrence’s patience had run out. He walked over and took Thomas by the elbow, pointedly dragging him away from the lineup of the staff and back towards his family who were waiting on the grand steps of Belton House. Thomas noticed that the staff held a wary regard for Lawrence. None of them smiled. None of them showed signs of loyalty or pride. 

Thomas wondered if they pitied him, forced to do as Lawrence commanded for these hours. 

“Honestly.” Lawrence said as he drug Thomas up the steps, “If I leave you out here any longer you’ll be offering to pull up weeds for the gardeners.” 

“Well someone has to do it.” Thomas shot back, “And I’ll remind you that I’m a member of staff at Downton, Lawrence.” 

“But you’re not a member of staff here.” Lawrence snapped. Thomas did not dare push his tone, wary of Lawrence’s notorious lack of patience. 

Their little quarry entered the front of Belton. Thomas found himself in a large room with white and black checkered marble floors. There were marble busts of long dead Greeks; fine paintings hanging upon wooden walls. To the left stood a parlor, to the right, a stairwell leading up to the second floor. Before him there were two large double doors, no doubt leading into some type of salon or living area. 

 

“Belton House!” Lawrence said with pride, sweeping a hand rather dramatically across the room, “the pride of my Lincolnshire.” 

“How lovely.” Lady Grantham praised, admiring all the artwork on display. Lord Grantham seemed more interested in the marble flooring, squinting down at its zagging deco-pattern. 

“This is the Marble Hall.” The Dowager seemed more interested in wooing Lady Grantham than even acknowledging Thomas, “The principle room of Belton, and the beginning of the grand procession. To the left, the little parlor where our guests take tea-“ She flourished a hand, “Ahead of you-“ 

But even as the Dowager spoke, Thomas was pulled by the elbow away from the center group towards the stairwell. It seemed Lawrence wanted him on his own, and though Lady Anthea watched them with a pained expression of longing as if desperate to get away from her mother too, no one made to apprehend them. 

“My mother will keep them occupied.” Lawrence muttered into the shell of Thomas’ ear, pushing him towards the stairwell. “Shall we?” 

Thomas doubted that he had a genuine say in the matter. 

 

The stairs wrapped around the wall, taking them up to a second level where a divided hallway greeted them along a lush walk of olive carpet. To the left was a wooden door with a bizarre iron lock that feature two separate pull bolts. To the right was a pair of massive double doors. The stairs were marble, just like the hall below, a beautiful work of black and white that brought an authentic beauty to Belton’s ancient halls… artwork hung on every corner. Former Gray’s that held the attention of their audience in draping velvet fabrics and ostentatious shows of wealth. 

Lawrence walked to the double doors and opened them for Thomas, allowing him to look inside. It was a library, with every wall lined in shelves of books centered around a large marble hearth. Pink chairs and a matching sofa could bask in the warmth of the fire, while a large oak desk at the back of the room was cluttered in papers and legal documents. The entire room was layered in Persian rugs, covered up a fine wooden floor beneath. Four separate doors split off from the library, cutting into the shelves so that they were the only untouched space which showed the original paint of the room… hunter green. To the east was the way they’d come. To the north were two doors, one small and one grand. To the west was the final door, another grand one… to the south were beautiful glass windows as tall as the walls overlooking the front of the house and the expansive green lawn that separated Belton House from the country lane on which it sat. 

“Come here,” Lawrence led him by the back, steering him to the northern wall. He reached out for the grand door, whose handle was shaped in the face of a falcon. “I want to show you something.” 

Lawrence opened the door, to reveal a massive bedroom beyond. 

The room was themed in red and white, which striped both the chairs, bed frame, and a massive royal overhanging bed canopy that allowed the head of the grand bed to be plunged into a cool darkness despite it being the middle of the day. A fireplace gilded in golden images of peregrine falcones was crackling with light; the floor was coated in a dark red rug decorated in the image of eastern flowers. A few tables were spread about the room, covered in books, stationary, photographs, and snuff boxes. Two bedside tables offered a warm lamps that kept a soft amber glow in the room. This was clearly one of the more wealthier rooms in the house. Two doors were the only break off from the room, both smaller in design than the doors that had let them in. They probably lead to a dressing room and a bathroom. The smell of port was staggering in here. It was almost like Thomas had been flung into a vat of wine. 

Lawrence shut the door. Thomas looked about, disturbed to find that they were completely alone. 

He didn’t like it; it made him incredibly uncomfortable. 

“My bedroom.” Lawrence murmured with a small smile. 

“I can’t be in here, Lawrence.” Thomas stepped back towards the library door. 

“I’m inviting you in.” Lawrence said. 

“I don’t feel comfortable.” But Lawrence didn’t listen to him (When did he ever?). He turned Thomas back to the room with hands upon his shoulders, allowing Thomas to observe the room at his own pace. 

“How do you like it?” Lawrence murmured, but Thomas didn’t know what to say to such a thing. Honestly, was there any good reaction to have? 

“It’s…” Massive, over the top, a little too bi-colored for good tastes to prevail, slightly girly, “It’s not my room. Why on earth should I have a comment on it?” 

Lawrence laughed from behind. “No I suppose it isn’t your room is it?” He grinned, pulling Thomas back a bit so that he could smile over Thomas’ shoulder. 

“Would you like to see your room?” 

“I don’t have a room in this house!” Thomas snapped, eager to make that division at once, “Whatever crazy scheme you’ve concocted-“ 

“There’s no need to be nervous, little peach.” Lawrence murmured in his ear.   
The smell of port was making it difficult to think again. 

“Here-“ He gently pushed Thomas towards the eastern wall, where one door was waiting. Once again, like the door near the stairs, a heavy double bolt was featured on the frame. Lawrence unlocked it with ease, sliding each latch back. 

Thomas felt a cold sensation slide into his stomach as he wondered why there might be locks on this door. 

Lawrence opened the door.   
Thomas sucked in a small gasp. 

It was as far removed in style as a room could be from the one in which they stood. Instead of garish white and red, there was merely a soft muted mint green that carpeted the floors and painted the walls. Tall windows were framed in yellow and green curtains, beyond which a gentle white linen kept out the worst of the garish light. The bed was slightly smaller than Lawrence’s, with muted mint padding upon the headboard and footboard. The coverlet was (oddly enough) the same yellow and green pattern as the curtains. Above the headboard lay another bed canopy, though this one was not near as obnoxious as Lawrence's. It was a dark olive green, matching well with the scheme of the room, and draping around the edges of the bed so that it could effectively become a tomb of quiet if need be. Two yellow chairs sat clustered around a low mahogany coffee table. A round table at the foot of the bed was flanked by a little white chair which clearly doubled as a sitting place for the vanity which was framed with a large golden mirror. 

It was calm. It was quiet. It was… pleasant. Truly pleasant. 

Thomas slowly stepped forward, Lawrence’s hands slowly slipping from his shoulders till he stood by himself in the center of the room. It reminded him of Lady Sybil’s room, save that hers had been in the scheme of pinks and flowers. This one just seemed to feature… mints. And Thomas liked it. 

“This…” He looked from the bed canopy to an enormous mahogany wardrobe that nearly touched the ceiling. “This is…mine?” 

“All yours.” Lawrence soothed. 

Thomas couldn’t fathom such a thing. 

 

He walked forward, and gently touched the footboard of the bed. The fabric was soft and subtle…velvet. He walked over to the vanity, looking at the lace covering its top surface. There was a silver hairbrush, a few bottles of hand lotion and facial cremes. Thomas reached out and grasped the fabric of the windows, slowly pulling it back so that he could see the land beyond. It overlooked an enormous French garden, swathed in gravel paths that circled about neatly trimmed hedges in the shapes of cones and diamonds. 

“This just can’t be mine.” Thomas murmured aloud. The room was about as opposite from his attic dwelling as it was possible to be, “It can’t be. I don’t…” He looked around and saw that Lawrence was lounging against the doorframe, smiling pleasantly at him. “What do you want from me?” 

There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. 

“Only what any alpha would, Thomas.” Lawrence assured. 

“I don’t know what that is.” Thomas was about to get angry. He was tired of bandying words with this man. He wanted concrete facts, and he wanted them now! “I want you to explain to me in detail what you want from me, right now!” He pointed at the carpet in emphasis. 

Lawrence’s smile faltered slightly, “Now, Lawrence!” 

He walked forward, and at first Thomas thought that Lawrence might strike him… that some bizarre homicidal rage would pop out from beneath the calm veneer that coated Lawrence’s smooth facial features. 

Instead, Lawrence reached out and gently took Thomas by the arms, stroking the tough woolen fabric of his peach coat so that the skin began to warm beneath. 

“I want you to be my mate.” Lawrence murmured, as soft and gentle as if he thought Thomas a babe easily frightened by loud noise, “I want you to live here, with me at Belton House. In this room, right next to mine. I want you to be at my side, always. To be devoted to me. I want you to let me love you.” 

Thomas was stunned into silence.   
He didn’t know what on earth to say. 

It seemed Lawrence didn’t either. He reached up and carefully touched Thomas’ face, rubbing at the plumpness of his cheeks with broad thumbs. He slowly began to dip his head forward, and Thomas’ heart flew into his mouth at the thought of Lawrence kissing him. But instead Lawrence just leaned into his neck, and smelled at the skin beneath Thomas’ ear. He nuzzled him, heating Thomas’ skin from the warm breath billowing out of his nostrils. 

He seemed entranced by the scent of Thomas, sucking in deep lungfuls of air through his nose. 

“Lawrence-“ Thomas grabbed onto the man’s arms. He felt bizarrely weak at the knees… no one had ever touched him in such a way. No one had ever alerted Thomas to the concept that alphas even could. “I don’t know you-“ 

“Give me an opportunity, only one my darling. That’s all I ask. One opportunity.” And as he spoke he pressed his lips chastely into the skin of Thomas’ neck. His lips were traveling up, resulting in a wave of goose pimples overtaking Thomas’ flesh as Lawrence kissed his high cheek bone. 

His lips were cool, smooth, firm… solid. 

“You want to… to…” He could not look at Lawrence when he spoke, instead holding on for dear life and looking somewhere over the man’s shoulder, “M-m-mate with me.” 

“I confess it,” He whispered raggedly into Thomas’ ear, “Ungentlemanly though it may be. I desire your tenderness… your touch.” He swooped in and kissed Thomas underneath his ear again, “You sweet sweet flesh-“ He put his mouth directly to Thomas’ ear, so that his whisper was like a roar, “My little peach.” 

Thomas turned his face, so that his nose brushed against Lawrence’s skin. 

This wasn’t right, this wasn’t decent but primal thoughts were beginning to invade Thomas’ brain like a plague, pushing him into hasty decisions and craving carnal sensations like a drug. 

That’s what Lawrence Gray was. A drug. 

Lawrence picked his head up, no longer smelling into Thomas’ neck, so that the pair of them were staring at one another barely an inch apart. Lawrence looked unsure for the first time in all their interactions. Wary of Thomas and the rejection he could easily bring. 

How hard would it honestly be, to shove Lawrence off right now. Shove him down onto the carpet and kick him for good measure before running out. 

How hard…. how easy… how silly. 

Thomas leaned his head in, just a scant bit. Nothing to write home about.   
Lawrence turned his head just a slight bit more, his long nose sliding against Thomas’. 

Thomas closed his eyes.   
Lawrence ducked forward. 

His lips were like an icy fire, stinging and burning as they crushed against Thomas’ own. There was no reserve in the man’s kiss, no tamed passion so typical in the upper class. It sucked the breath out of Thomas, rendering him powerless as Lawrence reached out and grabbed Thomas beneath the buttocks to hoist him up onto his tip toes so that they were eye to eye. He ravaged Thomas’ mouth with a wicked tongue, leaving no space untouched, no decency left unstained. Every time Thomas tried to pull back, tried to gain air, Lawrence would end up chasing him so that suddenly he could barely breath and his heart was pounding wildly in his ears. 

He jerked his head back as if from a noose, gasping as Lawrence dove forward again to crash his head against Thomas’ neck which he sucked upon with such a fervor you would think he was trying to extract poison from a venomous snake bite. The stinging sensation was like that of a nettle bush, bruising the skin of Thomas’ pale throat as Lawrence sucked and teethed at the gland beneath his skin. It was maddening, making him feel light headed as Lawrence nipped the raised flesh to abuse it further. Like some kind of brand for all the world to see. 

The world was suddenly divided into two opposing forces. One half of Thomas was drowning in pleasure, gasping for breath as he clung to Lawrence and threaded his fingers through the man’s slick black hair. Each suck, each lavish of his tongue, made Thomas feel like he was high off of opium, slowly losing his grip on reality. He never wanted it to stop, he wanted to give everything over to Lawrence, to be beneath him, to do as he bade, to be a good omega—

But the other half of Thomas knew instinctively where this would lead. Good omegas had locks on their doors and were labeled in worth only by their womb. At Downton he was stuck, but he was stuck with freedom. At Belton he was… well… free but he was stuck. 

Good god, did it really matter anymore where he actually was? The situation was just the same. The only difference was that at Downton he had to dust the furniture. 

“Lawrence, I don’t know who you are-“ Thomas felt like his lips were numb from cocaine, “Tell me who you are if you want me to love you.” 

Lawrence nuzzled him, his long nose brushing Thomas’ cheek and ear as he peppered his skin with kisses, “What do you want to know?” 

“Well-“ It was hard to think properly when someone was sucking your face off, “What are your hobbies? Your dreams? Your passions?” 

Thomas could feel Lawrence smiling against his skin, sharp canines nipping at the flesh of Thomas’ lips. “Archeology.” He said the word into Thomas’ mouth. 

“Ar-Archeology-“ Thomas tried to pull back to continue their conversation but it was very difficult, “Well that’s something-“ 

“I don’t have dreams really. Maybe one day to visit Egypt.” 

“A fine place for an archeologist.” 

Lawrence was grinning unabashedly now, and when he kissed Thomas again there was a bizarre enthusiasm in it that Thomas did not usually associate with the upper class. It was like Lawrence was desperate to gain ground with him. Desperate to consume him one bite, kiss, and lick at a time. 

The smell of port washed over Thomas again as Lawrence dove forward into his neck, sucking at the same spot as before with renewed vigor. A stinging sensation rippled underneath Thomas’ abused flesh as Lawrence drove the blood to the surface, marking Thomas’ neck with a bruise in the shape of his open mouth. 

“Another little love token for you to remember me by.” Lawrence whispered into his ear.   
Thomas closed his eyes, drunk. 

“Tell me more about you.” He said sluggishly. 

“I don’t know what more there is to say-“ 

“Anything!” Thomas pleaded.

“I…” Thomas opened his eyes to find Lawrence puzzled, grinning as he searched for another fact to dish up, “I like the color of red-“ 

No shit, the man’s room was practically bathed in it. 

“Red. Archeology. More.” Thomas wasn’t making any sense, seeking Lawrence’s mouth. He suddenly found he wanted to pursue the kisses, wanted to get the answers. Who said that Lawrence had to be in charge all the time? Lawrence was taken aback, nearly losing his footing as Thomas crushed his mouth against his own. “More damn you.” 

“I studied at Oxford. I’m thirty six-“ 

“Oh for god’s sake!” Thomas snapped, pulling back to glare at the man, “What does it take to make you give up information, hm? Do you need a bit of coaxing?” 

In a moment spurred with lust and blood rush, Thomas reached between Lawrence’s legs and felt at the hot flesh that lay between. He’d done this before with other men, had his way in back alleys and ground against them until the seduction of his sins got him his way. He could do the same with Lawrence, he was certain—

Lawrence froze, eyes wide with shock as Thomas cupped his cock and balls, his thumb carefully rubbing across the top of Lawrence’s penis clothed by trousers and flesh. He could feel his cock swelling, blood rushing—

Without warning, Lawrence let go of Thomas’ back, instead reaching about to grab him by the shoulders and shove him unceremoniously to the floor! 

There was a chair and table behind Thomas- he crashed into it and was spun about, falling to the ground with such a bang that he would be amazed if no one else in the house had heard it. 

He was shaking upon the floor, staring up at Lawrence in horror and shock at the sudden and unexpected abuse. 

What the fuck-?! What the actual fuck?! 

Lawrence was seething, all his polite mannerisms gone to be replaced by cold and obvious rage. Thomas shrank upon the floor, crawling back, hitting the legs of the toppled chair and the back of the table. He suddenly wished he could dive behind it, use it as a shield to protect himself from this bizarre man. What had he done?! What on earth had he done wrong to deserve such violent treatment?! 

Lawrence reached forward, as if to grab Thomas by the wrist and drag him back to his feet. Thomas rolled, losing his straw cloche in the act as he scrambled upon the floor to get back to his feet. He ran around the edge of the room, grabbing a vase and using it as a tempting projectile so that should Lawrence approach he’d get a smash to the face! 

“You stay back from me!” Thomas cried out in warning. 

“You dare to take charge of me, omega?!” Lawrence thundered, hot pink spots upon his cheek and neck, “You forget your place! Beneath me!” 

He stepped around the table, as if making to grab Thomas again. Thomas threw the vase. 

It nearly made its mark; Lawrence ended up grabbing it on the last second so though it hit him it did not shatter. Thomas used the distraction to his advantage, diving for the door to Lawrence’s room. He got there only seconds before Lawrence, and slammed it on him to keep the man from attacking him again. He fumbled with the locks as Lawrence slammed his body against the door trying to get out-! The locks slid into place, resulting in a terrifying clattering as the metal desperately held against Lawrence’s onslaught. 

_“Omega!”_ He thundered through the door, _“I’ll have you for this!”_

 

Thomas didn’t stop to chat. 

He ran for the door to the library, and then back out into the hall. He did not know how long the locks would hold, did not dare wait to find out, and clambered down the stairs so fast he nearly lost one of his shoes. His lungs were burning beneath his corset, but he refused to slow down. As he dashed into the marble hall, he was greeted by Lord and Lady Grantham who were being shown a piece of artwork by the Dowager Countess; Anthea was no where to be seen. All three of them looked around, shocked at Thomas’ reappearance. 

 

“He attacked me!” Thomas shrieked, pointing a finger viciously to the ceiling, “He’s mad! He’s completely mad!” 

He grabbed at his neck where the love token lay. He wrenched it from his neck, throwing it to the floor. “I won’t be saddled with a psychopath!” 

The Dowager Countess was scandalized. Lord Grantham went white. 

“What’s happened?” Lord Grantham demanded. “Why on earth would Lord Gray do such a thing?” 

“Because he’s mad!” Thomas shrieked in response, “I’m leaving! I’ll find my own way back home! Stay if you want but I won’t waste another minute in this mad house!” And with that he ran for the door. 

Lord Grantham ran after him, but he was not fast enough. Thomas was over the threshold, brushing past the first footman Christopher who tried to catch him. He fled down the front steps and onto the grass. 

He did not stop running until he was at the end of the drive, and even then he kept walking. 

He took the train back home alone…. in third class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know any questions or concerns... and if you'd be interested in a pinterest for this story.


	10. Sympathy for the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas loses his patience with Lawrence.  
> Lawrence is delighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **As a trigger warning, this chapter will include dubious consent and emotional abuse. Please be aware if you are triggered that it is included**
> 
>  
> 
> Ooooh I'm a naughty naughty naughty little imp but in my defense I had this planned out from the beginning so it wasn't my fault you all fell for the trick.

_Litigo 12:01: “And it was with a heavy heart that the Supreme Alpha beheld alphas that withheld the truth from their omegas. Not for their innocence but for their flesh, which was desired beyond gold or glory.”_

 

Alright, so maybe he’d been slightly hopeful in regards to Charles Carson’s reaction. Particularly when he’d arrived home alone sans cloche. 

 

“Carson!” Thomas shouted between pounds against the area door. At one point he was beating the wood as relentlessly as a war drum with both hands, “Carson, open the door! He manhandled me! What was I supposed to do?! He shoved me over a chair!” 

But it seemed Carson didn’t care. 

He’d opened the door for Thomas only a minute ago, gotten one good look at him, harrumphed, and slammed the door in Thomas’ face before locking it up again like a safe.

Clearly Lord Grantham had called from Belton House. 

“You absolute—!” But Thomas didn’t finish the sentence too angry to make out the words. Whirling in a show of pink skirts, he surveyed the area yard. The front door was out, the back door would be just as locked- perhaps he could try to get through a window? 

Thomas had taken the train back home to Downton, furious with bruises blooming on his arms and legs, and had walked the rest of the way back to the house. By the time he’d arrived home, it was getting close to dark and his feet had begun to blister in his shoes. He’d desperately wanted food and a bath, but knew he would get neither until he got into the house and explained himself to Carson. 

And look how that had gone. 

Thomas’ answer for a way up came in the form of a few stacked soap crates that were yet to be taken back to the village for refills. Thomas’ eyes glazed over, taking the curve of the crates to the top of one of Mr. Talbot’s broken down cars… to the roof of the area overhang… to the side of the abbey where the window to the library stood. 

That would do the trick. 

Furious at his situation, Thomas had to use every trick in the book just to hike up his skirts, not rip his stockings, keep on both his shoes, and climb atop the soap crates. 

He didn’t understand why Carson wouldn’t open the door! Lord Gray had been absolutely ghastly to him, a really bully, and Thomas was grateful that he’d learnt the truth about the man now before having been stuck in an even deeper arrangement with him. Clearly Carson was more concerned about scandal that he was about Thomas’ safety— or maybe he didn’t even know what had occurred and he was just angry at Thomas for bailing on Lord Grantham. 

Well. The pair of them could shove it, couldn’t they?

Thomas felt like his knees were turning into Christmas pudding as he finally got up on the ledge of the area’s overhang roof. The shingles were slippery from rain that had fallen yesterday evening, slowly growing over with peat moss and wearing thin with age. One wrong step and he was in for a nasty tumble onto the cobblestone below. 

Of course, there was also the fact that Lord Grantham was probably having to dig himself out of a very deep social corner right now, but really who gave a shit? Money didn’t die with popularity, nor did it grow with it. At the end of the day Lord Grantham would still be an Earl and he could still make friends with other families. Gray had admitted it himself that their estates were fine without intervention from other parties. What more socialization did Grantham need? Not everyone was destined to be your friend! 

Step after step, Thomas carefully walked his way across the area roof. Twice he nearly slipped, so that he was suddenly scrambling with his knees locked together lest he fall one way or another. The dress just made him look even more absurd. 

The wind skirted up for a moment, and he had to clap his hands to his lap to keep his dress from lifting up around his chemise. 

“God damnit-“ Thomas spat out, nearly falling on his backside in his desperation to keep his dress down. He shuffled like a crab over to the wall of the abbey, clinging to the rough brick as it bit into his fingers. He looked left, where the windows to the library sat a good three hundred feet away. The tip of the roof hit the abbey, so that instead of walking on a ledge Thomas would now have to walk on the hardest part… the lean. 

He let out a long breath through pursed lips, eyes narrowing at his target. 

“Fucking Carson.” He muttered. If he slipped and fell he was going to cry to Mrs. Hughes for an hour and blame it all on the old codger till she chewed off his ear. 

He took one step, then another—  
He slipped, grabbed at the brick, and pinched his eyes shut until he knew it was safe to open them again. 

He still had a good twenty paces to walk. 

He cursed with each step, watching every shingle lest it be the one to doom him to a fall. 

He took three more steps, then hit a shingle that was loose. 

Thomas gasped, a scream nearly bursting from him as he fell against the roof and slid straight down only to grasp wildly at the gutter-!! 

He clung there, both of his shoes slipping free to fall several feet and clatter to the cobblestones. If Thomas made the same fall he was surely going to break a bone. 

His fingers were beginning to burn with pain from the metal rim of the gutter biting into tender flesh. His whole front was now covered in tracks of mud from where he’d slid down the shingles— god if it had gotten on Lady Edith’s coat he was really in for it. 

For a moment he just hung there in the wind, desperately trying to hike himself back up… but it was a hopeless gesture. Then, he heard a voice from behind. Two of them, actually: 

“Nice night for it.”   
“What on earth?”

Thomas couldn’t really look over his shoulder but he could recognize the voice of Tom Branson and Lady Mary Crawley when they approached him from behind. 

“Get me down.” Thomas begged through clenched teeth. His shoeless feet kicked wildly in mid-air.

“Well since you asked so nicely.” Thomas felt strong arms wrap around his waist, and suddenly his legs were dangling against Tom Branson’s broad chest so that he was sitting (oddly) on the man’s shoulder. He pulled Thomas away from the gutter, and carefully sat him back on firm ground so that Thomas could look around and thank his savior properly. Tom and Lady Mary were in their walking clothes, clearly having been out enjoying a stroll in the evening air. Tiaa was at their feet, on a leather lead clasped in Lady Mary’s gloved hand. Tiaa’s tongue was out, huffing and puffing in the cooling air as she lay on her back and enjoyed the romp. 

Thomas looked down at his dress and coat, only to groan in dismay at the streaks of mud now trekked across the bottom half. He toed back on his shoes, fearful he’d tear a hole in his stockings against the cobblestone….. 

But he already had torn two holes. Right at the knees. 

But hell that wasn’t nearly as awful as the mud! 

“Oh god…” He groaned at the sight, “Lady Edith’s going to be furious.” 

“She has wretched tasted in clothes anyways.” Lady Mary said in that snooty voice of hers. “Really you’re doing her a favor in the long run…. but what happened to your cloche?” 

“And why were you on the roof?” Tom added. 

 

Of course, there was a little more detail than the lack of a cloche to his story. 

Tom had a key to the front door of Downton, and so let him in despite the mud on the front of his dress and the fact that his stockings now had two long holes torn near the knees. Of course, when Lady Mary wanted tea and Thomas begged her not to ring for Carson… questions were asked. 

And then more questions.   
And then more questions. 

Until quite suddenly Thomas had all but spilled the entire days events for Tom and Lady Mary, the three of them clustered around the fireplace of the library to keep warm while the mud dried on Thomas’ dress and coat. He hadn’t realized it at first, but his hands were bleeding a bit from where the metal of the gutter had bit into him. 

“So…” Lady Mary had perched on the edge of one of the library’s grand couches, eyes narrowed in distaste as she rubbed her fingertips together. She’d taken off her gloves, letting them lay beside her on the sofa. “He threw you into a chair?” 

“Sounds mad.” Tom said, his lip curled in disdain. He stood to the side with a glass of whiskey.

“He’s a brute.” Thomas agreed. “Said I was forgetting my place.” 

“Well, technically in the eyes of the an upper class alpha, you were.” There was no bite in Lady Mary’s voice, as she relaxed a bit against the couch to ponder Thomas’ dilemma. “Alphas generally lead any type of interaction, particularly with lower class omegas, but that’s hardly a reason to toss someone about like a coat.” 

Thomas rubbed at the bruises forming on his arms. He wondered how dark they would get before the end of it. 

“If Mr. Matthew had ever done something… untoward… would you have commanded him about like that? Or what about Lady Sybil?” Thomas gestured to the pair of them. 

“Sybil and I never had interactions like that.” Tom sounded affronted at the mere concept. “She never needed to fear stepping out of bounds. Her heart and mine were one.” 

“I quite agree.” Lady Mary said, a small smile playing at her thin lips painted dark with lipstick, “Matthew and I understood one another just the same. Violence was never a part of our relationship. There were times when he and I disagreed, but I never felt the need to protest as an alpha.” 

“Well I can’t be with that man.” Thomas snapped, “Not if he’s going to treat me so horribly at the drop of a pin.” 

“Did you say anything to the positive about his house?” Tom asked at once. “Anything that might have been misconstrued as acceptance.” 

Thomas thought back, but it was difficult to remember. He’d been quite unsure about going into Lawrence’s bedroom. 

That was to say, the boudoir had been lovely but really… that didn’t mean that Thomas had approved of the whole house. 

“No, I don’t think so.” Thomas said, shaking his head, “He tried to get me to say things though.” 

“So when did this whole… chair shoving incident begin?” Lady Mary illustrated the word with a flourish of the hand. 

“Well, he took me into a room that he claimed was my bedroom.” Thomas said, “And-“ 

“You mean to say, your lodgings were to be separate?” Lady Mary’s fine brow crinkled. She shared a look of disbelief with Tom, which was difficult to translate. 

“Yes, M’lady.” 

The pair of them seemed disturbed. 

“Is that unusual M’lady?” he asked. 

“…Yes.” Lady Mary finally said. “Very unusual. Mated pairs stay together, especially in the youth of their relationship. I’ve never heard of an omega and alpha sleeping in separate quarters.” 

“It’s odd.” Tom agreed. 

“He’s odd.” Thomas muttered, “Everything was fine-!” He added angrily, for the whole abusive episode had come so quickly out of left field that Thomas was still having difficulty piecing together what had happened. Why had Lawrence reacted so angrily? 

“Walk us through what happened.” Tom said, “Step by step. Like you were telling a story.” 

“Well…” Thomas raked a hand through his hair, his heart rate picking up with nerves. “We were in my supposed bedroom and he was kissing me.” Thomas flushed; it was rare that he spoke about romantic exploits with anyone, “And he wouldn’t tell me anything about himself! I felt like he was a stranger to me, and I didn’t want to kiss a stranger. So the more he kissed me the more I made him say. But he wasn’t telling me anything of substance! He just said his age, and that he’d gone to Oxford. I need to know more than that! So… it got a little out of control.” 

“How so?” Lady Mary asked. 

“I…” Thomas groaned, wishing he could just wake up from this nightmare. 

“I touched him. And he… threw me into a chair.” 

“How did you touch him?” Lady Mary asked. 

It was getting dark outside. Stars were beginning to show. Thomas had to wonder when Lord and Lady Grantham would return, and what they would do when they found him again. Would they be furious? Would they throw him out? Where would he go and how would he live? The future was becoming more muddled by the day. 

Thomas slowly gestured with his head and hands, both drifting downward. Lady Mary didn’t seem to understand, and waited in silence for him to illustrate more. 

So he gestured to his lap, more or less, though his hands did not stay there long. 

“…Oh Thomas.” It seemed Lady Mary had finally caught on. She was disturbed, a hand coming up to her throat as her eyes widened with worry. 

“I’m going to let my adult imagination do the conjuring for me.” Tom was just as disturbed as Lady Mary, “Christ, Thomas, you can’t touch an alpha like that! No wonder he threw you into a chair, he was probably trying to protect you-!” 

“Excuse me?!” Thomas was thunderstruck. He couldn’t believe such words were coming from Tom Branson, an alpha who’d always taken pride in his staunch stance of omega rights. 

“I only mean to say-“ Tom fumbled over his words, embarrassed, “That came out wrong— what I meant was that it’s incredibly dangerous to touch an alpha in that way. It’s difficult for alphas to control themselves when they’re being encouraged by an omega that they’re courting. He was probably trying to save you your dignity—“ 

But every word Tom uttered was just making Thomas madder. 

“My dignity?!” Thomas spat, cheeks flushed bright pink with anger, “He tossed me into a chair! He shook me like a rag doll! There was no dignity in what he did! He assaulted me!” 

“I know it sounds horribly barbaric,” Lady Mary rose off the couch in an attempt to make peace between the two men, “And I agree, he went overboard and acted out of turn, but consider this instead: what if he hadn’t pushed you off? What do you imagine would have happened, then?” 

It was Thomas’ deep respect of Lady Mary that allowed him to think clearly in that moment, letting her words play over in his mind. Had Lawrence not pushed him off he might have… well… it was difficult to say. Maybe kiss Thomas harder? Maybe even touch him back? 

The thought made a hot flush go through his stomach and nether regions. 

“I suppose he would have kissed me?” Thomas muttered, “Something of the like-“ 

But Lady Mary just shook her head, “I fear he might have dared to take you to bed.” She said. “The laws of consent are so feeble against omegan rights, that he might have taken your touch for consent and had his way with you. He might have even dared to mark you-“ 

Thomas’ hand jumped up to his neck, where Lawrence had sucked a love bite into his skin. Had that been his way of marking Thomas? 

Icy fear suddenly flooded him over, so that all of the flush fled from his cheeks and left his skin to be a pasty pale white. He was practically the color of chalk. 

“Why are you holding your neck?” Tom snapped, a sudden edge of obvious fear to his voice, “Did he mark you?” 

“I—“ Thomas stuttered, “It’s— I don’t think—?” 

Tom seemed just as afraid as he. He sat down his glass of unfinished whiskey on the sideboard. 

“Take off your coat!” He demanded at once. 

“Why?!” Thomas clutched his coat even tighter to his chest. If Lawrence had actually marked him then Thomas was determined to hide the bite forever, to take a brand to his skin and burn the wretched bruise off his body so that none would ever know-! 

“If he marked you you’re as good as his!” Tom reached forward, grabbing at the lapels of Edith’s dirtied coat to try and pull it back from Thomas’ shoulders. “Take it off!” 

“Tom! Stop it!” Thomas yanked away from Tom’s itching fingers, frightened of the man’s bizarre paranoia. “You’re scaring me!” 

“I’m not trying to scare you Thomas!” Tom begged, “I care about you! If he marked you, I won’t be able to protect you- none of us will!” 

“It’s just a love bruise!” Thomas begged, “Nothing else, he didn’t bite!” 

“Show me!” Tom was sweating now, “For god’s sake show me.” 

 

“Yes, do show us all.” 

 

A cold sense of knowing flooded him over. Thomas looked around, and was greeted by the sight of Lord and Lady Grantham in the doorway to the library, flanked by Carson and Mrs. Hughes. The four of them were deeply disappointed, with Mrs. Hughes holding Lord and Lady Grantham’s coats while Mr. Carson held Lord Grantham’s top hat and cane. Lord Grantham seemed exhausted; Lady Grantham, bitter. 

But Thomas refused to be cajoled into guilt. He was the victim. He and no other. 

“A man of good character, was he?” Thomas demanded angrily. 

“Distinctly.” Was Lord Grantham’s cold answer. 

“Well that man of good character assaulted me!” Thomas pointed a finger to his chest, “He threw me into a chair! He tried to have his way with me! Do you want to explain that to me, M’lord?” And the way he said the title left no room for pleasantries. 

“Oh I assure you, Lord Gray was more than happy to explain himself after we let him out of your little trap!” 

Oh, was that what they were calling it now? A trap? 

“You touched him without permission in a way that no omega should ever touch an alpha!” Lord Grantham accused. 

“He touched me first!” Thomas protested. He felt a bit like a child being accused of foul play. 

“An omega must never initiate an intimate moment with an alpha!” Lord Grantham swept his hand angrily through the air, “It is a sacred law of the rod! Sacred!” 

Thomas scoffed. What did he care for sacred? When had sacred ever applied to his life? Ever given him refuge? 

“Did you forget that we were downstairs?” Lord Grantham carried on, “Did you forget that you hadn’t been marked? That you were as virginal and demure to him as an untouched ray of heavenly light-“ 

“Oh save your poetics!” Thomas cried out. Untouched ray of heavenly light, what ridiculous blabber, “There was no reason for him to touch me in such a way! To throw me about! I don’t care about sacred, and I don’t care about the rod! Neither make a gentleman, or break him! He showed his true colors today whether or not you want to acknowledge it!” 

“And what true color did you show him?” Lord Grantham spat, “But that of a slut!” 

The word reverberated around the room, bouncing off the books and echoing in the fireplace. It seemed to scar the stone.

Ugly burning rage began to claw up inside of Thomas, swelling in his chest and making him think of a thousand spiteful words he could throw in Robert Crawley’s aging face. 

It must have showed. Lord Grantham was reproachful, eyes downcast as he tried to amend the damage. 

“I apologize-“ Lord Grantham murmured, “That was… untoward of me. I merely meant to say that—“ 

“I know what you meant to say.” Thomas snapped, “You just said it. Don’t try and muddle the facts. You think I’m a slut and I got what I deserved.” 

Lord Grantham seemed more gray than before. More exhausted, more old… 

“That is not what he thinks,” Lady Grantham spoke up. Ever the dutiful omega, she protected her alpha in the face of shame, “He’s merely speaking out of anger. You embarrassed both of us in front of a very old and very well respected family today. We had to apologize for hours, and I don’t think it will be enough. You could have set us back socially-“ 

“I don’t care.” Thomas repeated, “I’m sorry, M’lady, but I just don’t care! Nothing is worth being trapped with an abuser.” 

“He’s not an abuser.” Lord Grantham lamented, “He acted out of a desperation to protect you, he was going to have his way with you but he managed to reel himself in and—“ 

“And toss me over a chair.” Thomas growled. 

“Would you rather he have mated with you?!” Lord Grantham’s anger popped. Thomas flinched at the shout. “Because that was the option you left him with! He wants you. He will be coming back to take what is his—“ 

“How unfortunate for him.” Thomas sneered, “I’ll never be his.” 

“…Show us your neck.” Tom spoke up again. So it seemed they were back to the original argument. 

Eager to get it over with, proud of his actions, Thomas gently unbelted Edith’s ruined pink coat and showed his neck. 

Lady Mary winced audibly, distressed at the darkened love bite upon Thomas’ flesh. Lord Grantham swallowed, his skin taking a distressingly clammy texture. Carson was scandalized; Mrs. Hughes, ashamed.

“Thomas, that is a clear direction of Gray’s intentions.” Lord Grantham warned. “I fear that no amount of resistance will be able to save you from him now. He will expect your compliance…. He’s coming to the abbey tomorrow to speak with you. I’ve no doubt for what he will say.” 

“I won’t see him.” Thomas declared, a spark of fear hammering at his heart again, “I’ll be damned before he ever has me again. I don’t care if it ruins reputations or squanders fortunes. I’ll claw away from him even if means I have to scratch my own flesh.” 

He drew himself up with a haughty sniff, “Now, if you’ll excuse me… I have a coat to clean… and a dress.” He added. 

He turned, and walked from the library leaving the family silent in his wake. Some were depressed, some were angered, some were afraid, but each were filled with dread for Thomas and the day that would surely dawn tomorrow. Whatever it would bring, even the notorious wrath of Thomas Barrow would not be enough to stop it. 

 

~*~

The next day was calm and cool, at least where the weather was concerned. Clouds kept back the sun, and a wind picked up every so often blowing dried leaves across the great grounds of Downton Abbey. Inside, a heat was palpable, pushing through every room as fires were lit and life carried on. 

Maids drug about linens to be laundered, Andy kept watch at the front door, Carson brought tea to the family, and Thomas had been given the day off by Mrs. Hughes. He spent it carefully doctoring Lady Edith’s coat and dress, both of which came free of mud when he scrubbed them with lye. The problem lay in his stockings, which had been ripped so many times that they simply couldn’t be salvaged anymore. He’d have to get new stockings… as if his savings hadn’t taken enough of a pounding lately. 

He went out to the village around noon, and bought new stockings along with a scented salt that could be used in a hot bath. His muscles ached from stress, and Thomas decided that as soon as he returned to the abbey he would take a bath with his new prize. Mrs. Hughes would certainly be obliging. She was walking around eggshells when it came to his reactions, nervous of invoking his anger after last night. He hadn’t come down for breakfast, feeling his appetite dry up at the thought of enduring even a moment under Carson’s ugly gaze. He got a bite to eat in the village instead, wolfing down a roast beef sandwich and earl gray tea. It was appealing, to eat in the back corner of a tea shop and not be bothered, but the good times couldn’t last. He caught a hay wagon back into the countryside, riding on its foot ledge along with a farm hand and a sheepdog till Downton Abbey loomed back into sight. 

He grimaced at the sight of the Chrysler Imperial waiting at the front stoop. 

 

Determined not to run into Gray, Thomas took the back entrance in the servant’s area. He was let in by Mrs. Hughes, who looked grim and gray faced. There was an odd hush in the downstairs that made Thomas’ stomach feel uneasy. He had a feeling Lord Grantham was probably trying to drive Gray off, no doubt keeping the man penned in the library until he lost interest. One thing was for certain: Thomas wasn’t budging a god damned inch. 

Particularly for Gray. 

Up the stairs Thomas went, stockings and salts in hand. At this time in the afternoon, the attics were deserted. There were no more full time maids, so no one had to change from day dresses to black and whites. 

Able to finally relax, Thomas sequestered himself in the omega lavatory and ran a hot bath. Communal bathrobes were kept on a string of hooks by the door, and Thomas made good use of them as he stripped free of his navy blue day dress to dip into the hot water. Aided by bath salts, he was fully able to relax with his eyes closed, taking in long deep breaths through his nose. It was easy to breath with his corset now, but it still hurt when he took it off. There were slight red stripes on Thomas’ waist and hips, showing where the bones of the corset cut into his tender skin. He rubbed the salts on his skin, sighing at the slight stinging sensation that gave way to a warm soothing feeling. 

He lay there till the water grew cold and his skin pruned, almost falling asleep in the bath. Still, the unpleasantness of laying in cold water gave out over the feeling of contentment, so Thomas rose up dripping wet to dry off and throw on a pink house coat. He now smelt pleasantly of citrus and grapefruit, curtesy of the smelling salts. It was as if his body had been invigorated. He drained the bath tub, collected his garments from the clothes horse and headed back across the hall to his room. 

 

A soft pleasant light filled his chambers, curtesy of the skylights above his bed which were filtered by clouds and a slowly setting sun. He shut the door, using his slightly damp towel to dry off his hair. It was down almost to his shoulders now, rather ridiculous but clearly the fashion for omega males. He deposited his clothes onto his bed in a ridiculous jumble, not even bothering to set it right as he let his shoes fall to the floor and took a seat at his bureau. 

If only he could just cut his hair; give it a slight trim around the ears and the back of his neck… inspired Thomas fished through one of his vanity drawers to pull out a small pair of scissors. Technically they were to be used on fine fabrics, but human hair wouldn’t harm them. 

He combed through his locks, closing his eyes at the tugging sensation upon his scalp. When his hair had been carefully parted down the center, he opened his eyes and brought up his scissors to begin snipping at his hair. 

Of course, this meant that he had to lean upon his vanity stool and turn his head carefully in the mirror to get a better look at his ears. 

Which meant that he had to adjust the mirror. 

Which meant that he finally got wind of someone else in his bedroom. 

“Don’t cut your hair.” Lawrence Gray said. 

 

 

Thomas screamed at the top of his lungs, scissors dropping to his vanity as he sprung from his stool and barricaded himself in the corner of his room! Lawrence Gray, through methods best left to the imagination, had somehow made his way up to Thomas’ bedroom and had kept himself hidden in the corner until Thomas had arrived back from the bath. Alright— maybe the man hadn’t known Thomas was going to take a bath, but by god if he hadn’t announced his presence as soon as Thomas had walked through the door! The scandal, the nerve— the outrageous lack of privacy! 

But there was Lawrence either way, advancing on him from the corner of the room like a peregrine falcon swooping down on its pray. Thomas just kept screaming, frightened to death of being assaulted or worse as he tried to run for the door, only to get cut off as Lawrence slammed a hand against the wall. Thomas wilted against the wall, all sorts of horrified noises streaming from his mouth as Lawrence began to make hurried shushing noises trying to press his hands against Thomas’ mouth. Lawrence looked fevered, in a red vest with a hot flush on his high cheeks. 

“Shh!” He hissed, “Sh.” He touched Thomas’ lips. 

But Thomas would not ‘shh’. Not by any measure of the word. 

“What are you doing?!” He demanded, furious, “Get out of here!” He pointed angrily to his door, “Get out! You can’t be in my room! You-!” 

But even as Thomas raised a hand in defiance, Lawrence got there first. He grabbed Thomas tight by the nape of the neck, in a move that first resembled something like choking but ended up being closer to a very tense massage. Lawrence pressed him hard against the wall, his forehead bearing down onto Thomas’ own so that he was practically squashed. The smell of port overtook his cramped attic bedroom. 

“Shh…” Lawrence’s breath was hot on his skin. It smelt of tea. 

“How… how did you…” Thomas was finding it hard to make complete sentences. He felt like he was punch drunk, swimming in a vat of port, “How…” 

“Shh.” Lawrence placed the tiniest kiss upon Thomas’ forehead. 

For a moment the pair of them were absolutely silent. 

Lawrence seemed just as frightened as he. His breath was shaky upon Thomas’ skin, slightly elevated as if incredibly tense. He brushed his hands through Thomas’ slightly damp hair, the smell of port wrapping around them till Thomas was almost swaddled in it. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he ought to be fighting. That he ought to be furious… but… somehow he couldn’t summon the nerve. He felt oddly complacent. Calm. 

“Little peach.” Lawrence whispered against his skin, “You frightened me so-“ 

“Frightened you?” Thomas slurred, as if drunk, “You shoved me over a chair, you bruised me, you… were… violent-“ 

“Darling,” Lawrence grabbed Thomas’ face with both hands to force his gaze upwards. “You must believe me I never meant to hurt you! Ever, I swear it!” He even kissed Thomas on the lips, “I only meant to keep you safe, it was a complete accident! I forgot the chair was behind you- I only wanted you to be kept pure for me- I meant to tell you straight away but you locked me out and ran from the house…” He dropped his hands down to Thomas’ forearms which were still peppered with bruises. He rolled up the sleeves of Thomas’ housecoat, bringing up Thomas’ hands so that he could kiss at the brown bruises now dotting his arms. 

“Darling, I never ever meant to frighten you.” 

“You hurt me.” Thomas could have sworn he hadn’t touched a drop today but jeez… was it hot in here? “You… yelled at me. You said I was beneath you-“ 

“Thomas, you cannot touch me in such a way.” Lawrence whispered, slightly reprimanding but certainly not sharp, “It is incredible dangerous.” 

Thomas tried to think it over. Tried to imagine that Lawrence was just being a shit and not telling a truth. But… but he just couldn’t… 

He closed his eyes, feeling Lawrence’s lips upon his forehead.   
They were soft and hot. 

“You scared me.” He finally managed to say. 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Thomas couldn’t tell if Lawrence was contrite or not, “That was never my intention. I swear it.” 

“Then what was your intention.” 

“To regain control over myself, little peach.” Lawrence, rubbed his upper arms gently, “I wanted you desperately darling… I was… aroused by you.” He said the word like it would cause the greatest scandal. 

_Aroused_ , what a joke… he’d been so hard he could have used his cock to beat a moose to death. 

“I know it was ungentlemanly. I beg your forgiveness, on my knees even.” And with that he dropped to his knees like a proper little thespian. It seemed slightly ridiculous. “I crave your indulgence to my crudeness. Know only that I did it to preserve your omegan naivety and innocence—“ Thomas was half tempted to tell him he’d owned a dildo, “Thomas Barrow… I beg you flat out. Be my mate. Be mine. Come away with me today.” 

“I…” come away where? “I just… I don’t know— I—“ 

He jerked away, suddenly feeling a cold chill overtake him. 

Say perhaps this was all part of Lawrence’s scheme? To get him on his own, to beg him till he caved? To use that ridiculous port stench to muddle his senses? 

But… it just didn’t seem quite right. Lawrence looked pitiful on his knees, desperate with shining eyes and trembling lips. Was this man really a con-artist? An abuser? Or was he just… spoiled? Unable to understand the word ‘no’ even when it was flung relentlessly in his face. 

“I don’t know who you are-“ Thomas wrapped his housecoat a little tighter around himself. It didn’t help he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “I don’t know if I like you. You’re… weirdly alluring, I’ll admit it but you’re also terrifying and I think you’re spoilt rotten too.” 

“I confess, I am.” Lawrence crawled across the floor on his knees, taking Thomas’ hand in his own again. “I know my faults Thomas, I’m well aware, but I know yours too and I think even there we make a good match. I’m spoilt, you’re bull headed…. surely we can make a truce?” He sounded quite pathetic. 

“I have a hard time imagining his Lordship throwing Lady Grantham about.” Thomas said, “Or Mr. Carson with Mrs. Hughes…” 

Lawrence rose up from his knees, dusting his trouser legs off. He didn’t make to reprimand Thomas or yell at him, instead he challenged him on a very practical level, “You mean to tell me that in all the years you’ve worked here, Lord Grantham or Carson has never behaved in an ungentlemanly manor?” 

Well that was a short straw if he ever heard it. Lord Grantham could shout the roof down and he’d punched a man in the ribs for daring to take Lady Grantham out to art exhibits. He’d been a bully with Sybil, demanding that she cater to the idea of an honest omegan stereotype (that hadn’t worked out). Carson had been even worse, always demanding Mrs. Hughes do something or the other and never complementing her. For gods sake, she’d cooked her heart out making him sweet little meals and all he’d done was demand where certain sauces were. The idiot. 

“Mm.” Lawrence took his silence for confirmation, “Thought so.” 

He moved about Thomas’ room, curious at the fixtures upon his bureau and bedside tables. When he got to Thomas’ wardrobe, he even opened the door to look at the few dresses that he had inside. 

He pulled out his mint green dress, grimacing at the frills, “It doesn’t suit you.” 

“Do you have any sense of personal space?” Thomas demanded. Lawrence gave him a sly smile, closing the wardrobe door again to lean against its frame. 

“When it comes to you?” He put his hands in his pockets, “The omega I desire body and soul with every fiber of my sinful being?” He shrugged, “No.” 

 

Thomas stared at Lawrence, everything from his pleasant smile to his relaxed posture against the wardrobe. This was a far cry from the man who’d been throwing him about the room just twenty four hours ago. Why was he acting so differently now? Was it the change in scenery? Had the expectation for the moment worked him up into a tizzy? It was difficult to say. 

“…You want me to be your mate?” Thomas asked, pointing to himself. 

“Oh yes.” Lawrence nodded solemnly. Shouldn’t there be more passion in these things? More… romance? But then again the last time Lawrence had gotten passionate Thomas had gotten thrown over a chair. 

“To be your… omega… to …” But that only lead him to awful thoughts of pregnancy, of vile creatures crawling in his belly, ripping him in two. He shuddered. 

Lawrence walked over, and gently touched Thomas beneath his chin. “Shh.” He murmured, touching Thomas’ lips again, “We don’t have to talk about all that until you’re ready. I know now that it frightened you before.” 

Thomas tried to take control of the situation, anything to pull back from the topic of pregnancy.

“If you want me… you’ll… you’ll have to earn me.” Thomas warned. 

Lawrence snorted, grinning from ear to ear as he stepped behind Thomas to wrap an arm ever so gently around his chest. He pulled Thomas, his front to Thomas’ back, his warm breath tickling behind Thomas’ ear. 

“And how shall I do that, hmm?” He carefully placed a kiss upon Thomas’ neck. “A gift or two? A bit of affection?” As if in a show of what was to come, he used his other hand to gently trail a path up and down Thomas’ side. “How shall I please my pretty pretty peach? Hmm?” 

Thomas gave a snooty sniff, determined not to be overruled by a bit of flattery. 

“You’ll tell me who you are.” Thomas warned, “And you’ll be specific, and I’ll decided if I want you. Not the other way around.” 

Lawrence laughed softly in his ear. “Oh he’s so persnickety.” He murmured, “Listen to how he grumbles, but does he squirm?” 

He reached down, a hand beginning to grope at Thomas’ behind. 

Thomas squirmed to get away from his groping hands. “Stop it.” He snapped, brushing Lawrence’s hands off. 

“Well, think of your questions and I’ll answer them.” 

“Well—“ He shoved Lawrence off, turning around in his hold so that they were face to face. He relaxed against the wall, clutching his housecoat tight to his throat, “What do you do?” He demanded, “Besides lording about the place like you’re king.” he added with an eye roll. 

Lawrence just laughed again, relaxing against the wall as well so that they mocked poses side by side.

“I run several architecture firms.” Lawrence said, “We do restorations, renovations… the works.” 

“And where are you from?” Thomas asked. 

“Silly peach, I was born in Belton.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes again. “And where did you go to school?” 

“Oxford, or don’t you remember from yesterday?” 

Thomas remembered a lot of things from yesterday, but he had Lawrence on a roll so best not to stop him now. “What was your major?” Thomas asked. 

“Business.” Lawrence said, “It’s only proper for a man of my status to know his way around a firm.” 

“So what do you do when you’re not… prowling about your business or your Belton.”

Lawrence shrugged, unfazed, “I ride. I hunt. I fish. I tend not to socialize. I can’t stand the pomp and circumstance.” 

“Your favorite book?” 

“I don’t have one at the moment.” Lawrence said. 

“Do you like Jazz?” 

“God no. Classical.” 

“Well I like Jazz.” Thomas grumbled, as if Lawrence thought liking Jazz was an insult, “A lot.” 

Lawrence smiled, reaching out to take Thomas in his arms again. Thomas felt quite unsure about it but had to go along anyways, suddenly pressed chest to chest with Lawrence as he kissed Thomas face and neck. 

“We won’t have any of that nonsense in our house.” 

“I-“ He pressed his hands against Lawrence’s chest to gain some distance, but Lawrence just chased him with kisses. “Let me go-“ 

“Shh now-“ The smell of port was starting to overrule him again, but Thomas could barely move against Lawrence’s chest. He was disturbed. 

“Lawrence-“ He was grabbing at Thomas’ shoulders too hard. His grip was beginning to hurt, “You’re hurting me, please-!” 

“Shh…” He smothered Thomas’ mouth with a kiss, pressing him up against the wall to nuzzle him at the neck right over where he’d placed the love bite yesterday. “You get so frightened when I mention our house. Our bed. Our love. And why is that my sweet little omega?” He rubbed his nose against Thomas’ cheek, speaking into his ear, “I think you’re nervous. I think you’re afraid of our mating. Of being mine.” 

Thomas shuddered, closing his eyes.   
Was it true? 

“I think you desperately want it but you don’t know how to voice it without giving into that fear.” He sucked at the skin of Thomas’ neck. Thomas swallowed around a knot in his throat, “Sweet, sweet omega. Divine Thomas. Don’t be afraid. I won’t be ungentlemanly or cruel.” 

But Thomas just couldn’t imagine it any other way. Maybe the naughty pictures he’d once owned had been pretty and sweet with orgasmic ruts, but an actual mating? With an actual alpha? It just seemed like something out of a damn horror story. A true Nosferatu. 

He shook his head, but Lawrence just kissed him on his temple again. “Come with me.” Lawrence whispered, “Come with me to Belton. Be with me always.” 

“If… If I…. If I decided that…” He couldn’t speak in full sentences, “If I decided that I didn’t— that we shouldn’t— could I come home?” 

“Sweetheart,” Lawrence tutted, rubbing his cheeks with loving fingers, “I promise you that you’d never feel that way.” 

“But if I did.” He just had to know. 

“If you did, I’d eat my own hat.” 

“But if I did!” Why wouldn’t Lawrence just say? 

He seemed to realize Thomas had grown panicked. “If you felt that way, we’d have a nice long chat about it.” Lawrence’s hands dropped back to his shoulders, which he stroked lovingly with broad thumbs, “And we’d decide what to do about it. We’d be sensible.” 

But what did that mean? What did sensible equate to in the end? 

“But could I go home?” Thomas begged, looking deep into Lawrence’s dark eyes to see what soul lay there. He found a man who seemed politely puzzled, pleasant, calm… not an abuser. Just a spoiled rich boy that liked to have his way. 

“…Love…” Lawrence whispered, “Belton would be your home.” He kissed Thomas’ forehead in a seal of ending. 

“Could I…” He was growing emotional now, frightened of the future, “Could I come back and visit? Could I be with my family on the holidays-?” 

“Of course! Of coursed darling!” Lawrence even laughed at the absurdity of it all, “You could always visit, anytime you wanted.” 

“And… and if in the end it’s better that we part?” He swallowed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I promise you, Thomas, you’ll see.” Lawrence brought his hands up to Thomas’ cheeks again, rubbing them carefully. “You’ll be very happy with me.” 

That wasn’t the answer he wanted, but he wondered what other answer Lawrence was liable to give? 

“…I…” He looked down at the floor, pondering on what to say. “I…” 

Lawrence kept kissing his cheeks, “Just give me a chance, sweetheart. Give me a chance to make you happy and I promise you… you will never regret it.” 

But regret had haunted Thomas like a plague all his life and he doubted that it was going to stop now just because a rich boy liked to think so. He tried to pull free, wanting to get away from the stench of port. 

“I need some air.” He said, but Lawrence jerked him back to his chest hard. 

“No, you need to give me an answer now.” Lawrence’s eyes were boring into his own. He was close to losing his patience with Thomas, “No more running away. No more hiding.” 

Thomas could feel his erection, could feel the heat building between Lawrence’s legs. It frightened him to know that he was the source of Lawrence’s arousal. “Give me my answer, Thomas.” 

“Answer to what?” He kept trying to pull back, to breath anything that wasn’t port. 

“My proposal.” 

“But what’s your proposal.” 

“To be my mate. To be my omega.” 

“But… but… what does that mean?” Christ he was just playing for time now. 

“To stay with me, live with me, adore me, do everything I say-“ Lawrence kissed Thomas on the cheek with each phrase he uttered, “If only that I might be your slave in return.” 

“And if I say no?” He dared. 

Lawrence sucked feverishly at his neck, “Are you thinking of saying no? Hmm?” 

“Maybe.” And it wasn’t a half-truth. But Lawrence just laughed so Thomas added, “If I said no would you kill me?” 

“You’re not going to say no.” Lawrence murmured in his ear. 

“How d’you figure that?” 

“Because if you were going to say no, you’d have done so long long ago.” He nibbled at Thomas’ earlobe, teasing the skin with his tongue and teeth. The sound was obscenely loud in Thomas’ ear. “God I’m drunk on you.” 

“I know the feeling.” Thomas said, for whenever Lawrence came around he felt bizarrely intoxicated. 

“Say it.” Lawrence breathed hotly in his ear, going back and forth between sucking at his neck and his earlobe, “Say you’re mine.” 

“You’re frightening.” He said. 

“And you’re demanding!” Lawrence pulled back, a feverish if excited gleam in his dark eyes. He beamed at Thomas, full of whimsical ideas, “Let’s frighten and demand one another till we’re old and gray. Don’t make me take up with one of those demure little things? Those little flowers that whimper and whine for affection? Don’t make me crawl for one of those sots.” 

“Oh please,” Thomas rolled his eyes. The idea of Lawrence having to woo an actual debutant omega was laughable, “You’d run out of patience.” 

Lawrence threw his head back and laughed gayly. When he dove back in, he did so with his hands full of Thomas’ arse which he kneaded with great pleasure. He kissed Thomas hard on the neck, beginning to suck at the skin again. Unsure of what else to do, Thomas hung on by Lawrence’s shoulders, mute with shock as Lawrence’s groping fingers dove ever dangerously towards his cleft. He was squeezing Thomas’ buttocks so hard it was making his flesh tingle. 

“I could fucking kill Alden MacNaire.” Lawrence growled, “I heard he touched you… Did he?” He pulled back up to glare at Thomas. His pupils were dilated with lust. “Did he fucking touch you?” 

Thomas would not lie, “Yes.” 

Lawrence barred his teeth, furious. “I’m going to rip his throat out.” He spat. 

“Do it.” Thomas tempted him, “Do it in front of me… I want to watch.” 

Lawrence’s foul little glare slipped way to be replaced by a sweet smirk. He seemed delighted, entranced, in a genuine way that Thomas had never known before. “Dangerous little peach.” 

His hands slipped from Thomas’ arse, going around to the front where the tie of his housecoat kept his folds closed. He began to tug at the strands, trying to get them loose. 

“Wait-“ Thomas protested. Wasn’t this exactly what Lawrence had been trying to stop yesterday? 

“No.” Lawrence was incensed; Thomas battled with his grip, desperate to keep the house robe closed. 

“Lawrence, don’t-!” 

“Don’t deny me now.” He begged in a whine. 

“Lawrence, STOP!” Thomas shouted right in the man’s ear. The pitch in volume shocked Lawrence temporarily, and Thomas jerked free, shielding himself with both hands to keep his house coat absolutely closed. For one second, Lawrence was simply stunned. 

Then, he flushed, and surged forward again, pressing Thomas hard into the wall. 

“Give me your answer.” Lawrence demanded. “Now.” 

“Get your hands off me, you bastard!” Thomas snapped, struggling to get free of Lawrence’s oppressive hold. Christ, he was completely nuts. 

“Make me!” Lawrence was just grinning with that bizarre enthusiasm again. “Go on. Hit me.” 

Thomas glared at him, then reared back his hand and slapped Lawrence hard across the face. The burn as flesh met flesh soothed the anger in his soul but only a little bit. Lawrence just beamed. “Do it again.” He commanded. 

So Thomas slapped him harder. 

Instead of being put off, Lawrence just surged forward and kissed Thomas hard on the lips. They struggled for a moment, each trying to take control. When Thomas realized he was losing, he went for a low blow and bit hard at Lawrence’s protruding lower lip. The man hissed, jerking back to get away from Thomas’ teeth. 

There was blood on his swollen bottom lip. He grinned, tongue darting out to taste it. 

“…Answer me.” Lawrence growled, “Now, or I’ll give you a taste of my own hand.” 

“Do it.” Thomas spat, unafraid. “Hit me, I dare—“ But he didn’t get another word out as Lawrence reared back and slapped him hard across the face. 

The pain was blinding, burning at Thomas’ sensitive skin. After the salts and the bath, his flesh was even more tender than usual. 

Furious, Thomas let out a little shriek and came at Lawrence with fists flying, using one to smack Lawrence hard in the nose. Instead of being angered, Lawrence just let out a triumphant laugh, grabbed Thomas hard around the waist, and swung him onto the bed where the pair of them lay struggling against one another amid Thomas’ disrobed clothes. 

“You feel that fire in your blood darling?!” Lawrence demanded, “Feel it?! Isn’t it wild? God, it’s like cocaine.” 

“I bet you’d go in for that, you nutter!” Thomas spat, furious. 

“Oh I have a solid addiction I can assure you.” Lawrence was heavy atop him, pinning him to the thin mattress beneath him. Thomas tried to get free, but Lawrence just held him down, “Shh. Don’t struggle darling. Just give in! Give in-“ And there was the smell of port again as Lawrence began to kiss Thomas feverishly upon the neck. When he found his love bite, he sucked at it hard till the skin began to sting again. 

“No!” Thomas bit out, thrashing beneath Lawrence. His erection was pressing down against Thomas’ own flaccid penis. 

“Give in.” Lawrence growled against his skin. 

“Mmmmm-“ The feeling was maddening, he was close to screaming at the sensations burning across his brain. 

“Give… in…” Lawrence licked at his throat obscenely. His saliva was hot and slick, the smell of port was being caught in Thomas’ mouth, like he was gulping in wine. 

Fuck it. 

Fuck it all to hell. 

Thomas rolled, pinning Lawrence beneath him. His housecoat barely gave him dignity, but he didn’t care. He was past the point of logical thinking. He’d gotten to the end of his stubbornness and found only a man sick and tired of being gambled for ‘omega naivety’ points. 

“I’ll say I’m yours. On one condition.” Thomas growled, a finger in Lawrence’s face.

“Name it.” Lawrence beamed, eyes gleaming like a madman with his black hair in his face and his eyes dilated. 

“…If you turn out to be a bastard… I’ll destroy you.” And Thomas meant it in a solemn oath. “Peg by peg, I’ll take you down. Until you’re nothing. Until you’re dead.” 

But instead of being angry at Thomas’ threat, Lawrence just sat up and grabbed at his cheeks with bizarre bride, “Oh is that a proposal if I’ve ever heard one! Have me, darling! Have me or hate me, I’m yours till the day I die!” 

“Fine-“ Thomas couldn’t believe the insanity of this man. “Fine, I bloody accept your stupid proposal you insane bastard.” 

Lawrence let out the most undignified noise Thomas had ever heard. Something like a squeak you might get from a child on Christmas morning. He surged forward, kissing Thomas hard on the mouth, and suddenly he was pulling Thomas tight into his lap as their passions finally collided. It was a messy, wild affair with hair being clutched and saliva trailing over the edges of lips. When they finally broke away for desperate huffs of air, Lawrence was still beaming and Thomas was still irritated. 

“Make me whole again, my darling.” Lawrence whispered, kissing him chastely on the mouth with swollen lips. 

“You don’t even know me.” Thomas growled, unamused. 

“But god…. am I eager to.” 

 

 

It felt completely insane, but Thomas couldn’t turn back now. With Lord Grantham’s ugly words still ringing in his ears from last night, and the promise of freedom from Downton, Thomas packed his valise feverishly shoving in his personal belongings, his hidden treasures, his suit, and the one black dress that Baxter had so tenderly made for him. He redressed hastily as Lawrence rushed downstairs to announce their elopement to the family, desperate to get as far away from this blasted house as possible before he was called a slut again. At least Lawrence could promise him a better life, a life away from servitude and mindless groveling. A life where he could do as he wanted, and have the money to relax. By god- he might be able to even open up a clock shop! Or some other business— if only his father could see him now. What would he say? 

He’d probably die of shock, the stupid codger. 

Thomas redressed in his navy outfit, snapping on his new stockings and smoothing his hair out in his mirror one last time. It felt exhilarating, to know he’d never have to deal with the pains of service again. To realize his life was opening up before him. Why on earth had he fought this for so long? 

Oh…right. Because Lawrence was absolutely insane. 

Well, two could play at that game. Thomas was certain he could beat the man in due time… maybe soak up his money and escape into the night, find his own way. 

This was just the beginning, he promised himself. The future would be brighter. He would shape his own destiny. 

Thomas left his room with little feeling of solemn farewell. He could return to Downton to visit, and this wasn’t his room anyways. It was Mrs. Hughes’ room, and he couldn’t be bothered to stay in it one more night. The only thing he did take was his name tag from the doorway, slipping it into his coat pocket as he made his way down the servant’s stairs to the main hall. 

He paused at the door, carefully buttoning up his coat. His heart was hammering with nerves- god how he wished he could just get this part over with. 

He opened the door to the main hall, and was at once surrounded by a cacophony of arguing voices. 

“This is ridiculous!” Lawrence was shouting angrily. Thomas spotted him at once amid a sea of people. Lawrence was stuck between (of all people) his mother the Dowager Countess of Lincolnshire, Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson, Tom Branson, and (bizarrely) Lady Mary. The five of them were bearing down upon him, outnumbering him in his wild whims. 

“He’s agreed!” Lawrence roared at his mother, at Lord Grantham, at anyone within shouting distance really. His eyes were popping with rage. “He’s mine! I’m taking him with me tonight!” 

“Do see sense, Lawrence, you’re being most unreasonable!” The Dowager Countess was in all black, like she was trying to make a statement of mourning over the loss of her son’s sanity. 

“Unreasonable?!” Lawrence balled up his fists, no matter where he turned there was an enemy, “You’re the people denying me my omega-!” 

“He’s not your omega yet!” Lord Grantham warned, and his voice was full of repressed anger. Any second now and he would pop just like last night. 

“And you will abide by the traditions of your fathers!” The Dowager Countess added irritably. 

“We’re not the type for tradition!” Lawrence said, which was bizarrely accurate. “What do we care for all that nonsense?!” 

“This is incredibly rushed, Lord Gray!” Lord Grantham snapped, “You need time to prepare these things! You need to handle omegas delicately, they’re not good for being jostled about like this!” 

“Oh that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Lawrence spat. 

He looked up, spotted Thomas in the doorway, and hitched a breath in relief. He tried to step around the wall of people blocking his way, but before he could Lord Grantham cut him off with a very pointed step forward. Suddenly the two alphas were hostile towards one another, chests barred and chins thrown back with pride. Any moment now, a fight could break out. 

A fight between toffs… what nonsense. 

“Back off!” Lawrence snarled, but before he could make a threatening move towards Lord Grantham, Carson got in the way. He was by far the most dangerous alpha in the room, with a barrel of a chest and muscled arms to boot. Lawrence sized the man up, realized he was on the losing end, and immediately took a step back to gain some leverage. 

“Watch yourself!” Tom snapped, “No one’s in the mood for your attitude! Barrow’s an omega of the house, and he deserves better! He doesn’t go with you until we say!” 

“Carson-!” Lord Grantham seemed eager to get the ‘show on the road’, “Take Thomas to Sybil’s private suite, and keep him there until I say otherwise.” 

“At once, my lord.” Carson was just as fervent as Lord Grantham. He stepped away from Lawrence, moving with swift speed across the main hall to where Thomas stood cowering in the doorway to the servant’s stairwell. 

“Wait-!” Thomas begged, “Wait just let me go with him! Just let me go! No one wants me- why won’t you just let me be?!” 

Lawrence tried to step around the crowd again, but this time he was blocked off by Tom Branson. He might not have been as big as Carson, but what he lacked in size he made up for in spirit. His arms were thrown wide to stop Lawrence from moving an inch. 

“Please!” Thomas shouted. Carson did not listen to him, grabbing him by the shoulders (though without a pinching grip) to start hauling him towards the main stairwell, “What are you doing?!” 

“What is best for us all.” Carson said triumphantly. 

“But I thought you’d want this!” Thomas begged, true desperation beginning to poke through. 

“Believe us, Thomas.” Lady Mary urged, “This is not the way that it’s supposed to be.” She looked just as angry as her father, eyes narrowed in distaste at Lawrence. 

“You will follow tradition even if only this once!” Carson said, hauling Thomas up step after step. They were almost to the semi-landing now. 

“What are you talking about?” Thomas begged. 

“Upstairs- up you get-!” Carson wouldn’t let him run, letting go of his shoulders to instead haul him up around the waist. It made for smoother traveling and a faster speed. 

“Lawrence!” Thomas shrieked, unsure of what else to do. 

“Thomas-!” The howl of an alpha denied was a disturbing thing to hear. Like the shriek of a banshee upon a wasted forgotten moor. 

 

He was dragged up the stairs, losing one of his shoes on the way so that it bounced down and laid forgotten on the landing. By the time they’d made it up to the gallery floor, Thomas had lost his other shoe, and was about to rip a hole in his new stockings. His valise had gotten dropped, of course; he was hammering at Carson’s arms with his balled fists, wriggling and struggling with all his might. 

It would do him very little good. 

Carson managed to get him up the hall, past Lord Grantham’s chambers to where nothing but a long stretch of gallery walkway lay. He pushed on a piece of wall only decorated by a single painting of a feast laid in splendor, and revealed the hidden hallway to Lady Sybil’s forgotten heat suite. As soon as Thomas was over the threshold of the forbidden corridor, Carson shut the door back, and drug him ever farther up the hall to where the heat suite lay waiting quiet and cold. 

“Carson please!” Thomas begged as Carson unlocked the door to the heat suite and heaved him inside. Thomas tried to get out, to get past the man but his rotund belly blocked any progress, “You don’t want me! He does!” 

“I think we both know what he wants!” Carson snapped, “And an omega deserves better!” 

He shut the door on Thomas, just as Thomas rammed himself at the barrier and began to hound it with his fists. He heard Carson lock it back; despite how he jiggled it wildly from the other side it would do him no good. 

“Carson don’t do this!” Thomas screamed, pounding hard on the door. He threw himself at the door again and again; but it had been built for alphas in rut, to resist their charms. Thomas stood no chance of bringing the door down on his own. 

His way out had been taken from him. Why? 

The high he’d been chasing, propelled by the smell of port and the sucking of Lawrence’s mouth at his neck, had evaporated in the stillness and quiet of Sybil’s heat suite. He felt like he’d been flung into a frigid lake, and wrapped his arms about himself to ward off the cold. 

He slowly sat down, sliding his back against the door till his knees were bent against his chest. 

It made no sense. It made absolutely no sense! 

Last night, Lord Grantham had been furious at Thomas’ behavior. The man had called Thomas a slut and insisted that he was in the wrong. Well, here he was today doing as everyone wanted, and still he was being reprimanded! What on earth would it take to get people to see him in a good light? Maybe he should just… stop bloody existing or something. 

Christ he was in a foul mood. 

Furious at being locked away, when freedom was almost in his grasp, Thomas lay on the floor right next to the door, his head cradled against an outstretched arm so that he could view the slim crack of light issuing from beneath the door. There was a cat flap, used for passing through trays or whatever else you might need. Thomas had never made use of it before… or maybe he had and he just couldn’t remember it because he’d been in heat. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the light was slowly fading from the sky. Unlike his attic bedroom, the heat suite offered him high paneled windows that showed him a grand view of the outside. Orange lighting slowly turned to red, and by the time the sky was a deep magenta Thomas was nearly asleep upon the floor. 

The sounds of footsteps coming up the hall woke him. 

 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes; the carpet beneath him had made the left side of his face feel raw. Suddenly, the cat flap was lifted and a cup of tea was pushed through along with a saucer full of vanilla and almond biscuits. Thomas immediately stuck his hand out, keeping the flap up, and ducked his head low so that he could, at a bizarre angle, see out into the hall. He found Mrs. Hughes walking away, her black skirts swishing at her feet. Thomas could just see the edge of her chemise, with his head on the floor and his eyes cast upwards. 

“Mrs. Hughes!” He called out. She stopped and looked back around, finding Thomas trying to stick his head out of the thin realm of the cat flap. Exasperated, she doubled back and got down on her knees. This was no small feat for a woman in her sixties, and she looked distinctly uncomfortable as she lowered her head so that they could talk to one another comfortably. 

“Mrs. Hughes, what’s going on?” Thomas asked, “Where’s Lawrence?” He would not deny the edge of panic in his voice. 

“Your alpha has returned with his mother to Belton House.” Mrs. Hughes said, disappointed, “There’s an entire handoff ceremony for exchanging an omega, Thomas.” 

“What, like a wedding?” 

“No. Though you may have one yet-“ She added, stern, “I shouldn’t talk of such things with you but… it’s…” She looked very uncomfortable, “It’s required that you be in a delicate way when your alpha comes to collect you.” 

“You mean pregnant?!” Thomas gaped, petrified. Mrs. Hughes let out several scoffing noises, irritated. 

“No, don’t be ridiculous!” She paused, tutting, “Traditionally, an omega is passed over to their new alpha when they are most… desirable.” 

“…In heat?” Thomas asked. 

“To be vulgar.” She agreed. 

“Oh god-“ Thomas groaned, for if Lawrence was insatiable when Thomas wasn’t in heat, he was sure to be crawling all over Thomas when he was. “I don’t even want to imagine what he’ll be like then.” 

Mrs. Hughes looked most distressed, a clear fear in her voice, “Thomas… is this really what you want?” 

“I don’t know.” Thomas mumbled. All he really wanted was to be free, “I just… I want to be free.” 

“You won’t find freedom in that man.” Mrs. Hughes warned. 

“Mrs. Hughes, I’m talking to you through a cat flap.” Thomas said, bitter, “Explain to me how freedom works.” 

She rolled her eyes, straightening up so that she was still on her knees but no longer bending hard, “I can’t keep talking like this, my back and knees will wear out.” She rubbed her back, wincing, “Thomas, I hope you know what you’re doing because I’m terribly worried that you may be getting in over your head.” 

“Well it’s not like I have a choice. Do I.” Thomas tried not to be spiteful with Mrs. Hughes, but it was hard. He was tired of being locked up, ignored, hidden behind false walls, and forced into arrangements. He wanted to make his own choices and to live his own life. 

“Have your tea and biscuits,” She said, rising back up to her feet with a groan, “I’ll bring you your supper in a bit. You’re to sleep here until it’s safe; Lord Gray was very angry when he left.” 

That made a bit of sense. “Thank you.” Thomas mumbled, still on his back with his head at an awkward view. 

Mrs. Hughes left him there, and after a while he crawled back up on his knees to let the cat flap fall shut. He had his tea and biscuits, waited for supper, and when it finally came he relented to instead take a long exhausted nap. 

 

 

 

The next day, Thomas woke up to a changed world. He was brought his meals and several books to occupy him in his spare time, but he wasn’t allowed out of the heat suite. It seemed that he could no longer be trusted, and the word of the abbey said that Lawrence was tempted to come back and try to steal Thomas away. Thomas was bored out of his skull by the end of it, but his irritation was greatly relieved when, around noon, he was visited by Dr. Clarkson. 

He’d not called the man, of course; it had apparently been Lawrence’s wish for Thomas to be looked over by a doctor before he was to leave for Belton House. It made Thomas feel slightly better to know that Lawrence hadn’t given up on him. To know that Lawrence cared for the quality of his health. Thomas felt fine, but didn’t make much of a fuss. He merely sat on his bed, watching as Dr. Clarkson took his pulse, blood pressure, and measured him about the waist and hips. In only his chemise and knickers, he felt oddly exposed, but Dr. Clarkson had never been a crude man. He made no comment about Thomas’ bizarre undergarments. 

“Your body is changing.” The good doctor said, “You’ve lost a few inches in your waist and gained them in your hips; that might just be the corset talking though. Lay back on the bed.” Dr. Clarkson ordered. 

Thomas did as he was told, relaxing into the pillows. 

Dr. Clarkson looked slightly off put, for whatever reason. His lips were set into a thin line as he jumbled through his black canvas bag to pull out a thin chrome sound. He rose from the bed, washing his hands thoroughly in a china bowl atop the dresser so that he would thoroughly sterilize the sound. 

“I’m going to be giving you a few vitamins, today.” Dr. Clarkson said, “I feel your iron count is too low; you hardly eat enough red meat.” He returned to the bed, hands freshly washed, and pressed carefully upon Thomas’ stomach. “Any pressure?” He asked. 

There was some, but nothing to be alarmed about he was sure, “A bit.” He murmured. 

“Hmm.” Dr. Clarkson was perplexed, “I fear that the next bit of this examination will be slightly personal in nature.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, “Standard Omegan Health Procedure.” 

Ah. “I’ve heard that line before.” He muttered. 

“I’m aware.” Dr. Clarkson did not sound happy. He opened up his bag a little more, diving in deep to pull out several items such as a roll of clean white linen and a small vial corked and full of an opaque liquid. 

Dr. Clarkson gave him a dark grin, “Dr. Calhoun of the Brigade… if you can even call him a doctor at all. I prefer the word exhibitionist.” 

So did Thomas; it put him at ease to know they were on the same page. 

“Whatever he did, it hurt like hell.” Thomas said, “I don’t want that-“ He added, fearfully, “Something with a jaw that had teeth.” 

“I know.” Dr. Clarkson’s smile became slightly more gentle at the edges. “I called. I looked over your file. He gave you an old world stimulant to make your body produce more bodily fluids.” He paused, glancing at Thomas, “Slick.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes at the vulgar term. 

“I promise you, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson said, “I won’t dare touch you like Dr. Calhoun did. You must trust me on some level after all these years, yes?” 

Thomas pursed his lips, considering his options. Dr. Clarkson was a good man, and to be fair he’d been one of the few that had known Thomas was an omega before that fateful July morning. He’d kept Thomas’ secret, warning him that harsh reality was always better than false hope… but here they were, all the same. 

Thomas nodded. Dr. Clarkson smiled, obviously touched. 

“Scoot down on the bed.” Dr. Clarkson said, spreading open his linen wide so that it was about the size of a table cloth. He flapped it open in a self-made breeze,” Spread your legs for me and relax. 

Thomas did as he was told, not meeting Dr. Clarkson’s eye as he threw the linen across Thomas’ knees. It gave him dignity, even with nothing on but his chemise and knickers. Dr. Clarkson was not a man to invade people’s privacy despite the nature of his work. He sat on a chair drug over from the edge of the room where it usually kept company with a side table, and rolled up the sleeves of his white coat. 

He was looking through his bag, pulling out a tin of petroleum jelly.   
Three guesses to what that was for…. 

“Just a bit of an intrusion.” Dr. Clarkson murmured softly, coating his fingers in the paste. 

“I swear I’ve heard that line before.” Thomas heard his voice jiggle with nerves, and took slow deep breathes through his nose and out his mouth. It did little to slow his racing heart as he felt a sudden intrusion. 

Dr. Clarkson was slow and careful, stretching him with two fingers until Thomas’ entrance was relaxed and slick with jelly. 

“Christ-“Thomas felt horribly embarrassed; he was close to being aroused, “You might as well tell me your favorite color and what you’re doing on Saturday if we’re getting this close.” 

“It’s green if you must know.” Dr. Clarkson chuckled, withdrawing his fingers to pick up the sound, which he slicked with jelly. “and I plan on finishing a book. Perhaps going to York… I’ve been meaning to have tea with an associate from St. Phillips Hospital.” 

Thomas hissed through gritted teeth as the sound was inserted into him. It was slimmer than Dr. Clarkson’s fingers, but it just kept pushing deeper and deeper into him. 

“Easy…” Dr. Clarkson murmured as if speaking to a troubled mare. “Easy…” He paused, wiping his hands on a soiled linen to pick up his pen and write something down in his notes. 

“Calhoun had it wrong.” Dr. Clarkson sounded irritable, “He marked you at 9 but you’re clearly at 6. He pushed your channel to give you a deeper reading… which is despicable, but not surprising.” 

Thomas swallowed, breathing a sigh of relief as Dr. Clarkson slowly pulled out the chrome sound, wiping it on the soiled linen and setting it aside. He rose from the chair, going to wash his hands again, speaking to the wall, “It’s true that a lack of proper hormones has made your channel tight and dry. I can amend that, of course, but so can time and it may be better for you to simply let nature take it’s course.” 

He returned to the bed, perching back on his chair to pull out a syringe from his bag which he injected into the cork of the little vial with draw out all its liquid. Thomas winced, knowing what was coming next. 

“You’re not in heat yet, and you probably won’t be in heat for a while… but your alpha is eager for you to be fertile as soon as possible. I suppose it’s only natural, but I’m not one to lean on heat stimulants. They can be very dangerous, particularly to male omegas.” 

“Is that what he wants you to do?” Thomas asked, eyeing the syringe suspiciously. 

“It is.” Dr. Clarkson used his thumb and middle finger to thump the syringe free of air bubbles. “I’m afraid it involves a shot in your lower back.” 

“Do I get a sweet if I behave?” Thomas muttered sarcastically. He could still remember being a little boy on his mother’s knee, wailing against the doctor until he was given a peppermint cane to suck on. 

“I generally save those for the children.” Dr. Clarkson was amused, setting his needle aside to carefully pull Thomas’ legs down so that he was flat against the bed, “But I have a lemon candy in my bag if you want it. Roll over.” He said, taking up Thomas’ sheet so that Thomas could roll onto his stomach. Dr. Clarkson helped Thomas to lift up his chemise, dropping the sheet down again so that it covered Thomas’ buttocks and lower legs while his upper back was naked to the cool afternoon air. 

Thomas perched his head on folded arms, wincing as he felt a cold sensation against his back, “I won’t lie,” Dr. Clarkson warned, “This will hurt.” 

“Then you better give me more than just a lemon candy.” Thomas muttered, gritting his teeth as he waited for the sting of the needle. 

“I won’t hold it against you if you cry.” Dr. Clarkson said, gentle, “You wouldn’t be the first, and you won’t be the last.” 

“Just do it.” Thomas closed his eyes. 

“You’ll fine a slight sting, then a burning sensation-“ 

But what he actually felt was a slight sting and lava pouring against his flesh. 

Thomas cried out, unable to keep it in as the fiery heat spread from his lower back down to his buttocks and legs. It just got hotter and hotter-! 

“Jesus Christ!” Thomas wailed through gritted teeth, eyes pinched shut to keep the tears in, “What the fuck did you inject me with you sadistic bastard?! Lye?!” 

“Something close.” Dr. Clarkson took no offense to Thomas’ foul language, rising from his chair to repack his bag. 

Thomas sucked in breath after breath, daring himself to keep breathing, to keep pushing forward, even as the throbbing heat against his spine rendered him numb from the waist down. He tried to count internally to keep from losing his mind. 1, 2, 3, 4….

“I want you on bed rest today. Keep still, lay on your tummy, don’t irritate your back.” 

Thomas whimpered in spite of himself. 

“I’m going to give you a pain suppressant.” Dr. Clarkson said, “It won’t last forever but it’ll get you through the worst of the pain.” 

There was a cup being pressed to Thomas’ lips. Thomas sat up a bit in bed, as much as he could manage in horrible throbbing pain, and took the chalice Dr. Clarkson offered. It was full of a milky liquid that tasted like watered down chalk, and he gagged wishing he could vomit. 

But then Dr. Clarkson gave him a lemon sweetie wrapped in plastic, so he popped it in his mouth instead and sucked on it as he laid his head upon his pillow. 

“You’re a horrible human being.” Thomas mumbled into his pillows. “But the candy helps with the taste.” 

“Is that the story we’re telling now?” Dr. Clarkson teased. He pressed a hand to Thomas’ forehead, noting his skin was clammy. “Your fever is beginning. You’ll probably have an upset stomach soon. Diarrhea, vomiting, chills… it’ll feel like the flue.” 

“And then?” Thomas moaned into the pillow, his eyes closed. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Dr. Clarkson shifted the duvet beneath him, bringing it up to cover his legs and back so that he was protected from the chill. 

“It’s difficult to say when your heat will arrive. Maybe a few days, but at most a few weeks. I’ll alert his Lordship, Mr. Clarkson, and your alpha to your condition. I think that it’s for the best that you stay in the suite until we’re given the all clear on your condition. The minute you feel your heat coming on, you inform someone and fast. Heats brought on by suppressants tend to be more… dangerous.” 

“Can I have more pain medicine?” Thomas moaned, his lower back throbbing with a dull ugly ache. 

“No.” Dr. Clarkson said, “But I’ll leave another dose with Mrs. Hughes. You can have the next one in eight hours.” 

“Fine.” He whispered. He was close to sleep anyways. His throat felt oddly numb. 

But instead of packing up his bag and leaving, Dr. Clarkson drew close to his pillow to murmur in his ear. “Thomas… you are aware that Lord Gray has a difficult reputation?” 

“Lord Grantham said he was honorable.” He said sluggishly. 

“Quite. But he’s also difficult. And I’ve rumors that he has a drug habit. Be careful with him, Thomas.” 

“Mmm.” Thomas sighed, “He likes me.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Dr. Clarkson petted him gently upon the shoulder, “Good luck, Thomas. For all our past irritations, I’d rather we parted as friends.” 

“Didn’t you just stick yer finger up m’bum? Think we’re more than friends.” Thomas smiled into his pillow. 

Dr. Clarkson chortled. “Should you ever need me.” Was his parting remark, and he left Thomas in peace to sleep, sweating upon his pillows and duvet. 

 

 

For the first several hours, Thomas slept, only to awaken somewhere close to midnight desperate to vomit and shit at the same time. He’d hobbled to the bathroom, only just in time, and had to use a wastebasket to vomit into while he shit his brains out on the toilet. Christ, if it wasn’t the most humiliating experience of his life! 

He spent several minutes simply having to relieve himself, and when the urge finally passed Thomas gingerly washed his face in the sink before returning to bed dragging the wastebasket along. 

He lay quiet in the dark, his supper forgotten by the cat flap at the door. His mouth felt fuzzy with the after taste of acid. He fell into dreamless sleep, completely still, and when he woke again it was the next day and Mrs. Hughes was standing over him. 

He was at her mercy, as she ordered the maids to clean out the wastebasket and bring him fresh bed linens. She helped him into a clean chemise and knickers, wiping sweat from his forehead, and even ran him a bath later when it became clear that his condition wasn’t improving. Everything that he ate just ran through him like water. When he finally managed to eat a solid, steady meal and not excrete it almost immediately afterward, it was three days later and Thomas smelt horribly of sweat and filth. 

He took another bath, this time of his own devices, and used several rose powders from Lady Sybil’s forgotten pantry to scent his skin. He spent the rest of the day reading in bed, stretching to ease the ache in his lower back, and was only interrupted by Baxter who brought him both supper and a bouquet of red roses. 

Silly, silly, man. 

Lawrence was utterly besotted with him at this point, writing him sheets every day to woo him through pen and paper. He praised Thomas constantly, alining him to the angels, and sent Thomas flowers like he was trying to start up his own florists shop. It was oddly sentimental, to be surrounded by such beautiful blooms when he was feeling unwell on Lawrence’s behalf. It helped Thomas to know the man cared, even if he was a bit eccentric. 

Lawrence sent him more than flowers though. He sent Thomas package after package; shoes from a fashionable shop in York, lined with navy velvet and more comfortable than any Thomas had worn in his life. He likewise sent a blue satin dress with a neck of fine white lace and a coat rimmed in potted fur. Thomas had never owned anything so fine in his life, but it seemed Lawrence’s intention was for him to wear this outfit on the day that Thomas was ‘passed off’ from Downton to Belton house. 

_“Try for me, darling,”_ Lawrence’s latest letter had read, _“Push yourself into a heat if you can. Imagine my cock sliding into you, stretching you, claiming you, breeding you… be brave sweetheart. We’ll be together soon.”_

Thomas tried not to think too much about the ‘breeding’ part, but he had to admit that the idea of being fucked was starting to sound more arousing by the hour. Anything to dull the boredom of being shut in a room all day. 

About a week after Dr. Clarkson’s unfortunate visit, Thomas sat in an armchair by the fireplace reading a book of Dorothy Parker poetry that he’d read twenty times before. The days were starting to get colder as October drew closer. 

He flipped a page in his book, sighing, only to have his head jerk up as a gentle tap came upon the door. 

He set down his book at once, clambering up out of his chair. The lock clicked from the other side, and swung open to reveal Baxter carrying a rolling cart burdened with a cup of tea and (yet another) bouquet of flowers. 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Thomas muttered. He was running out of room to put the damn things. Baxter wheeled the cart inside, shutting the door to carefully unload the flowers onto a side table that was already holding a smaller vase of tulips. It seemed this time Lawrence had given him a bouquet of moonflowers, which would only open at night. Very romantic. 

“Does he never tire of it?” Thomas wondered, taking up his cup of tea to sit back down in his chair. Baxter plucked forth the card nestled in the center of the bouquet, and handed it over to him so that he could read it. Thomas sighed, unfolding the crisp envelop; Lawrence’s sharp cursive had become as familiar to him as his own. 

_“Divine Thomas. Here are moonflowers. Think of me when they bloom. Lawrence.”_

Thomas looked up at Baxter, rolling his eyes as he set the card aside. _Think of me when they bloom_. What a silly silly man. 

“He’s such a sap.” Thomas muttered, dunking a biscuit into his teacup, “Sometimes I feel sorry for him.” 

“I’m jealous.” Baxter teased, “I won’t deny it.” 

“Don’t be.” Thomas muttered, taking a slow sip of tea. He set his cup aside as Baxter relaxed into his visitor’s chair. What would he give to have her freedom, to be able to roam in peace. “He’s a dangerous man, and I’ll probably get my just deserts for tangling with him.” 

Baxter was taken aback. “Do you not like him?” 

“I don’t know.” Thomas shrugged. That was the closest he could come to honesty at the moment, “I suppose in a way I like him. It’s difficult.” 

“But… do you… love him at all?” She tensed a bit in her chair when Thomas just shrugged again. 

“No.” He said, for lack of a better term. 

“Then why on earth did you agree to be his mate?” Baxter asked. 

“Because…. I wanted to be free.” Thomas said. There was really no other word for it. Baxter grew somber, silent for a few moments as Thomas took a few more sips of his tea. His stomach was starting to clench up again; he hoped he wouldn’t go through another round of vomiting or diarrhea. 

“…Is freedom so hard to find?”She finally asked. 

“You’d think so, in this house.” Thomas said. 

“But…” Baxter fished for the right words, desperate to bring some sense of hope back into the conversation. Surrounded by flowers and finery, Thomas’ pessimistic attitude gave an awful edge to the room. Like they were trapped in a menagerie. “But surely he loves you?” 

“I don’t think so.” Thomas said, “Maybe he does but I’m not aware of it. I think mostly he just likes the thrill of the chase.” 

Baxter didn’t look happy. 

Thomas set his teacup down, grimacing as a bit of stomach pain took him again. He winced, rubbing his abdomen though it was wrapped in a corset. Perhaps he ought to take a nap, or at least undress a bit. 

“Are you alright?” Baxter asked. 

“Mm…” Thomas sighed, opening his mouth to say something— to tell her not to worry— but then a terribly pang filled his belly. 

An awful, hot pang. 

Thomas jolted in his seat, gripping his stomach tight with one hand. 

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.   
That burning sensation at the root of his being… could it be? 

“What’s going on?” Baxter sat up straight in her chair, reaching out with a hand as if to take Thomas in her arms. 

“Jesus.” Thomas whispered, raw with shock, “I think it’s starting.” 

Baxter looked from his ashen face to where he clutched at his stomach.  
She went white. 

“Go to the bathroom!” She said in a rush, jerking up from her chair, “Go to the bathroom and check!” 

He did as he was told, hurrying to the bathroom to close the door behind him so that he could have some privacy. He lifted up his black dress and chemise, fishing behind him with a trembling hand to find the slit of his knickers. His fingers sunk between his buttocks, finding his center, and he froze at the warm wetness he found there. 

He slowly drew his hand back out to see the pink fluid shining on the tips of his fingers.   
Slick. 

Petrified, Thomas washed his hands in the bathroom sink. It took him a moment to even turn the taps, close to a panic attack as he hurriedly rid his hands of slick and dried them on a hand towel. He opened the bathroom door to find Baxter just outside, nervous and fretting like a little bird in the face of a hurricane. 

“Well?” she asked at once. 

“…Tell Mr. Carson.” Thomas said. It was all that he could get out in his fear. 

Baxter was silent for only a minute, allowing the stark reality of the situation to set in before she made her next move. 

“I’ll lock the door.” She said, heading out of the room at once, “Lock it on your side as well, and let no one in.” She shut the door at once, and Thomas heard the lock scrape in its hold. He stumbled over to the door, fumbling with each rim lock until the door was bolted in several places. He fell back from the threshold, collapsing into his arm chair where he began to shake despite the close proximity to the fire. 

He didn’t know why, but in that moment of terrible fear, he suddenly wished he had an alpha near to tell him it would be okay. To have Carson say that everything was going according to plan. To have Lord Grantham assure him that no harm would come to pass. To even have Mr. Bates grumble that he was worrying over nothing…. to listen to Andy prattle on about a card game or the latest rag edition. 

Above all he wished for Lawrence to come and get him. To tell him that everything would be fine. 

But even if the man were here, Thomas doubted that was what he’d say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges rotten fruit*
> 
> If you have any (snickersnicker) questions or concerns (snickersnicker) please do not hesitate to leave a comment. 
> 
> I'm really grateful none of you know where I live.  
> Or my phone number.


	11. Ring of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas experiences his first heat with an alpha.   
> It's not particularly pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings, hiddly diddly do there will be RAPE. Non consensual sex, emotional abuse, lack of acknowledging the word 'no', did I mention the _rape_ bit? If that triggers you in any way at all for god's SAKE. Do not read past the bonding ceremony. Just... let your brain fill in the details.  
>  I also want to state that at the beginning of the chapter it will mention rape, and it's consquences in the way of the rod. I don't agree with it. I'm just adding dark backstory. **
> 
> This chapter's title is inspired by Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" which is pretty much the summary of the Thomas/Lawrence relationship.   
> Actually we're going to see a few Johnny Cash songs. Guess what the next one will be.

_Litigo 22:28: "If an alpha is caught in the act of raping an omega who is not engaged, they must pay fifty pieces of silver to the guardian alpha of the omega. They must then mate with the omega, for they have violated a gift of the rod, and the alpha will never be allowed to engage in the act of divorce."_

 

 

Water dripping from the tap. 

Hitting a pool. 

The soft sound of two colliding into one. 

_plip, plip, plip_

The slowest furl of red, thinning out in the water. Copper vanishing into oxygen. Blood erasing itself, spread too slim to hold a current. 

Vomit speckling his chest.   
Sweat.   
Semen. 

Tiles above him. Beautiful, beautiful, art deco crossing over a white ceiling. Floral insignias. He imagined that this ceiling was made on the floor of a poor man’s workshop, blasted white with fine paints. 

A clock was ticking somewhere. The beats began to coincide with the drops of water. 

_plip, tick, plip, tick, plip, tick_

 

He lay in the bathtub as his alpha had commanded.   
He did not know what for. 

Naked, battered, twisted, the shadows of the moon slowly spun silver threads across Thomas’ hair and the surface of the bath. 

Blood pooled between his legs. 

 

~*~

 

Four days before the grizzly occurrences of a bathtub at night, Thomas Barrow sat in his new blue dress and coat, waiting to be picked up by Lawrence Gray. Baxter had fled from the room, alerted Mr. Carson, and now the whole house knew that Thomas was on the verge of his heat in slight throws of hysteria with his future hanging precariously in the balance. At Carson's command he’d dressed in the clothes Lawrence had bought for him, and repacked his valise (it had been brought to him the day after Lawrence had thrown a hissy fit in the main hall). Now Thomas didn’t know what to do besides sit and wait. 

It felt like an eternity with that awful dull ache inside of him beginning to grow. 

By the time that a gentle rap came at his door, Thomas was ready to jump out of his skin for heightened anticipation. 

He clambered to his feet immediately, nearly losing a shoe in the process as the door opened to reveal Carson. The man looked decidedly wary, eyeing Thomas from head to toe in his new outfit. Whatever Carson saw, he kept to himself, and instead politely asked, “Do you have all your things?” 

Thomas nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. The smell of peppermint was all over him, and he soaked it up like blotting paper. In that moment, for whatever reason, Carson looked incredibly handsome to him. This only served to remind him the obnoxious state of affairs. Carson was most decidedly not on his list of ‘favorite people’, and had Thomas been in his right frame of mind he would have felt nauseas at the prospect of calling Carson handsome. 

But here he was, his bum beginning to vibrate with warmth, and the thought of Carson sweeping him up in his arms—

He needed to get the hell out of this room.   
Immediately. 

“Come with me.” Mr. Carson ordered, leading the way from the room.   
Thomas followed without hesitation. 

Mr. Carson kept a slow pace, perhaps thinking that Thomas could not walk fast in his ‘delicate condition’ but Thomas was ready to fling himself over the banister if it got him to cool refreshing air faster. It felt like he was in an oven, sweating in his own skin so that he was perspiring at his collar. His knickers felt obscenely itchy. Christ what would he give to dig his fingers into the cleft of his—

…. Okay he _really_ needed to get out of this house. 

They descended the main stairs, and Thomas beheld a small congregation of people cluttering up the entrance hall. It was like a war of opposing sides, with the left boasting Lawrence Gray and his mother the Dowager Countess while the right hosted a smattering of people from Downton Abbey. 

Lord and Lady Grantham for one were both present, along with Mrs. Hughes and Baxter who both looked incredibly nervous of their offensive guests. As Carson came down the stairs, all eyes turned to look for who followed in his wake; Lawrence was practically salivating, his dark eyes nearly swallowed in black. As Carson hit the bottom of the stairs and stepped aside so that Thomas might take center light, Lawrence extended a hand with smooth curtesy. Thomas almost made to go to him, an odd fluttering sensation overtaking the pit of his stomach, but was halted by Lord Grantham who looked (in a word) moody. 

“I believe we have business to conduct first?” Lord Grantham reminded Lawrence. Lawrence’s eyes flashed, his pompous nature starting to rear its head. 

“Then let’s get it over with.” He snapped. 

Lord Grantham fished inside the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling forth an aged piece of parchment tri-folded and stamped with red wax. He extended it to Lawrence, who waited to hear the rest. 

“This is Thomas Barrow’s original contract to my estate, signed in 1910. It passes all liability over from his parents to me. All responsibility for his welfare, all loving and tender care, everything an alpha should provide.” Lord Grantham declared. Thomas found himself staring at Baxter, who’s eyes were watering even as her lips pursed tighter and tighter. It was like she wanted to scream something, like the words were caught in her slim throat. She seemed to be dripping in a cold sweat. 

Thomas’ eyes slid to the contract. incredible to think a tri-fold of paper contained his entire life’s work and fate. 

“By giving it to you, I therefore give you this charge and all its responsibilities.” 

Lawrence promptly snatched the document out of Lord Grantham’s hand, caressing the paper with his fingers and lips as if making to woo it like…well… Thomas. 

“May my hands prove worthy of the charge.” Lawrence leered. 

“Don’t be crass, it’s plebeian.” The Dowager Countess snapped. It seemed that she would be the one to do the delegations, taking control while her only son made an ass of himself. She took the paper from Lawrence, and stowed it in her beaded handbag. “We accept your terms and the contract for Thomas Barrow.” 

But Lord Grantham seemed very unsure in that moment. His eyes found Lawrence despite the foreboding presence of his mother, and narrowed at Lawrence’s lack of taste, “How do you intend to care for Thomas? Do you anything about his needs and concerns?” 

“I’m his alpha.” Lawrence sneered. It sent a jolt through Thomas’ spine to hear the words said aloud. To know that he had an alpha. To know that others knew he had an alpha… and all it meant. “I know everything about his needs and concerns. I make them my business.” 

“I’ll have to take your word on it.” Lord Grantham still sounded very displeased. 

But Lawrence didn’t care about pleasing the man anymore. It was like all the others were invisible as he extended a hand to Thomas. This time Lord Grantham did not try and stop Thomas from leaving. 

“Come t’me.” Lawrence murmured. “Divine Thomas.” 

But suddenly the weight of the situation hit Thomas with incredible force. He found himself staring at the faces of his companions. His workmates. His family. Suddenly, he realized that he didn’t want to leave. That he didn’t want to be parted from them like this when so much was vague and left to the smoke. Would he see them again? If so, when? And would they be able to recognize him by then? 

“Can I say goodbye-?” Thomas asked, staring longingly into Baxter’s eyes. She seemed so close to shattering, like any sudden movement might send her flying into a thousand pieces. 

Lawrence chuckled, “I don’t think there’s a need for a goodbye, do you?” and Thomas tried to take comfort in the words knowing that no need for a goodbye would mean no need for a parting… or so he hoped. 

“So long as you promise-“ Thomas felt the words sluggish and thick in his mouth. For some reason, he was finding it hard to think. He knew he was getting closer to his heat. 

“I promise-“ Lawrence did not wait for Thomas to take his hand anymore. He reached out forcibly and gave Thomas a gentle tug at the wrist so that Thomas stumbled to his side. Lawrence wrapped an arm about Thomas’ waist, hand digging in deep to the small of his back so that Thomas was pressed into the jut of Lawrence’s hip bone. That smell of wine overwhelmed him, and for the first time it actually comforted him… to know that Lawrence was near and would protect him in his moment of weakness. 

Of course, given Lawrence’s character, he was liable to be less protective and more chaotic, but Thomas would take any port in a storm. 

“Do you know how beautiful you look in that dress?” Lawrence whispered in his ear. Thomas had a feeling the others could hear. 

He couldn’t stop staring at Baxter’s face. “I’ll come back, I promise.” He said, wishing he could speak clearer with a sharper tongue, “I’ll write too. Every day. Sheets an’ sheets-“ 

“Take your time dear.” Mrs. Hughes’ voice was thick as if she was suffering from an intense head cold. She was clearly holding back tears, eyes glassy with emotion, “Get settled into your new home, and be good to your alpha. He’ll provide for you.” 

Lawrence took a step back, taking Thomas with him.   
It was too soon for Baxter. 

“Please—“ Baxter blurted out.   
Her voice had come out far too forceful, far too gravely. Still she did not seem capable of softening herself in that moment. Where Mrs. Hughes was glassy eyed, Baxter was already crying. Thomas watched, dazed, as a small tear trickled down Baxter’s aging cheek… the lustful pink of youth gone to be replaced by the chalk of adulthood. 

“Write to me. Every day. And please, be good to yourself and remember how loved you are. You have such a good heart, Thomas. You have such courage. Please remember that. Even when things grow tough-“ 

But she was growing too emotional to control her tone. Lawrence frowned, his hand on Thomas’ waist tightening harder as if to keep him from running to Baxter in some fit of emotional despondency. 

“No need to get soppy.” He warned her. Baxter seemed to despair, wiping her cheeks furiously as she clamped her mouth shut again. 

Thomas did not miss the way Mr. Carson’s eyes narrowed at Lawrence. He knew that look… the look of distrust. 

He didn’t know why, but the fact that Mr. Carson was starting to disapprove of Lawrence terrified Thomas. 

“Come along m’dear.” Lawrence stepped away, his hand still firmly on Thomas’ waist. Thomas went with him, “We have a ride to catch.” 

“Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham…” The Dowager Countess was still the one to uphold manners. 

“Lady Gray.” Lord Grantham sounded stiff in his spats. 

Thomas looked over his shoulder.   
Baxter her face buried in her hands, hiding her sorrow in Mr. Carson’s enormous shadow. Thomas wanted her to look up just one last time. He wanted to see those lovely brown eyes again. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Why wouldn’t she look up? 

Oh. Because she didn’t want to see him leaving. 

They descended the front steps of the abbey, and Thomas had to look back around lest he trip on the stone and fall on his face. On gravel, he looked back over his shoulder again. Mrs. Hughes seemed so beautiful to him in that moment. So sagely and wise. How he wished he could run to her, hide behind her, just as he’d done in 1920 when all the world had been crashing around his ears. Mr. Carson had been such a dominating figure in his life for the past decades, Thomas couldn’t fathom a world where Thomas wouldn’t see him every day. 

It made him feel sick to his stomach. 

Lord and Lady Grantham stood silent, side by side. The pair of them were gray faced, perhaps more aware than any of the rest how Thomas’ life was about to change. 

Thomas wondered why they hadn’t stopped this. Lord Grantham had sworn that Lawrence was a man of good character but had he truly believed it? If he hadn’t, why hadn’t he said something? Had he been trying to shove cotton in his ears? 

The Chrysler Imperial was waiting for them out front, with the chauffeur waiting at its side. He was an older gentleman, with a trimmed mustache that curled lightly at the ends and a fine black cap that reminded Thomas of the days when Tom Branson had been behind the wheel. He was prompt to take Thomas’ valise, stowing it in the back of the car beneath two thick leather flaps. Shockingly enough, despite the present of a servant Lawrence opened the door for Thomas and essentially pushed him inside the warm leather interior of the car before Thomas had a chance to make a bolt for it. Thomas’ limbs felt numb; he went willingly, clambering inside to huddle in the far corner of the car all the while looking out the bull glass where the shadows of his family were swimming in the opaque reflection. 

He had a feeling this image would be haunting his nightmares for a long time to come. 

The Dowager Countess was the next to step inside, huffing and puffing at Lawrence’s lack of common curtesy. Lawrence looked horribly smug in that moment, as if he’d won the first place trophy at the fair and was intent on flashing his money (why was Thomas thinking of Jimmy in this moment?). He slid into the car, allowing the chauffeur to close the door smartly behind him. Before Thomas could so much as gather himself, Lawrence was at his side again pulling him tightly so that they were melded from hip to shoulder. Lawrence’s hands were hot and commanding upon his sweating flesh. 

“Well.” The Dowager huffed, “At least you managed to hold yourself together with a slight bit of decorum. Honestly have you no sense of patience-?” she paused as the car motor roared to life. They jumbled down the drive, with Thomas staring longingly out the window at the front of the abbey which was beginning to slip away. Lord and Lady Grantham had returned inside. 

Baxter, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Carson were still out front.   
Others had come out from the servant’s entrance to stand with them. Thomas could tell it was Bates and Anna, given the squint of a cane and blonde hair. Perhaps they hadn’t wanted to be in the way. Perhaps they hadn’t wanted to see Thomas leave. 

A horrible feeling squeezed at Thomas’ heart.   
He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach. 

“Does it matter?” Lawrence demanded, moodily picking at a spot on his jacket, “He’s mine now.” 

“He very nearly wasn’t yours.” The Dowager warned, “Lord Grantham was most displeased with your manner.” 

“Oh, as if I give a damn about what he thinks.” Lawrence was incensed. He paused, pulling Thomas so that Thomas was suddenly jerked away from the window and back to his side. Lawrence looked deep into his eyes, and suddenly the smell of wine was rolling over Thomas again. He shuddered, unable to resist Lawrence’s charms in his moment of weakness. For as absurd and boorish as the man could be… he knew how to press Thomas’ buttons and turn him to butter. 

“He’s not your alpha, is he little peach.” Lawrence murmured, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his sharp lips. 

“…No…” Thomas finally managed to get out. Lawrence’s smugness returned ten-fold. He nuzzled Thomas’ temple, peppering his forehead with small kisses. 

Thomas closed his eyes.   
He wished he could fall asleep against Lawrence. He wished his fever would fall out. He wished his damn bum would stop itching! 

_Christ_ , what he’d give to scratch his bum right now. Fat chance of that happening with a Dowager Countess glaring at him from across the way. 

 

The drive to Belton seemed oddly short, but maybe that was because Thomas was slightly out of it and unable to fully judge passing time. He kept his eyes closed, leaning against Lawrence’s shoulder as valley countryside was slowly overcome with a swath of dark green. Trees blocked the sun, blocked everything, and quite suddenly they were flying through a forest glen. Every so often they’d cross over an aged bridge or pass by a quaint town with barely three roads to its name. Mostly, though, it was just forest. 

Forest and quiet. 

Somewhere near the end of it, Thomas could feel the heat at the base of his spine growing more intense. He winced, wishing he could stand or do something to get the pressure of his bum. Lawrence leaned into Thomas’ ear, his hand tightening upon Thomas’ waist as he whispered into his ear, “I can smell you.” 

Thomas shuddered. 

“I can smell you getting wetter.” Lawrence’s voice was growing deep, losing its upper class edge, “God… if m’mother weren’t in this bloomin’ car—“ 

“You still wouldn’t touch him because you have the common decency and sense not to take your omega in public!” His mother snapped. “I swear, your lack of manners makes me wonder at your birth. If your father hadn’t claimed you I certainly wouldn’t have. Speaking so crudely in the open, holding him to you like he’s a babe at your breast…. I sent you to the finest schools in England, and I didn’t do it so you’d slide around on your backside.” Her tone had taken on a menacing quality. 

She was starting to give Thomas a migraine. He kept his eyes pinched shut, breathing shallowly through his mouth to keep from being overcome by the smell of port. 

“Relax.” though Lawrence’s tone was anything but. “I know how to handle myself.” 

“So I pray.” The Dowager was clearly not convinced. 

When the car finally began to slow again, and the gate underneath them indicated a change from smooth dirt to gravel, Thomas opened his eyes to find that his scenery had barely changed from Downton. 

Most high estates were surrounded by flat land that had been primed by the hands of dutiful gardeners. Belton was the same, sitting atop a lake of emerald that had dulled under the unrefined touch of a cloudy sky. A slight wind had kicked up, promising rain by evening. Thomas’ gaze felt hazy, as if he had a touch of allergies. He could see a line of black on the horizon which grew and bled until it formed into the shapes of people… servants. The entire house was lined up outside, though Lawrence’s sister Anthea was missing. Mr. Wallace was at the head of the cue, back stiff with pride as the chauffeur glided the Chrysler smoothly to a stop. 

The chauffeur was quick on his feet, as were the footman. First footman Christopher, that odd ghostly image of Thomas in his youth, beat everyone to the punch by undoing Thomas’ valise from the luggage straps. The chauffeur opened the cabin door and stepped aside. The Dowager Countess was the first to exit, looking exhausted in that huffy irritable way most older women possessed. 

“Wallace,” She addressed her butler as Lawrence clambered out after her. “Where’s Lady Anthea?” 

“Laying down, M’lady. She took to a headache.” Wallace answered smoothly. 

“Oh, not another one.” The Dowager Countess worried, “Mrs. Gibson, did you offer her a beechams.” 

“I did M’lady but she wouldn't take it.” Mrs. Gibson was disappointed, but the Dowager Countess did not look surprised. 

Lawrence extended a hand out to Thomas, but instead of waiting for Thomas to take his arm he grabbed Thomas by the wrist and dutifully dragged him from the safety of the carriage. Thomas was weak in the knees and didn’t feel well balanced, wobbly as he fell from the carriage and nearly onto the gravel. Lawrence had him about the waist before it could happen, saving Thomas from ripping yet another pair of stockings at the knees. Thomas suddenly felt horribly cold, and shuddered in the breeze as sweat stung on his neck. How bizarre, he’d been horribly hot only a little while ago. Could it be that the weather was so different even only an hour or so south? 

Or was it that Thomas was just growing closer to his heat? 

The Dowager Countess was mounting the steps to Belton House, leaving Thomas and Lawrence behind. Lawrence called out to her, sharp in reproach. 

“Where are you going?” He demanded. “Aren’t you coming to our ceremony?” 

“Honestly, Laurie…” The Dowager paused on the stoop, looking back at her son exhausted. Her steel eyes were beginning to melt around the edges, too tired to pretend to be cold, “He won’t be your spouse so much as your caretaker. No, as far as I’m concerned, I won’t indulge this nonsense any longer. You’ll only play with a toy longer if I continue to acknowledge it. I think that poor boy has suffered enough, don’t you?” 

The Dowager Countess ascended the steps and slipped through the door leaving Lawrence in stunned silence. 

If Thomas had only been clear headed, he might have had it in him to feel afraid in that moment. To realize that even Lawrence’s mother was tired of his nagging habits. Even in his wild eyed youth, Thomas’ mother had always had a small bit of patience reserved for him. Oh, certainly she’d beat his bottom with a broom and send him to time out every time he threw a hissy fit (often multiple times during dark days). But when school bullies had chased Thomas home or his father had been on a drinking binge, Thomas had always known to run to his mother. 

She might have been waspish and short but she was still affectionate to her children. Clearly the Dowager Countess of Lincolnshire had been stretched past the patience of that mark. 

The staff were nervous in the Dowagers’ departure, refusing to glance at one another but likewise unwilling to step forward. 

As always, it was up to the butler to divide the tension. Thomas had not feigned to notice that the staffs loyalty to Mr. Wallace was a bit like Downton Abbey’s sway to Mr. Carson. He might now own the title but for all the sway he held he might as well be the lord. 

Mr. Wallace stepped forward, inclining his head respectfully to Lawrence and Thomas both. 

“M’lord.” Wallace said. “The chapel is prepared.” 

“Good.” Lawrence ground out, his back molars still clenched down from stress. “Get him ready-“ He handed Thomas over to Wallace with very little regard for how Thomas got there. Wallace was thin and reedy but held remarkable strength in his grip and was able to keep Thomas steady underneath the elbow as Lawrence huffily flipped up his coat collar and stormed up the front steps. “Roland!” at his barked command the valet sprang from the line and followed his lord up. 

“Your suits been laid out, M’lord. The boudoir is ready-“ 

“Good-“ But their conversation was cut off as both men disappeared inside. 

Quite suddenly Thomas was left in the company of a whole hoard of servants who were oggling him like he was a member of the upper class. It was all wrong, all terribly wrong. He ought to be wearing black. He ought to be in a livery. He ought to be in line! 

He grimaced, bowing his head as Mr. Wallace carefully helped him to walk over. The chauffeur was driving the car away; Thomas had half a mind to flee after him and beg for a ride home. He doubted he’d get one anyways. 

Mrs. Gibson walked up, giving him a watery smile that reminded him fondly of Mrs. Hughes as she took him by the other arm to help Mr. Wallace along. “Come along, dear. We’ll get you dressed now.” 

Thomas’ lone valise was still in the hands of the first footman; he didn’t look happy with designated task. 

“Are these your things?” Mrs. Gibson gestured to Thomas’ valise. Thomas nodded dumbly. 

“Benedict-“ She gestured for the second footman, “Take Master Thomas’ valise upstairs and put it in the boudoir.” 

“Please don’t call me that,” Thomas blurted out, for only this morning he’d been Thomas to some and Barrow to most. Never ‘master’ or any of the rest. Mrs. Gibson and Mr. Wallace but gave him wary looks, clearly attempting to keep the balance of chaos in the presence of the lower staff. “I—“ 

Suddenly Thomas was horribly reminded of Mr. Carson, when Lord Pelham had made his presence felt at Downton Abbey for the first time. Mr. Bates had passed on the news that Lord Pelham did not want to be called ‘His Grace’. Carson had made his displeasure clear on the subject. 

Carson… Bates… 

Thomas looked over his shoulder; the Chrysler was gone by now. All that lay behind him was a long stretch of gravel and grass. 

Could he run for it? Should he try to? 

“…Come along now-“ Mrs. Gibson’s grip tightened imperceptibly upon his elbow. It seemed she knew where his mind was leading to, but there was not cold apathy to be found in her voice. Instead, she patted him carefully upon the back and hid to the right around the western face of the house which was framed by a gravel walkway and a large stone barrier that reminded Thomas of this servant’s area at Downton save that this one wasn’t built into a slight decline. All the servants followed, each desperate to get back to their task before being caught out late. The head housemaid Sarah and Anthea’s maid Clements stuck closest to Mrs. Gibson, perhaps on special orders from her. Mr. Wallace let go of Thomas’ elbow to walk ahead of the crowd, fetching the door to the servant’s area so that everyone else could walk inside without having to worry about holding the door open for the person behind them. 

“Where are we going?” Thomas asked. His tone warbled with fear. 

“We servant’s use the west staircase to enter and exit the house.” Mrs. Gibson said; the very same principle applied in Downton, although at home it wasn’t a staircase so much as a landing, “Of course, you’ll use the proper entrances-“ 

“Please Mrs. Gibson, I’m a servant.” Thomas beseeched, “Please don’t call me master or make me use the main staircases. I should feel horribly uncomfortable-“ 

“I wouldn’t dream of pressing you to do anything but I urge of you to feel free to move about the house.” Mrs. Gibson trod the line of servitude carefully, eager to not take a tone with him. It horrified Thomas to know that a woman who could have technically been an employer to him only a few months ago was now having to treat him as if he were a member of the family. In different circumstances he might have gloated at it but this… 

This was all wrong. All horribly wrong. He shouldn’t be here, in this blue and lace dress. He should be at home in his livery. Hiding in his attic bedroom or sneaking a cigarette in the servant’s area while pretending to be working. 

But here he was in a dress, walking into a stranger’s house to supposedly get married in it’s chapel. 

And it was wrong, wrong, _wrong!_

“I— I don’t think I can do this—“ Thomas protested, attempting to pull away from Mrs. Gibson in an effort to walk back outside. “I want to go home-“ 

“Come now…” Mrs. Gibson was brave in the face of change, “Don’t be afraid. His Lordship will provide you with all the love and care you need. “She helped him along through a cramped but familiar hallway in that it was dingy and poorly lit like most servant dwellings. They passed by a row of coat racks where bowler hats and brolleys hung. “And your family is so proud,” She added, patting him fondly on the arm, “Mrs. Hughes wrote to me to tell me of your particulars. She mentioned that you have a nervous disposition but not to fret dearie!” She added with a warm smile, her dark eyes twinkling, “I’m on your side.” 

As they reached the main division of the servants area, the hallways were spread out a bit into the fashion of a letter ‘H’. Mrs. Gibson pointed to each wing as she spoke, “The house is set up a bit like the letter ‘H’ or so you’ll see. To the north you’ll find the kitchens, which are directly underneath the hondecoeter room—“ She paused, “The dining hall, rather,” She explained, “You feel free to stop by anytime you like, and Mrs. Price, the cook, will be happy to sort you out.” 

Where the kitchens were to the north, the servant’s hall was to the south. It was set in the same concept of Downton, with a massive servant’s table kept free before tea. A roaring hearth was keeping the autumn chill at bay, atop of which a picture of the King and Queen sat next to a vase of dying flowers. A bell board was kept on the middle wall, unlike Downton where it had been fixed behind Mr. Carson’s seat. Thomas found himself memorizing the names on the board: _Saloon, Tapestry Room, Red Drawing Room, Study, Chapel Drawing Room, Hondecoeter, Breakfast Room, Ante-Room, Library, Ante-Library, Yellow Bedroom, Yellow Dressing Room, Regina Bedroom, Regina Dressing Room, Boudoir, Windsor Bedroom, Windsor Dressing room, Blue Room, Blue Dressing Room_. 

“This is our hall.” Mrs. Gibson said, sweeping a proud hand about the room; it was mostly empty par the moment, with every servant set about a task, “I’m sure you have one just like it at Downton. We’re directly below the saloon… our board,” She pointed to the row of silent bells, “If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ring.” She brought Thomas back out to the main hallway, so that Thomas could see the main sweet of the servant’s stairwell which seemed to turn left at the landing. They walked down a quieter avenue, where only one maid was walking with a pile full of silk linens in her arms. She curtsied for Thomas, stepping aside to hustle upstairs. 

No one had ever curtsied for him before.   
It stopped him dead with a feeling of awful dread. 

“Now, now,” Mrs. Gibson urged, continuing to pull him along as best she could when he resisted her, “Don’t be nervous. It takes some getting used to but the staff are on your side. We respect your struggle. As you can see, Mr. Wallace’s pantry and my office are underneath the stairs” but then she took Thomas back to the main avenue and swung a left so that they walked to the other side of the ‘H’ and continued north. “This is the way to the chapel,” she explained, “We’ll dress you in my tea room.” 

“One moment…?” Thomas felt horrible, like he might be sick at any moment. It gave him pause, making him still in the hallway as he feebly reached out for the wall. Mrs. Gibson stopped at once, a supportive hand on his lower back. 

“Oh, you poor thing you must be feeling wretched.” She was far from apathetic, “How about I get you a nice cup of tea. How do you take it?” 

“Hot….”Thomas mumbled, “Honey an’ lemon, please.” 

“That’ll be good for your stomach.” Mrs. Gibson sorted him into her tea room. Though it hosted the same smattering of furniture that Mrs. Hughes’ did, this one seemed to spin around the ‘blue’ color scheme. For whatever reason, Mrs. Hughes had always been fond of the earthy green tones with both her bedroom, office, and tea room taking on the back drop by the end of her career. 

So many other things were wrong too. 

Thomas could not hear Mrs. Patmore’s voice booming in the background; couldn’t sense Mr. Carson storming up and down the halls looking for an errant hall boy or a slacking footman. Where was the sound of Mr. Bates’ cane tapping on the stone? Or the smell of Andy coming from chopping fresh firewood? 

It was like walking into a house he’d known without having any of the furniture or decorations inside. Like he’d been forced to recreate a scene from memory but had forgotten pertinent details. It was close, but it wasn’t enough, and it all felt horribly wrong. 

He was being urged to sit, to relax, but how could he? Mrs. Gibson lacked a Scottish brogue and Baxter was no where to be seen. This was not his home and he did not belong here. 

What had he been thinking?   
Why on earth had wanted to leave?   
Had he been out of his mind? 

Horrified, Thomas put his head in his hands and stared down at the floor. 

He’d wanted freedom and in an initial blunder of stupidity and arrogance he’d thought that he could it by running away. But what he’d really wanted deep down was to have freedom at Downton. To be allowed to live as he’d done before July. To live as a beta, un-sexualized, free from bother and strife. He’d wanted freedom, but he’d never wanted to leave. Perhaps it had taken him being taken from Downton to realize what he’d wanted all along. 

But now he’d gone and put his foot in it. 

For a moment he was allowed to gather himself in Mrs. Gibson’s tea room; when she returned it was with a cup of tea and almond biscuits that felt incredibly dry in his mouth. He drank the tea slowly, his grip shaky on the fine porcelain handle. Mrs. Gibson ordered maids and footmen about; clearly their whole schedule had been thrown off by Thomas’ arrival. She was aided by Sarah, the head housemaid who had the look of Ethel about her with green eyes twinkling in mischief. She, above all others, came to Thomas’ aid in that moment. She brushed his hair, offered him a moist towel to wipe at his face, and did it all without a queer look or a bat of an eyelash. 

“You won’t like the next part, I can tell.” Sarah said, shutting the door to the hall so that Thomas could be garnered a moment of quiet and privacy. 

“Why?” Thomas asked. He looked up to find Sarah holding a rather large white box, embossed with gold print that read ‘Whitley’s. 

Whitley’s was the name of a famous dress shop in London. 

“Because it involves putting on a bonding dress.” Sarah said. Thomas rolled his eyes, groaning loudly at the imposition. “I could tell from the start y’don’t go in for all that. Your stockings gave you away.” 

“How’s that then?” Thomas asked as Sarah sat down the box upon a spindle legged table and pulled off its top to reveal a sea of white tissue paper. 

“Because of the rips.” Sarah said, taking each piece of tissue paper and laying it carefully inside the lid of the box so that it wouldn’t be spoiled or stained. “M’mum always told me that a true lady never rips her stockings. So I ripped them just to spite her-“ She gave Thomas a cheeky grin, “But I figure you’re not tryin’ to impress.” 

“It’s savage sexism, how fragile the fabric of stockings are.” Thomas muttered, “If Alpha’s had to wear stockings, they’d be as thick as flannel.” 

Sarah threw her head back and laughed. Thomas marveled at all the red hair, spilling out from beneath her white cap. She kept it back as best she could, but even the tightest bun couldn’t contain every frizzy red strand. 

Sarah pulled out the bonding dress at long last. It was disgustingly white, a satin thing with a deep neck line and pearls sewn into the bodice. Thomas wished he could chuck it into a pyre. Sarah rolled her eyes, likewise annoyed. 

“Have you ever seen anything so ghastly-“   
“You have the most beautiful hair.” 

They spoke at the same time, each overlapping the other. Sarah looked about with a bemused smile. 

“Well don’t be taken in by my Irish charms.” She jaunted her hip saucily. “I’ll have you know that I’m a ‘menace to society’… or so Mrs. Gibson says.” 

Thomas smiled, put at ease by Sarah and her refreshing honesty. What was more, she reminded him of himself in the early years… before Carson had turned into a bully, Thomas had constantly been tweaking his nose just to get under the man’s skin. It had been a horribly fun game, to tease William or pull small pranks. Anything to throw the house into chaos. 

Something about Sarah made Thomas think that she was doing the same thing with Mrs. Gibson. 

“… Sarah, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.” Thomas said. Sarah grinned, and extended a hand to help pull him out of his chair. 

 

She was right in thinking that the bonding dress would be disgusting and cumbersome. Thomas hated wearing feminine clothing, and this particular piece just seemed to be the icing on the cake. As Sarah helped him out of his blue and lace dress, only to button up the back of his bonding dress, Thomas suddenly had the fiendish urge to tear the whole thing off of him and run to the nearest pub for an ale and a game of darts. 

He realized, as he stared at his sour reflection, that what it all boiled down to was the alpha perception of the omegan standards. Most omegas were women, so omegan fashions were geared towards women, as were the customs. Omega males, in corsets and bonding dresses, just seemed to bring even more sadistic pleasure to the more deprived alphas. As Thomas observed himself in the reflection of the looking glass, all doped up in lace and pearls, he swore that he would one day reclaim his authority to wear trousers… and would do so exclusively. 

He knew he could not stay with Lawrence forever. The question ahead of him now was how would he get out? 

He suppose he could always have the idiot killed… but that would require intensive planning to avoid being caught in the trap himself. It would do him no good to attempt freedom if he ended up incarcerated or back at Dover Castle. 

When Sarah was finished lacing him up like an obscene Christmas present, Thomas was bade to follow her back out into the hall and down a long flagstone corridor at the end of which lay a rather foreboding wooden door. At first, Thomas thought he was being made to enter some type of prison cell, for all the locks that the door offered, but then the latch was swung wide and Thomas saw that it was actually nothing more than the bottom of a rather small chapel. 

All the servants were there, with aprons removed and faces scrubbed. A few of the maids looked positively thrilled to have a break in their work. The butler, Mr. Wallace, was at the head of the pack and wore a clean handkerchief in his breast pocket. He nodded, giving Sarah a pleased glance as she took her place among the throng of her brethren. Oh… how Thomas wished he could join her. To be able to vanish into a crowd was a priceless gift. One didn’t know its worth until it was taken away. 

They were in a small ante-chamber, surrounded by carved rose glass and fine wood. Now Thomas realized why the door was so heavily locked; during a ceremony this area could be filled with foreigners… men and women who had no place wandering around the rest of the basement. The locks must surely be in place to keep order while the Butler would be roaming through the crowds. 

As it stood, there were no crowds to pack the eaves. There was only the little gaggle of Belton servants, all of whom looked like they were about to witness some sort of carnival stage show. Whispers of Thomas’ supposed beauty sprung up in the crowd. Soft oohs and ahs that made Thomas’ cheeks go bright red. 

“Marvelous.” Mrs. Gibson declared. “You look absolutely marvelous.” 

“Radiant.” Mr. Wallace agreed, “Like an angel.” 

Thomas disagreed with both these sentiments but kept his mouth shut. 

“The Cohen will be here shortly.” Mr. Wallace said. “He’s just speaking with his Lordship now-“ 

“The who?” Thomas wondered. 

“The Cohen, dear.” Mrs. Gibson said, “The Clergyman of the Rod.” 

 

Oh that just sounded like all _sorts_ of fun. 

 

Thomas stiffened perceptibly, angered to think that this bizarre union should be joined, of all people, by the Brigade and its ilk. His time at Dover castle had earned him a dodgy stigma against anyone who declared themselves a follower of the rod. When the glass door to the chapel opened, and a short man in a white robe stepped through, Thomas had to instinctively clamp down on the desire to vomit all over his frock. 

_That won’t do_ , said a voice in his head. For some reason it sounded like Mrs. Hughes. _You stand there in your frock and you work yourself out of this mess. No one appreciates dramatics on a bonding day_. 

“Ah!” The Cohen gave Thomas a beaming smile, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth; the man seemed to be sweating in his robes, which were bounded at the waist by a set of golden tassels. “Smashing!” he said, “But where’s your bouquet and veil?” 

“I don’t want them.” Thomas snapped, even as Mrs. Gibson opened her mouth with delight. 

The Cohen was taken aback. 

“But you’ll look so lovely-“ 

“I said I don’t want them.” Thomas ground out through clenched teeth, for the first person to try and put a veil over his head was going to get strangled with the lace. “Now where is Lawrence? I want to get this damnable ceremony over with.” 

The crowd went quiet. 

The excited happy air which followed a bonding cue evaporated as everyone realized where Thomas stood on the ideals of nuptial bliss. Sarah looked ready to dance a jig, but Mrs. Gibson was sorely disappointed, crestfallen as she realized that Thomas was not to be Lawrence’s delighted and dutiful omega. 

She didn’t seem angry; just sad. 

“…His Lordship is waiting for you in the chapel.” The Cohen said after a moment. His tone had sobered up, no longer forcefully gay. “I’m to lead you through the ceremony. It’s all very simple. After everyone has filed in, you’ll walk up the aisle at my single and join his Lordship. I’ll recite your vows. You won’t have to worry about lines.” 

_Because my consent doesn’t matter_ , Thomas thought acidly. 

“When his Lordship is finished repeating his lines, he’ll bruise the glans of your neck, and then we’ll all be on our way.” The Cohen added, “Given that his Lordship’s father has passed away, Mr. Wallace has consented to walk you up the aisle.” 

Thomas glanced at the butler, who gave him a dutiful nod. Thomas pursed his lips, wrought with inner turmoil as he thought of Carson and Downton. In another world, where Thomas would be free to give his consent, he would have wanted to be walked down the aisle by someone like Baxter or Mrs. Hughes… someone who genuinely loved him and cared about his happiness. 

“If you’ll wait here while we fill the chapel.” The Cohen said, “I’ll get the ceremony started.” 

With that, he turned and left, opening the chapel door wide so that the throng of servants could make their way into the basin of the church. They all sat on the right side, leaving the left side bare and gloomy. Thomas tried to see up the front to where Lawrence might be standing but found only Roland waiting at the end of the aisle, dressed is a day suit. Perhaps Lawrence was getting a drink of water or calming his nerves. 

Thomas suddenly felt a pang in his stomach like he might suffer from a case of diarrhea. Mercifully, nothing came of it, though his nerves never left him as the Cohen closed the chapel door again and left Thomas alone with Mr. Wallace in the dark of the ante-room. 

Mr. Wallace stood at his side, and kindly offered Thomas his arm. They linked at the elbows, silent as the babble outside slowly began to dwindle down into a hush. 

“I don’t want this.” Thomas finally confided in the man after a moment. “I suppose that’s obvious now.” 

Mr. Wallace just stared straight ahead, calm in the face of the storm. 

“I wouldn’t wish his Lordship on any omega.” Mr. Wallace finally answered, “But you have an ally in me and the staff, Master Barrow.” 

“Please call me Thomas.” Thomas asked. Being called ‘master’ just made him feel pangs in his stomach again. “Please…” 

“Your butler wrote to me, Thomas.” Mr. Wallace said in lieu of agreement. 

“What did he say?” Thomas asked. Outside their ante-room, the chapel was silent. 

_“We are gathered here today to witness the union of an alpha and omega for a lifetime of bonding and breeding-“_ The Cohen’s voice could be heard, almost at a shout as he attempted to make himself heard through the large room. 

“…He said that he was afraid for you.” Mr. Wallace finally replied, glancing to catch Thomas’ eye, “And asked me to look out for you. He said you were the finest footmen he ever pruned.” 

Thomas thought of Mr. Carson barking orders, storming up hallways, glaring at Jimmy and Alfred as they polished silver…. sneaking affectionate glances with Mrs. Hughes over the dinner table and decanting wine till the early hours of the morning. 

He thought of Mr. Carson hunched over his desk, writing a desperate letter to the butler of Belton House, praying that the recipient would be kind and understanding. 

Thomas had to stop his bottom lip from quivering. 

“…Mr. Carson is a good man.” Was all Thomas could think to say. 

“I wrote him back.” Mr. Wallace said. 

“What did you say?” Thomas asked. 

“I said that I would do everything my power to protect you.” Mr. Wallace finally replied. “And I intend to uphold that oath.” 

He used his other hand to squeeze at Thomas’ arm. The action comforted Thomas immensely. 

“I hate this damn dress.” Thomas finally managed to get out. His voice was watery and emotional. “I wish I had on my trousers.” 

“You’ll be out of it soon enough.” Mr. Wallace said, only to wince and tut at himself, “My sincerest apologies that came out more crass than I thought.” 

“Don’t worry.” Thomas mumbled, “I think I can manage a bit of dark humor.” 

The doors to the chapel were opened by two hall boys, both of whom were clearly scared stiff or Mr. Wallace as stared ahead with glassy eyes and kept their backs straight. 

Every servant had turned and rose, each staring at Thomas with wide eyes as Mr. Wallace stepped out of the ante-room and took Thomas with him. 

At the end of the aisle, the Cohen and Lawrence were waiting side by side before an enormous alter enshrined in gold and red velvet. The floor was white and black checkered marble, just the same as the entrance hall a floor above them. Beyond them all, at the base of the gold and velvet altar, stood an image of the Supreme Alpha. In one hand he held a long rod carved with latin and leaf twine. In the other hand he held an imperial orb. Upon his head was a crown; he was viewed in the eyes of history as an enormous man with broad shoulders and a sharp nose. His hair was curled in ringlets. 

_Idiot_ , Thomas wished he could say. Instead he just kept his mouth clamped shut, stiff jawed as Mr. Wallace reached the end of the aisle with Thomas on his arm. For a moment there was silence, until Lawrence (clad in a tux and bib of white bonding silk) offered a hand out to Thomas with a wicked smile. 

“Ravishing.” He declared. 

Mr. Wallace dropped his arm. Thomas followed Lawrence’s lead. 

As he stood before the man, observing his long black hair and his sharp nose, Thomas felt nothing but intense hatred. Hatred for a man who had taken him away from his family, from his home. Hatred for a man who had forced him into dresses, and stalked after him like some kind of psychopath on a hunting trail. Hatred for a man who had decided he knew what was best for Thomas without knowing Thomas at all. 

In that moment, Thomas wanted Lawrence dead. 

“There are no obligations on earth more sweeter or more tender, than those you are about to assume.” The Cohen said. The entire congregation stood enraptured, but Thomas himself was detached from that moment. 

“No vows more solemn that you might make. No human institution is more sacred than that of a bond between an alpha and an omega. It’s primal drive within us is so strong, so undying, that even beyond death it remains.” 

_Check me in for a table for two in hell_ , Thomas thought bitterly. 

Lawrence seemed captivated by his facial expressions. Enraptured. Could he see the hate in Thomas’ eyes? Thomas liked to think he could. 

“Lawrence Gray, Lord of Lincolnshire, will you take this omega, Thomas Nathaniel Barrow, whose hands you hold, to be your mate. To breed forth his children, as many as you care for, knowing that you are to protect and defend him and your offspring from other wayward forces and all harm till death claims you under?” 

“I do.” Lawrence said softly. Thomas suddenly found himself quite glad that he would not be asked to speak his own vows. He had a feeling nothing but a tirade of curses would pour from him. 

“And do you acknowledge your responsibility to protect and preserve this omega, to uplift and cherish him, as all alphas are demanded to do by the way of the rod?” 

“I do.” 

“Then you may give him your mark.” 

Thomas did not know what it meant to be ‘given a mark’. There has been mentions of a bruise to a glans on his neck, but it was more than that. It was the knowledge that Lawrence was going to try and take his independence. 

And that would not be happening. 

Thomas lunged back, rearing a hand in an attempt to strike Lawrence across the face. Cries illuminated the crowd, bouncing around the halls of the chapel as the servants realized Thomas would not be complacent. 

Lawrence grabbed him by the offending wrist before the blow could fall, and yanked Thomas hard to his chest. His top hat fell off, caught by Romans’ quick reflexes before the fine gray suede could hit the floor. 

“No!” Thomas screamed; he turned, desperately clawing at thin air with is one free hand while Lawrence reeled him back in like a fish with the other. He scooped Thomas around the waist, pinning him tight. 

“Easy, easy-!!” Lawrence barked in Thomas’ ear. Thomas refused to submit, thrashing and kicking as he tore at Lawrence’s arm with both his hands. Fingernail caught at skin, drawing blood. "There's a good love-“ 

Lawrence reached up and grabbed Thomas by the chin, which was a rather difficult thing to do given that he now could only grab Thomas' around the waist with one arm and Thomas was still thrashing like mad. As best as Lawrence was able, he tried to hold Thomas’ head steady. To make it more difficult for the man, Thomas began shaking his head back and forth, so that his hair flew about his face in a gust of wind. The only problem was that this made him very dizzy; he was almost on the verge of vomiting. 

“I won’t do it!” Thomas screamed. The Cohen had given up all sense of religious duty and was now cowering along the back wall to get away from the madness. Mr. Wallace seemed torn between assisting Thomas and assisting his lord, both hands out to try and shield one from the other. 

Roland just watched bemusedly. If only the crowd had bagged peanuts, they could enjoy the circus. 

Lawrence’s grip on Thomas’ chin became deathly tight. If only he could jerk his head back, to smack Lawrence on the nose with his skull. Thomas could feel heat on his neck; moist heat. The breath of another man-! 

“Stop it!” Thomas screamed wildly, “Don’t do it!” 

Lawrence did it anyway. 

There was a sharp burning ache in the juncture of his neck as Lawrence wedged his mouth over Thomas’ scent gland and bit down. He couldn't break the skin, not with Thomas struggling so hard, but something beneath the skin swelled and popped. Thomas could feel it burst, like a cyst of some sort beneath the muscle. The effect was instantaneous, with a sudden slamming head rush hitting him and making him sag almost into a state of unconsciousness. 

Lawrence was the only thing keeping him from falling to the earth. Whatever drug he'd been injected with was of such an obscene dosage that nonsense words were slurring out of Thomas’ mouth. 

Where only seconds before he’d felt horrible pangs of rage for Lawrence, now he only felt... needy. Like his entire existence hung on the man. To be fair, somewhere in the back of his mind he still hated Lawrence but now there was this horribly glossy veneer of desperate emotion draped over the entire thing. Lawrence was tutting, shifting him in his arms— Thomas felt himself being scooped by the back of the knees and neck 

"Poor little peach," Lawrence was saying to the others, "He's a fragile thing isn't he.” 

Thomas tried to say something but only managed a garbled expression that didn’t coast over well with English. 

People were giving their congratulations, but Lawrence was stand-offish at the best of times and Thomas was practically comatose in his arms. As people began to drift away, Thomas found himself growing slack and quiet in Lawrence’s grip. He could swear he could hear the man's heartbeat through his white silk bib. 

He felt almost like he was being rocked to sleep as an infant. An odd sense of protection swooped over him, assuring him that despite Lawrence’s horrible manners and sense of duty, he would still feel inclined to protect Thomas in a moment of dire need. 

He might even let Thomas wear pants by the end of it. Who knew?

But that wasn't the worst of it- oh no. The dull throbbing in his backside was starting to pick up and turn into a full outright burn. So maybe he still hated Lawrence just a little bit, but Lawrence was in possession of a big fat alpha cock and boy wouldn't that be swell to jump on and take a ride? 

He needed an exorcism to cleanse him of his sexual demons. Christ. 

The world was moving around around him. 

"--Of course, her Ladyship attempted to get her to lay down but you know how stubborn Lady Anthea can be." Mrs. Gibson was saying. 

“Send for the doctor to give her a sedative if you must.” Lawrence was annoyed, “But I won’t have her bothering my little peach with her antics.” 

“Of course not, your Lordship.” Mrs. Gibson said, “I’ll have nothing but quiet on the gallery floor-“ 

“Have the eastern hallway locked at the boudoir. I don’t want someone trying to sneak in while he’s in heat." 

“Certainly, M’lord.” 

The temperature dropped. Thomas opened his eyes, and found that somehow Lawrence had taken them upstairs. They were in the door of Lawrence’s bedroom, looking into the boudoir. Mrs. Gibson was waffling about the room, turning down the covers of the bed and closing up the windows so that the pale afternoon light could be blotted out by thick yellow curtains. The room was plunged into a slight gloom, not overbearing but calming. 

Lawrence stepped inside, keeping Thomas close to his chest as Mrs. Gibson glanced left and right giving the bedroom the once over. She nodded to herself, pleased. 

"I'l leave you." Mrs. Gibson said, “A pleasant evening to you both, M’lord-" she headed for the door to Regina bedroom-

“Wait." Thomas spoke up.   
Mrs. Gibson stopped and turned. 

Despite the emotions waging war inside of him, and the bizarre drugged feeling that had taken over his senses, Thomas still felt nervous. So long as Mrs. Gibson stayed in the room, Lawrence couldn’t assault him. 

Goddamnit, the worst part was that a tiny part of him wanted to be taken. Ravaged. Sexually devoured by a beast. 

Christ what was wrong with him? 

"Ah... it’ll be alright.” Lawrence was horribly smug, holding Thomas a little tighter to his chest, “Pre-mating jitters." 

“I shouldn’t dream of impertinence, M’lord, but I pray you might go easy on him?” Mrs. Gibson smiled softly, “He's a tender thing.” 

“Please..." Thomas beseeched, "Don't leave me here. Please don’t go away.” 

“You're quite safe, Thomas.” Mrs. Gibson said, “Should you need anything, M’lord, do not hesitate to ring. Goodnight to you both.” 

 

The door closed shut, and with it went Mrs. Gibson.

"Now then.” Lawrence murmured in Thomas’ ear. "Where were we?” 

Oh jesus hell he was about to be assaulted. 

Thomas panicked, throwing himself free from Lawrence’s arms to roll across the floor. He leapt up, running for the bedroom door, but just as he reached it, Lawrence got there first and slammed his body against Thomas so that quite suddenly he was squashed against the wood. His body was vibrating, humming with a heat— his desire was growing, making his cleft and perineum feel numb from the tingling sensation reverberating through underneath his skin. Lawrence loomed over him, his hot breath ghosting over Thomas’ face as he brought up a hand to stroke Thomas’ flushed cheeks. 

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty peach?” Lawrence’s voice was taking on a terrifyingly husky timbre. Thomas didn’t like it. 

“I don’t want this anymore!” He babbled, “I’ve made a mistake, I’m leaving! I’m going! I can’t be your omega— I don’t want to be your omega!” He bolted for the other door, unsure of where it might take it, but he didn’t make two steps before Lawrence grabbed him hard about the waist and threw him against the bed. Thomas bounced on the mattress, sliding to the floor so that he was suddenly crawling on its surface trying to find shelter. 

“Please-!” Thomas begged. Lawrence stumbled over him, legs on either side of Thomas, and scooped him up off the floor so that Thomas was momentarily writhing in mid air. Lawrence’s hands clenched, tearing at the fabric of the dress so that pearls scattered and bounced wildly upon the floor. 

“C’mere pretty baby-“ Lawrence was high on Thomas’ provocative scent, drinking him in like a drug. “C’mere-“ 

“No. No. Oh god, no!” There was no where to run, no where to hide. Lawrence had him about the waist and his dress was falling away from his body like the petals of a dying flower till the floor was coated white. Flushed pink skin seemed to steam in the cool September air, a fever pulsing through engorged veins till Thomas felt he could float— fly above the very scene and touch the ceiling. 

There was an undeniable force within him, dragging him back to earth, pushing him against Lawrence’s groping hands as Lawrence pushed him onto the bed and let him lay among the pillows. Their cool cloth was a godsend. 

“My god…” Lawrence reveled in him, laid bare upon the bed with nothing on but his stockings and garters. He took in Thomas’ slim waist, his swollen hips, his penis slowly filling with blood and his lack of hanging testes. The soft skin of Thomas’ revealed perineum was now coated in a pearly pink fluid. Lawrence salivated, tongue hanging out slightly as his eyes slowly dilated. “You are a stunning creature.” 

Thomas felt heavy in his bones, weary beyond all imagining as he watched his alpha strip. Lawrence shed his coat and vest, letting each article fall to the floor just as he’d done with Thomas’ dress. He took no care in his clothes. His breeding had never required him to set each item on a clothes horse. That’s what servants were for. 

But Thomas could no longer be a servant. 

Lawrence was not a man of massive muscle, nor of adoring beauty, but there was a raw masculinity in him that turned Thomas on. His chest was smattered with fine dark hair. His stomach held no pooch of lethargy. His shoulders were broad and pale, and when he tugged his hair out of his ponytail it spilled down his neck like ink. 

He fished at the buttons of his trousers, hastily shoving them aside to step out of his suit. His pants were doing a pathetic job of containing his cock, fully aroused and beginning to leak from the tip. 

“…Please…” Thomas could not make out complete sentences. He was losing his mind, his sense of direction spinning wildly like a top upon the floor. “Don’t-“ 

“My beautiful omega.” Lawrence praised, eyes black with lust, “No need to be frightened. Soon…” He pulled at the drawstrings of his pants and let them drop to the floor. Thomas stared, abashed. He was uncut, well endowed, his balls hung heavy and flushed dark with need. Coarse black hair covered his lower belly but just at the base of Lawrence’s cock Thomas could make out that telling ring of muscle which was the bane and beauty of all omega’s existences. 

“Soon you’ll have me inside you.” Lawrence seemed more lustful at the concept of speaking the words that performing the deed. “And everything will fall into place. You’ll see. You’ll see very soon.” 

He clambered onto the bed; a wave of warm smells rolled over Thomas… crashed against him like a wave upon a rocky beach. Lawrence lowered him himself onto Thomas, flesh meeting flesh from head to toe. He was heavy, pinning Thomas to the bed; their cocks trapped between their bodies created a slick film of secretion. Their bellies were painted with pre ejaculate. 

Whatever traditional customs had laid the groundwork for their bizarre joining had painted a macabre picture of two men that shouldn’t be together save for their shared lust for the other. One, a man of wealth and refinement prone to pettiness and selfishness. The other a man of the common core with nothing to his name save for buckets of spite and lips as red as wine. 

“Little peach… little love-“ Lawrence huffed in Thomas’ ear, eyes closed as he ground his hips against Thomas’ own. “Divine…Divine…” He couldn’t seem to say anymore, just repeating that word over and over again with Thomas’ necklace stuck between them like a postage stamp born to mail them together. “Divine… Divine… _Thomas.”_

The wine that washed over Thomas was both physical and emotional, a smell, a feeling, a way of life, a desperation and a drink that drowned him down. 

If this was madness, let it be bled from him like a psychopath in chains. 

“You…smell…like…wine…” Thomas managed to slur out. 

“Drink me in.” Lawrence commanded. Their lips crashed together. 

Thomas could not fully understand how, but at some points lips became tongue and teeth; time passed from minutes to moments to hours. The fluidity of it rolling like beads of sweat from Thomas’ stomach and thighs. 

Lawrence was between his legs, and the sensation between them had reached such a critical point that when he finally entered Thomas, Thomas could not help but scream. 

Memories were flashing past his eyes, blowing his mind wide open like a hit of 90 proof or the deepest drag of a cigarette one could manage. He could feel himself stretching, sliding, molding to fit Lawrence in a way only he was capable of. 

He kept his eyes closed, Lips were trailing his cheeks and nose, huffing and puffing like a train engine. 

And so too the piston pumped way, driving him to madness as he howled and clawed at the sheets. 

He bit into the pillows, wetting the cotton with saliva and tears. The hysteria swallowed him whole, the beauty of two halves meeting together as somewhere deep within Thomas’ body his being began to open up once more. He’d not felt like this since he’d been a child, frightened of a body he didn’t understand and unable to cope with the demands of the world. 

Lawrence didn’t seem capable of holding on either. He had his head thrown back, loose hair trailing over Thomas’ chest to tickle at his nipples and armpit. His eyelids were fluttering, his jaw clenched down tight as he drove with a hotter pace. Whatever high he was chasing was eluding him and Thomas both. 

But it would have to end. There was no way it could go on forever. 

And when it finally did end, and that burning stretch occurred, Thomas knew he was perfectly and utterly fucked. He gasped into the pillows, sagging into sleep, exhausted as the burn just continued on and on. How could the fire keep blooming? How could it keep from dying out? Where did it start? Where did it end? 

But the answer was simple. It was born from the loins of an alpha who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’... and ended in the womb of an omega who didn’t care what ‘yes’ meant. 

There was a heat in his belly, filling up, flowing over; Thomas clutched at the man atop him. He grabbed at his arms, his waist, his buttocks, anything to keep him still as his body begged for silence. For an end to the suffering. 

Lawrence panted raggedly atop him, spent.   
He collapsed, burying his face in Thomas’ neck… smothering him. The weight of his body pinned Thomas like a concrete wall. 

 

 

It came and went for several days in that fashion. Thomas neither ate nor slept soundly, a slave to the whims of his cycle. He woke, screaming in a blistering fever for Lawrence, who didn’t seem to be far away. Each time, he’d rush to Thomas’ bed, clamber atop him, fuck him wildly like a stallion in rut, then let Thomas crumble in his wake till he fell into dark dreamless sleep. 

Then he’d wake and the cycle would start all over again. 

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. 

 

Thomas awoke on a bed of fine linen sheets, save that they were crumpled and stained with every amount of filth imaginable. Clots of dried fluid clung to Thomas’ skin, making him stick to the fabric. His throat felt raw, his eyes burned beneath his lids, his anus felt like it was on fire. He was in so much pain that he opened his eyes, wincing audibly as he tried to push himself up on his forearms to get some of the pressure off his lower coccyx. He found Lawrence beside him, asleep with black hair swimming around his pointed face. His mouth was slightly ajar, a soft huff of air passing every so often between his thin lips; Thomas felt a sharp pang in his chest at the realization that he was looking into the face of his alpha. Into the face of the man who would no day demand he be bore children. It could be that the pair of them would know one another for decades before Thomas managed his next move. To think… they could even have a family together—

But this was just folly. Children’s talk. Idle babble. The only reason Thomas had agreed to be Lawrence’s mate was to experience a taste of freedom, and so he’d dine on it or be damned. Lawrence shifted a bit, seeming to realize he was being watched in his sleep. Thomas reached out, settling himself at Lawrence’s side with an arm flung across his chest so that they were intertwined. 

“Mm?” It seemed Lawrence was awake now too. Eager to avoid conversation, Thomas hid his face in Lawrence’s neck. 

“Ey…” Lawrence mumbled, gently pushing Thomas off of him so that the pair of them could lay side by side again, “Gonna suffocate me you are.” In sleep, his voice lacked its usual upper class restraint. 

But Thomas didn’t want to lay side by side. His anus hurt horribly, and he was covered in dried body fluids. He wanted to be held, and treated well. He wanted to feel like he meant something to Lawrence, and wasn’t just a whore. 

“Won’t you hold me?” Thomas asked softly, reaching out his hands again. 

Lawrence sat up, pulling his hair back out of his face to survey Thomas more clearly.   
“Oh don’t tell me you’re one of those types.” He muttered, sniffing deeply. He looked agog at Thomas, perhaps taken aback by how covered in dried fluids he was. Thomas was practically painted, dirtier than he’d ever been in his life… not a prospective choice for a bed mate. 

“Is your heat over?” Lawrence asked, slightly on edge. 

“…I think so.” Thomas said, for he certainly didn’t feel like he was in heat. His anus was no longer leaking with slick, and the urge to do ungentlemanly things had subsided within him. He felt quite back to his own mind. Thank god. 

“Thank god.” Lawrence echoed Thomas’ sentiments, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to stretch languidly. He rose up, crossing several paces in the room to pick up a packet of cigarettes on the desk which he light with a fine golden lighter. “You were going to be the death of me.” He declared. 

“…Won’t you hold me?” Thomas asked again, feeling feeble and cold alone in their bed. He suddenly realized Lawrence had been taking up quite a bit of room on the mattress. With him now gone, Thomas was still sitting comically on the edge. 

“You need a bath.” Lawrence said, tutting at Thomas’ awful appearance. 

“We both do.” Thomas corrected, for Lawrence looked just as awful as he. His cock, though flaccid, still looked chaffed and raw (particularly at the base). There was a rash growing on his lower chest from lack of good bathing. His black hair was full of grease. 

“Too true.” Lawrence said, regarding himself disdainfully in the mirror. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll bathe in the morning.” He said. He crossed the room, headed for the door to his own chambers. 

“But…I…” Thomas called out, halting Lawrence in his tracks if only a little bit. He looked back at Thomas exhausted and irritable, clearly eager to get back to bed. “Do we have to sleep apart?” 

“Well I can’t get any shut eye with you in the bed, you’re all over me.” Lawrence scoffed. 

Thomas flushed, embarrassed, “It’s just that… we… well… we sort of… mated.” He felt like an idiot for speaking the word aloud, as if the action between them wasn’t obvious enough. 

“Mm.” Lawrence put out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray by the door, “Go on then, take a bath, you’re starting to attract flies.” He said, “And you ought to ring for new sheets.” 

“But-“ Thomas opened his mouth to say that the servants would surely all be in bed and he had no idea where the sheets were kept. 

“Don’t get me into a temper in the middle in the night.” Lawrence snapped. Thomas froze, wary of the angry edge he heard growing there, “Go on. Get to it!” He waved a hand irritably at Thomas’ bathroom door. 

Thomas followed as if a puppet on a marionette. He stumbled from bed on wobbly legs, only realizing too late that he couldn’t properly walk. He staggered to the wall, then inched his way to the door; the telltale click of Lawrence shutting his own on the way out made Thomas flinch. 

He found the bathroom just as grand and elegant as the boudoir beyond. It was comprised of cold gleaming white tiles that reflected the moon’s light well on a cloudless night. The bathtub looked gaunt and grave. Thomas had to berate himself mentally when he remembered that Lawrence was completely oblivious to his suicide attempt and would therefor have no way of knowing that Thomas would be unnerved by the sight of an empty bathtub at night. 

To try and dispel the awful image of July, Thomas reached out with trembling hands and started the water. It took him a good second to realize that he hadn’t inserted the stopper, so the water was just continuously rushing down the drain. Desperate to do right, to act like a man with half a brain, Thomas shoved the rubber stopper into the drain as best he could and watched the water slowly fill up the tub. Steam was beginning to billow from the jet, so Thomas added a bit of cold not wanting to shock his system. He avoided turning around, did not want to look in the mirror, and so instead merely stared at the bathtub while he felt something warm creep down his inner leg. 

Thomas looked down, seeing nothing for a moment. Then a slim trail of blood slowly appeared in between his thighs, casually tracing the muscles of his leg to rest somewhere close to his knee. 

Thomas swallowed around a knot in his throat, and climbed into the tub. 

The water was scalding hot, even with the cold that he’d added. He didn’t like it but forced himself to remain anyways, praying that the water would be hot enough to cleanse his skin of all the filth he’d picked up in the last several days. He lay his head back against the rim of the tub and stared at the ceiling. His stomach gurgled with wild displeasure. 

Water dripping from the tap, plopping into the bathtub, created a soft ‘plip’ sound that soothed Thomas. 

He glanced down at his legs. The slowest furl of red, thinning out in the water. Copper vanishing into oxygen. Blood erasing itself, spread too slim to hold a current. Thomas felt his stomach gurgle again, this time with wild warning, and had no chance to turn his head or seek out a wastebasket before he vomited onto his chest. 

He shivered in the scalding bath, vomit stinging the corner of his lips. His sick created a disgusting rainbow along with the semen and sweat. 

Exhausted, unable to move even to clean himself, Thomas lay his head back against the rim of the tub again and looked up at the tiles above him. Beautiful, beautiful, art deco crossing over a white ceiling. Floral insignias. He imagined that this ceiling was made on the floor of a poor man’s workshop, blasted white with fine paints. 

A clock was ticking somewhere. Possibly in the boudoir. The beat of its hands began to coincide with the drops of water. 

_plip, tick, plip, tick, plip, tick_

 

He lay in the bathtub as his alpha had commanded.   
He did not know what for. 

Naked, battered, twisted, the shadows of the moon slowly spun silver threads across Thomas’ hair and the surface of the bath. 

Blood pooled between his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know. I'm still unsure how I want to show the pictures of Thomas' dresses. Pinterest isn't very good. You have to have an account to view pictures on it. I think I could do a photoset on Tumblr.... let me know if you'd like that.


	12. Cocaine Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas settles into life at Belton House only to face a set back when Lawrence Gray shows his true colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings: This chapter will contain several dark scenes involving physical abuse, emotional abuse, drug usage, abortion, and miscarriage. If any of these things trigger or upset you, please be aware of their inclusion.**
> 
> Likewise, please view the end chapter notes for an important authors note!

_Litigo 5:21: “Drugs, drunkenness, orgies, lustful envy, and things like these… I warn you, as I warned you before that those who do such things will not inherit the blessing of the Alpha Supreme.”_

 

It was impossible to find good in the Gray family, but the same could not be said for Belton house or its servants. 

If you detached the two, and allowed the family that ruled it to float above the reality of the estate, Belton became incredibly beautiful with Italian gardens, polished marble halls, and an expansive church service held every Sunday morning. If you stood outside the chapel, you could hear the pipe organ haunting up and down gallery walls, making the whole house seem alive through the power of music. There were no children, no dogs in this house… because of this, all the noise in the house either came from Anthea’s tantrums, Lawrence’s abuses, or the shrieks of a peregrine falcon named Champion. 

The crest of the Gray family was a full timed affair. Thomas was amazed to find that Lawrence was a full time game-hawker. His lack of people skills gave him abundant patience with animals, particularly birds that he seemed to have a dear affinity for. He owned close to fifty, with species ranging from owls to kestrels that lived in expansive aviaries on the branch of Belton’s estate. Thomas could watch from the gallery floor windows as Lawrence unleashed bird after bird to chase for prey with a dangling golden bell glinting on its leg. Come rain or shine, cloudy or clear, Lawrence would usually devote two hours or more of his day to being outdoors with his birds. 

Champion was a tiercel, speckled in color, shrieking wildly every time Lawrence let him fly after an elusive vol or bait box. Sometimes, Thomas would wake up early in the morning to the sound of Champion soaring right past his window. It tempted him to throw back the curtains, open the gates wide, and just watch from the veranda as Champion twisted and rolled in a pale English sky before diving sharply to snatch up a farming pigeon. He’d even go after grouse, or anything that wasn’t tied down. He was kept in the aviary with all the rest of the birds, but unlike the owls or kestrels, Champion was clearly Lawrence’s favorite. Apparently he’d been raised by Lawrence from the time of a chick. 

Thomas had visited the aviary several times when Lawrence wasn’t around. It was incredible to see birds of prey up close. To watch them preen and waddle about on logs that had been erected for makeshift roosts. He found himself imagining that he too was a bird. A beautiful gilded thing that could soar through the skies and escape the treacheries of secondary sexualities forever. Of course, the concept that he might also be forced to roost amid old newspapers soiled with his feces was a tad bit disappointing… but one couldn’t have everything. 

Of course, there was only so many times that one could visit an aviary without it getting boring, and Thomas wasn’t allowed to go into the village without Lawrence for company. The library was a difficult place to stop in, because Anthea was often in there and for some reason had started behaving very cold towards Thomas. The Dowager was even worse; when she wasn’t annoyed she was disappointed. Thomas didn’t know which was worse. Either way, she couldn’t be pleased and even if she could Thomas wasn’t in the mood to please her. On a daily basis there was only one person whom Thomas cared about pleasing and that was Lawrence Gray… 

…Much as he was loathe to admit it. 

It stung him, to realize that he was oddly dutiful to Gray. Ever since having that bizarre gland in his neck crushed, Thomas had felt a weird pining sensation take over him. It had resulted in Thomas attempting to please the man, although the outcomes had been far from desired. Lawrence hadn’t attempted to sleep with him again after their initial courtship, for which Thomas’ anus was dearly grateful, but he’d also not deigned to hold or kiss Thomas either. It had resulted in an ugly ache settling within Thomas’ chest, as he both longed for and rebelled against the need for affection. In a single days setting, he might volleyball between the two. Sometimes he’d follow Lawrence around trying to be useful, other times he’d run away and hide. 

Such as now. 

“I know it’s highly unorthodox.” Thomas begged before Mr. Wallace and Mrs. Gibson. In Mr. Wallace’s office, Thomas could almost delude himself into thinking he was back at Downton again save that Wallace had everything arranged backwards and there was no wine decanter sitting on the man’s desk. In Mr. Wallace’s hand sat a copy of Thomas’ references, a true testament to all his skills and years from Downton. 

Mr. Wallace seemed slightly taken aback; Thomas hoped it was because of how good his reference was, and not because Thomas was begging for a job in his alpha’s house. 

“Highly.” Mr. Wallace said, seeming to realize he’d gone without speaking for a moment too long. 

“But you must admit, I’m well trained!” Thomas pressed onward, eager. Maybe this conversation wouldn’t be so awkward if he were wearing trousers. “Mr. Carson accepts nothing but the best, as I’m sure you do too… please- won’t you give me a chance?” Thomas wrung his hands, “Anything! Even hall boy work! I can polish with the best of them! I’m an expert at clock repairs. I can prove it to you right now!” He paused, glancing about the room. There was a mantel clock sitting above a crackling hearth, a little dusty but otherwise without care, and Thomas made a beeline for it. 

Mr. Wallace rose up with a chortle, offering Thomas a hand to keep him from taking up the clock. 

“Do you have a clock I can repair?” Thomas asked. 

“I don’t think we’ll go that far, Master Thomas.” Mr. Wallace smiled all the same. 

“Thomas-“ Thomas corrected him, “Please, I beg of you don’t call me Master anything of the sort.” 

“…Thomas.” Mr. Wallace agreed, with another gentle smile, before continuing on, “Your role in this house is incredibly important already. You’re his lordship’s omega. His pregnant omega-“ he added with a bizarre hint of pride. 

But the thought made Thomas' stomach twist into knots. The staggeringly awful concept that he might actually be pregnant was not one followed by the releasing of doves or the choirs of heaven for him. All Thomas could see was that alien eating away at his insides, ripping him apart until there was nothing left that was uniquely himself. Nothing that could be discerned in a corpse. Perhaps he was being slightly melodramatic but Thomas simply refused to believe that he, as a man, could conceive. He’d spent far too many years of his life being a beta to start considering himself an omega now. He didn’t want to be an omega. He didn’t want to have children. He didn’t want to _bloody be pregnant_. 

_There is nothing in my stomach_ , Thomas repeatedly told himself. _There is absolutely nothing in my stomach_. 

“I’m not pregnant.” Thomas told Mr. Wallace. He seemed taken aback, “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything! Even hall boy work!” 

“I-“ Mr. Wallace cut off with a soft breathless laugh, taking off his glasses to polish them on his pocket square, “I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

Thomas was down crest, feeling his mission a failure, but then Mr. Wallace just gave him another kind smile and put his glasses back on, “I’ll see what I can put together for you.” 

 

And that’s how Thomas ended up cleaning the clocks of Belton House. 

It was noon, the hour for tea, and the servants of Belton were slowly cloistering in the servant’s hall one by one as they finished up with their morning chores and were permitted a half hour break. It was brought upon by a kitchen maid in a faded pink dress, bringing out a fresh pot of tea and warm baked biscuits. Thomas had been sat at the servant’s table for the past half hour, dutifully cleaning and timing a 1790 mahogany bracket clock. It was a silent striker, a Robert Wood, and had eight day twin fusee movement as well as engraving on its backplate. It was beautiful, and deserved to be polished and praised. It seemed that Belton House, while always sporting footman, had never been in possession of a clock specialist. Thomas was happy to earn his keep. 

Thomas paused in his work, wiping his hands clean of grease as the kitchen maid poured him a cup of tea. Christopher, the first footman, came around the door exhausted and slouched into a seat across from Thomas to grab his own teacup from the kitchen maid. There was a pompous air about Christopher that Thomas understood well. His black hair and sharp menacing eyes reminded Thomas of his youth. He eyed Thomas, slightly alarmed to find a member of the upstairs at his table, but said nothing until he slurped down a mouthful of cooling tea. 

“Tea time.” Thomas was glad to pause in his cleanings, accepting a cup with quiet thanks. The kitchenmaid curtsied, and fled the room before she could be barked out. 

“Thank god.” The first footman agreed; he relaxed, watching Thomas from across the table. They weren’t alone for more than a few minutes, with several others walking into the servant’s hall for their own cup. They seemed tense at spotting Thomas, curtsying only to be stopped when Thomas waved them off. He felt partly guilty for putting them on edge during their only day break. It wasn’t fair that they should be on guard even while taking their tea. 

Ms. Holmand, the Dowager’s maid took her seat in a rocking chair by the fire. She was tense in her back even while attempting to take tea. Thomas had a feeling it was less to do with his presence and more to do with her personality. She took small sips of tea, her lips tightly pursed. 

Mr. Roland sat opposite Ms. Holmand, in a matching chair that had a green quilt flung over the back of it. He had a dark look about him, always brooding into the fire, and didn’t seem too happy for the company. as Lawrence’s valet, Thomas knew that Roland was more close to his alpha than any other servant. Roland certainly wasn’t gloating about his status; is anything he looked eternally exhausted by the whole affair. 

Clements, Anthea’s maid, was slightly more laid back in her own chair, nibbling on biscuits as she dunked them into her cup. Sarah, the saucy head housemaid, was also cloistering around the far end of the table with two other lower housemaids, Eleanor and Claire. The last to come in was the second footman, Benedict. The boy was so obviously naive that it made Thomas’ teeth ache. He took biscuit after biscuit, cramming them into his mouth till his cheeks were too full to swallow. 

“So, why are you down here? Sense of charity?” Christopher asked, eyeing Thomas’ clock repair kit. 

“That’s no way to speak to his Lordship’s omega.” Ms. Holmand was clearly not a fan of Christopher’s lack of tact. “You should remember yourself, Christopher.” 

“Oh no,” Christopher drawled, putting up his hands as if under arrest, “It’s the Queen of Propriety, everyone curtsey.” 

“It’s not appropriate and you know it.” She carried on, “And it’s not appropriate for you to be down here either, Master Thomas.” Her tone became clipped, lacking it’s regular edge. Thomas folded his hands in front of his kit, giving Ms. Holmand a tight smile, “Her ladyship is most displeased.” 

“Lady Anthea isn’t happy either, Master Thomas.” Clements added. They should know; they were the corresponding servants for their mistresses. 

“Neither of them want me in this house.” Thomas wouldn’t be budged, “I don’t want to be around them either. It’s better for me to stay among my own kind. It keeps me sane— and please don’t call me Master Thomas. Just Thomas or Barrow if you like.” 

Ms. Holmand seemed to relax a bit, even if only for a moment. She crossed her legs at the ankle, accepting a refill for her cup from the traveling kitchenmaid who was going around the table making rounds, “This family has always had horrific turbulence.” Ms. Holmand said with a sip of fresh tea, “I’m afraid you’ll be drawn into it on an intimate level.” 

“I overheard Lady Anthea saying that she hated you.” Sarah added. Thomas noticed that she had the usual mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “That she doesn’t consider you his Lordship’s true omega. That’s why she didn’t attend the ceremony.” 

“Typical of her.” Ms. Holmand snipped, “Always acting out to gather attention. I don’t wish this family on any man. Times are getting tough, otherwise I would have retired myself. The family has always had bad blood, and I don’t believe that there’s anything you honestly could have done to get Anthea to like you, Master Thomas. The Dowager’s worse. She always wanted the unattainable for his Lordship who, frankly, has been a little pig ever since he was a boy.” 

Thomas was stunned. 

He’d never heard a servant speak so openly in disgust for the family they served. He’d struck Ms. Holmand as the type to keep her lips shut, but clearly she’d deduced that Thomas was not here out of happiness and was glad to tell him what she really thought. Even more shocking, none of the other servants seemed dismayed or put off by her sharp tongue. If anything they were _agreeing_. Thomas wondered what Mr. Carson would say if he knew that someone in Downton had dared to call Lady Mary a ‘little pig’. He had a feeling the bobbies would be called by the end of it. 

“Mr. Wallace doesn’t like him either.” Clements said, “How about you, Mr. Roland?” 

Roland glared at the girl, “He’s a paycheck to me and nothing more, as you well know.” He added darkly. 

Thomas was agog. 

“My god…” He couldn’t keep from letting his shock slip, “So… None of you care for the family?” 

“I suppose that offends you.” Clements pursed her lips, “Being their sort-“ 

“Here now-!” Thomas warned, “I’m not their sort, an’ I never will be. I was born on m’grandmother’s couch, just like the rest of you.” 

Clements smiled again, warmed up once more his assurance. 

“So… You were a servant?” Benedict butted in, slightly timid before the older women. “Like us?” 

“Cor I was.” Thomas was proud of it, “ I was a footman, just the same as you. A valet,” he gestured to Roland, “And an under butler for the Earl of Grantham… and then eventually a maid.” He added bitterly. 

Eleanor and Clair giggled, their heads bent together till their frilly white caps touched. 

“I heard Mr. Wallace mention it but he wouldn’t budge when I asked.” Benedict was sore over it like a petulant child. “No one ever tells me anything.” 

“Sounds like you climbed the ladder!” Christopher was impressed. 

“How did you become a clock expert though?” Sarah asked. She was leaning obscenely on the table with her elbows; a sign of poor breading. If Mrs. Gibson was in the room, Thomas had a feeling that Sarah would get an ear-chewing. 

“My father was a clock maker.” Thomas explained, “I grew up around them. I was going to be his successor. I understand clocks innately. They’re like tiny people to me.” 

But Sarah only laughed. 

“I’m quite serious!” Thomas teased, pouring himself another cup of tea so that it was once again piping hot, “Every clock has a personality.” 

“What utter nonsense.” Was Ms. Holmand’s reply. Still though, she was wearing a soft smile. 

“Go on then.” Christopher teased, pushing forward the Robert Wood Thomas had been working on before breaking for tea time, “What’s the personality of this clock?” 

“Oh… this one is a secret keeper.” Thomas picked up the mantel clock, carefully turning it around so that his tea-mates could all see its gilded front. The others laughed, thinking him joking. “Don’t believe me?” He opened the face front of the clock, so that the eight day twin fusee movement could be seen. 

“This is a mahogany bracket clock.” Thomas declared, “Silver break arch dial. It’s a Robert Wood… 1790 in age. See this bell top case?” He touched the top of the clock which swooped in an artful curve, “Look at the veneers.” He added, for there was a gorgeous cheery wood carving that laid atop the mahogany. “Gilt urn finials over fish scale frets… gilded bracket feet.” This was a clock fit for kings! 

Or rather, for earls. 

“It has eight day twin fusee movement, as well as an engraved backplate.” Thomas opened the back of the clock, picking up the winding key which he polished softly with a darkened cloth, “But its silent striker is what gives it all away. Most clocks want you to know what time it is. They chirp like birds singing in the dawn… but not this one.” 

The others were captivated by now, absolutely silent.   
Thomas raised up the key to the backplate, carefully twisting the clock to lose its accurate time. 

“Watch.” Thomas murmured. 

He turned the clock back to a few seconds before noon, and let it go again. The clock ticked several times, the second hand striking till the minute and hour both hit twelve.   
But no sound was issued. 

The others made amused noises ranging from disbelief to agreement. 

“But surely many clocks do that.” Ms. Holmand said. 

“Some do, but not many.” It wasn’t agreeable to have a clock that wouldn’t do its job for you. “A silent clock is a watcher… it sees all.” Thomas murmured, carefully setting the time back straight and closing up the clock so that dust couldn’t interfere with the gears. “You forget it’s even in the room.” Thomas drew his face close, lowering it till he was side by side with the clock and could see through its eyes. All the others looked oddly big when his face was upon the table, “This clock likes to whisper things in the dead of night. To tell what it’s seen.” 

“Clocks do not whisper.” Ms. Holmand warned, taking a sip of tea even with that pursed frown of hers. 

“Really?” Thomas teased. “Be very quiet.” 

And just as he asked, everyone drew to a still till the crackling of the hearth was the only thing that could be heard. Thomas moved his face behind the clock, and with a careful even breath blew quietly into the back of the clock so that a soft tone could be heard as wind lapped at the carved holes. Much like a flute, the clock sang. 

The maids tittered; Sarah grinned, her mirthful eyes twinkling at Thomas’ antics. Ms. Holmand just rolled her eyes. 

“You’re rather imaginative.” She said. 

Thomas shrugged, straightening back up so that he could organize his clock repair kit. When all the tools were put back into their slots and his rag was folded way, the kit could be roll and wrapped with a leather thong. He paused to take a small sip of tea- 

“So if you’re pregnant, how’s it going to come out?” 

Thomas choked on his tea, nearly spraying it upon the clock. The women around the table turned, angry, to find Benedict the second footman blushing horribly in his seat. The blubbering idiot- did he ever think before he opened his mouth? 

Cor he was _just like William_. 

“Ben!” Clements was angry with him.   
Sarah reached out and smacked Benedict upon the back of the head, messing up his pomade hold. Benedict winced, rubbing the back of his head to keep his chestnut hair down. 

“That’ll frighten the horses.” Christopher sneered, draining his teacup with one last gulp. Really, the boy needed better table manners if he was to be the first footman. 

But really the question begged to be answered. How would a baby come out of him. He didn’t have a vagina… so… 

Ah. That was how it was going to come out.   
Thomas paled, setting down his teacup as he wiped at his sweating brow.   
He really didn’t want to think about this anymore. 

He wasn’t the only one put off his tea. Roland jerked up from his rocking chair so that it jerked back and forth, shocked by the sudden movement. He set down his teacup and stormed out the servant’s hall to go god knows where and do god knows what. Benedict shrank a bit more in his seat as Roland passed. 

“You’ve angered the beast.” Christopher muttered as Roland’s shadow disappeared up the stairs. 

“Oh he never liked me anyway.” Benedict sighed, “He doesn’t like anyone ‘cept for Clements. An’ that’s just cause he’s sweet on her.” 

“Be kind to Mr. Roland.” Clements warned. Thomas wondered if there was some downstairs romance to be had between the pair of them, “He works very hard and has to put up with much more than you know.” 

She tucked a curl of golden hair behind her ear, obviously nervous about something. Thomas wondered what scandals she knew. 

“But in all seriousness,” Benedict sat back up straight in his chair again, eyes fixed on Thomas, “If you’re not a lady, how are you gonna give birth to a-“ 

“Ben, if you don’t shuttup I’ll box your ears in!” Sarah snapped loudly. Benedict shrank back from the head housemaid, clearly she’d made good on the threat before. 

“Well it doesn’t matter.” Thomas wanted to put a stop to this conversation before it soured his stomach. He rose, tucking his clock repair kit into his dress pocket before picking up the polished clock. It belonged in the red parlor room upstairs. “Because I’m not pregnant, and I’m not going to have a baby. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to put up his cock— THIS CLOCK!” Thomas cried out the word, agog that he’d make such a slip up in front of women and footmen alike. 

Sarah was speechless, beaming at his naughty affront. Thomas clapped a free hand over his mouth, horribly embarrassed 

“… I meant _this clock._ ” Thomas spat out the word. “And don’t you dare think otherwise.” 

And with that he stormed out the room. Ms. Holmand was blue in the face for want of order and decency. 

Thomas took the clock up the stairs, heat radiating from his cheeks as his skirt flashed about his ankles. What in the hell had he been thinking? _His cock, indeed_. 

As he entered the first floor, Thomas blew out a hot breath of air, trying to reason away that it had been an innocent slip of the tongue and nothing more. If the topic had been on pregnancy and birth, well that was hardly his fault. It was Benedict’s fault, that little nit! 

Benedict, William, Alfred— when would Thomas be rid of ‘do-good’ footmen that couldn’t keep their mouths shut? 

He crossed the saloon floor, finding the door to the red parlor room slightly ajar. He entered, and grimaced to find that the room was already occupied by the family being served tea by Mr. Wallace. Of course, Lawrence was missing given that he often went away during the day on mysterious business trips, but Lady Anthea and the Dowager Countess were both there. Lady Anthea looked green with distress when she saw Thomas in the doorway holding the mantel clock. Her once artistic and sweet face grew shrewd and spiteful. She seemed to curl inward on the plush pink couch like a hermit crab. The Dowager noted her daughter’s behavior and let out a terse sigh of embarrassment, signaling for another cup of tea from Mr. Wallace who poured her one with grace and poise. 

If only he knew that downstairs Benedict was asking about male omega births. 

Thomas walked over to the mantel, barren in its center, and wiped the tiny bit of dust he found away so that he could set the clock up again. It looked pristine, its brass clippings glowing like coined sunshine. He was quite proud of his work. 

“So it seems we’ve garnered another servant.” Lady Anthea spoke up from the couch, lofty and icy at the same time. Thomas leaned a bit upon the mantel, a hand upon his hip as he slowly turned around. She was sitting up straight again, carefully stirring in sugar with her milky tea, “If only he cost us a little less.” 

Thomas looked at Wallace who was remaining stoic in the face of the lion. What patience the man showed; he was a saint. 

“I suppose the uncivilized find it difficult to take tea.” Lady Anthea added, for lack of Thomas’ cup. 

“Ah, that explains why we don’t take tea downstairs.” Thomas said, a coy smile on his face. “Such as right now.” 

“Don’t you dare talk back to me!” Lady Anthea jolted a bit on the couch, angry at the sound of Thomas’ voice. 

“Anthea.” The Dowager snapped, even as Thomas opened his mouth to land another blow, “Enough.” 

Lady Anthea wilted in her spot, before moodily returning her attention to her cooling tea. “You were pleasant enough at the start, try and keep that act up for appearances sake alone.” The Dowager added nastily to her daughter. Thomas doubted Lady Anthea would follow her mother’s advice. 

Bitter, Lady Anthea took a tiny sip of her tea only to grow repulsed by its taste. She seemed unable to swallow it. “What does he even see in you, I wonder?” She grumbled softly. Three guesses as to the ‘he’ of which she spoke. 

“That is not for you to concern yourself over.” The Dowager warned. “Those are your brother’s affairs, not yours. We’ll settle you with your own match now that your older brother is settled, and you’ll say no more about it. Honestly…” she paused to take a sip of tea, “Your sibling rivalry is most unappealing, Anthea. Do keep it to yourself.” 

Lady Anthea looked sick to her stomach. Thomas wondered if she was having just as much trouble in courtship as Lawrence had. As an omega, he tried to be sympathetic, but it was difficult. 

Her daughter momentarily settled, the Dowager turned her eyes to Thomas. “Why are you downstairs, cleaning clocks?” 

“It’s where I belong.” Was the only answer Thomas could summon. Wallace said nothing, once again, his eyes straight ahead. “I’m a servant, and a clock makers son.” 

“Well it’s not your place.” The Dowager snapped, “You belong upstairs now with us, and Lawrence.” She paused, setting down her teacup before she could take another sip to add, “How on earth are you supposed to attend to the needs of your nest and mate if you’re not upstairs to see to it.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes, turning away to take his pocket square out so that he could gently polish the edge of the clock’s gilded dial, “It doesn’t need attending to.” 

“How would you know?!” For whatever reason, Thomas’ lack of concern seemed to have struck a sensitive edge with Lady Anthea. Thomas looked about, willing himself body and soul not to sneer. The Dowager set down her cup again, angry. 

“Anthea!” She snapped. 

Lady Anthea curled upon the couch again, moody. 

But Thomas’ sense of pride was an ugly beast, and it roared at its wound, “If you’re so concerned about it, attend to it yourself!” Thomas snapped at the girl, “I have clocks to clean. A much more important task.” He added, just for spite. He left the room, shutting the door behind him so that he could not be bothered by any more sniping comments from Lady Anthea or the Dowager. Honestly, this entire family—

“Demented.” Thomas muttered nastily across his breath as he crossed the saloon floor towards the marble staircase. “The whole lot of them.” 

But even as he reached the stairs, he paused at the sight of Roland hanging behind the banister. It seemed he was attempting to hide in the shadows, one of Lawrence’s mended sooting jackets over his arm. 

“How was the battle?” Roland asked, waltzing around the banister so that he and Thomas could walk up the stairs together. 

“Sounds like you’ve waged it before?” 

“Oh you have no idea.” Roland was bitter, and Thomas could not blame him. Valets had an intimate relationship with their masters. As someone who was forced to be intimate with Lawrence Gray, he could easily say the task was nauseating. 

“I despise these people.” Roland explained as they hit the gallery floor and headed west towards the library. “They treat you like dirt and it makes my skin boil.” 

“Well, you have to take it in your stride.” Thomas mused. “What else can you do?” 

They entered Lawrence’s bedroom; Roland opened the wardrobe to hang up Lawrence’s shooting jacket, and Thomas fetched another mantel clock that could do with cleaning. 

“Forgive me for being… personal…” Roland paused, glancing at Thomas. Thomas noted there was something dark in the man’s eyes. “But I feel the need to say that Gray is not worthy of you. You’re a catch and a beauty.” 

Thomas carefully weighed the mantel clock from one hand to the other, wary of Roland’s words. Was he just being polite or was it something more? It was difficult to say. Thomas didn’t exactly have the best track record with alphas. 

“When I dressed Lawrence, the morning after your heat ended, he told me that you mawed at him like a cat.” Roland’s tone had turned bitter again, “Begging for attention.” 

Thomas held the clock close to his chest. 

“He should have given it to you.” Roland said. “It’s only right for an alpha to attend to the needs of their omega. Course you can’t tell a selfish bastard to be sympathetic. It goes against his nature.” He shut the wardrobe doors again, locking them. “… But if you’d been mine, I would have cared for you. Just so you know.” 

He looked at Thomas; Thomas could not rightly say what those eyes held. 

“… I don’t feel comfortable having this conversation.” Thomas finally said, for he didn’t and there was something dangerous in Roland’s eyes that he couldn’t name. 

“…I’m sorry.” Roland was taken aback, recomposing himself. “I didn’t mean to impose.” 

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, slightly guilty for putting Roland on edge, “I just… I don’t have the best track record with alphas and omegas. I pretended to be a beta for twenty years.” 

Roland gave Thomas a tight lipped smile. “I understand.” Roland said… and it didn’t sound like the man was lying. 

 

Lawrence returned home around six that evening. Thomas was downstairs, cleaning up yet another clock when Roland came and got him in the servant’s hall. With dinner about to be served for the upstairs, the downstairs was all in a bustle to get everything ready. Tablecloths had to be laid out, dishes prepared and brought up, ladies washed and dress… no man was off his feet, save for Thomas who sat alone at the table watching the comforting scene unfold. He could close his eyes and almost imagine it was Mrs. Patmore shouting in the kitchen, not Mrs. Price. That Bates was relaxing in his chair by the fire, after having dressed Lord Grantham. That Carson was barking at Andy to take up the pre-dinner cocktails before Branson started whining. 

Instead it was just Mr. Wallace making sure that Benedict didn’t knock over the cocktails while taking them up, and that Christopher’s tie was straight. 

“He’s home.” 

Thomas opened his eyes, and found Roland standing before him. He looked exhausted. 

“He’s in a mood.” Roland warned, “He wants you upstairs. His exact phrase was ‘order me up a dish of peaches and cream’.” 

Thomas grimaced. _Peaches and cream, indeed_. Someone ought to castrate Lawrence Gray for the good of humanity. 

He rose from the table, taking the clock with him. It was rather heavy, made with a base of red marble and featuring the scene of psyche crowning cupid. It belonged in his own quarters, and had been the last clock for him to take down before Lawrence had arrived home. 

“Thank you.” Thomas muttered, stepping around the table and exiting the hall, “Excuse me.” 

He took the servant’s stairwell all the way to the gallery floor, stepping out into the library and taking the west entrance back into the open hall. He didn’t want to walk into Lawrence’s bedroom directly; he’d head into his own down the east corridor and wait for Lawrence to find him. As he passed Lady Anthea’s bedroom door, he heard her whimpering and making a noise with Clements for pulling her hair too tight with a new style. Lady Edith had been tender headed too. He entered his own bedroom, shutting the door quietly before carefully putting the heavy marble clock back upon its pedestal on his hearth. It ticked quietly, the silver dials keeping accurate time. He stroked the clocks red marble, taking out his pocket square again to polish it once more. It really was a lovely thing— 

“Hello, pet.” 

Thomas bristled at the sound of Lawrence entering the room behind him. Suddenly there were arms about his waist, and a hot mouth pressing to his cheek. 

“Come, give me a kiss.” Lawrence as insistent. He turned Thomas around in his arms so that he could kiss him on the mouth, and did so ravenously. His hands groped downward, squeezing at Thomas’ backside till the flesh beneath his fingers felt slightly numb. 

Lawrence pulled back, his hands still clenching into Thomas’ arse. Thomas felt uncomfortable, pressed against Lawrence’s chest. His lips were swollen. 

“Miss me?” Lawrence asked. 

_Not remotely_. Thomas thought. 

“Where did you go?” Thomas asked, instead. Lawrence winked, pulling way to stride across the bedroom with his hands in his pockets. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He teased. He paused at Thomas’ wardrobe, fingering the lever to look inside. The only three dresses Thomas owned consisted of the black dress Baxter had made for him (which he was wearing), a blue and lace dress Lawrence had bought for him (which he never wore), and a peach dress that was slightly stained at the edge from where Thomas had run away from Belton House the first time. 

“You have absolutely nothing to wear that isn’t drab or disgusting.” Lawrence muttered, fingering the edge of the stained peach dress, “You need to change that. Order some new clothes at once.” He paused, glancing at the black dress Thomas wore. “I’m tempted to burn that thing you’re wearing in the kitchen fire and just wrap you in brown paper until the new clothes arrive.” He closed the wardrobe with disdain. 

“I’m not surprised. It’s not like you had any real value until I came along. Naturally your clothes would be hideous too.” He grinned at Thomas, “Aren’t you lucky?” 

Thomas didn’t have much to say in regard to that. He walked over to the table at his beside, and sat upon one of the two yellow chairs. Palm to chin, he looked morosely across his bedroom at the clock where psyche and cupid were intertwined. If only it were that easy. 

Lawrence walked over. Without warning, he shot a hand out and grabbed Thomas hard by the chin so that he could jerk Thomas’ face up. They stared at one another, Lawrence angry and Thomas taken aback. 

“Say it.” Lawrence snapped, something ominous and dark glowing in his eyes. 

“Say what?” Thomas asked, close to stuttering. He was suddenly hyper-sensitive to how powerful Lawrence’s fingers were. 

“Say your lucky.” Lawrence commanded. 

“…. I’m…” Thomas knew it was suicide to refuse, “I’m lucky?” 

“Say it like you mean it.” Lawrence’s fingers squeezed painfully tight. 

“I’m lucky-“ Thomas babbled, realizing he was close to getting his head kicked in, “I’m very very lucky. And I know it.” 

Lawrence let go. Thomas felt a trickle of cold sweat slide down his left temple. His heart was pounding in his chest. 

“You’re lucky you’re a squeeze.” Lawrence said, “If you were ugly, I don’t know how I’d stand you.” He paused, turning away to stare at the door to his room with his hands back in his pockets. “I’ll get Clements to give you something from Anthea’s closet.” 

“I don’t know she would appreciate that.” Thomas warned, for he was certain if Lady Anthea saw him in her clothes she was going to scream to high heaven. 

“What do I care?” Lawrence warned. 

“Well they are her clothes-“ 

“You’ve got a point.” Lawrence sounded spiteful, “They’ll probably be hideous too.” 

“That’s not what I—“ 

“Roland!” Lawrence barked, exiting Thomas’ room to return to his own. 

“Jesus, this man.” He moaned into his hands, laying his head upon the sitting table. Thomas could hear Lawrence arguing in the other room. When the sound of a slamming door reached Thomas’ ears, he hoped it would bring him Lawrence’s departure. He rose, and carefully opened the door to Lawrence’s bedroom to see if the man had gone. 

He hadn’t. 

Lawrence was pacing feverishly. He looked… beastly somehow. Hunched at his shoulders and scrambling as if for clues. He was beginning to sweat profusely, but didn’t bother to mop at his brow or temples. 

Lawrence saw him at the door and stopped pacing. He had a bizarre expression on his face, like he was trying to smile and not panic at the same time. 

“Peach!” Lawrence strode forward and grabbed Thomas hard by the elbow, jerking him into the room. For some reason the red and white scenery was close to giving Thomas a migraine. “We’ll dine alone tonight. Together. Since you have nothing fashionable to wear you’ll just go nude-“ He fingered the lace at Thomas’ collar, as if intent on pulling it apart. 

“I’ll catch a cold!” Thomas protested, trying to pull back. Lawrence wouldn’t let go of his elbow. His grip was unbelievably tight. 

“I’ll keep you warm.” Lawrence pulled him back. Thomas pushed away again. 

“Lawrence, this is ridiculous!” Thomas tried to pull his elbow free, tugging it back and forth, trying to roll his wrist. “I’m not going to dine naked!” 

Lawrence just laughed, pulling him back till their chests were pressed together. Thomas tried to push away once more, only to be stopped as Lawrence grabbed him with his other hand at the hip, and kept him closed, “Here you go again, thinking you’re in control. Do I need to remind you who your alpha is? Whose cock you were screaming for not even a few weeks ago?” 

Thomas tensed, remembering those awful, jaded days. He looked up and saw that same ugly apathy in Lawrence’s dark eyes. 

“… Why didn’t you hold me?” Thomas asked, remembering Roland’s words from earlier that day. 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Lawrence let him go, scoffing as he crossed the room to a small bar bearing crystal glasses and decanted wine. He rifled through the bottom drawer, pulling out a half-drunk bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a glass, three fingers deep, and drank it greedily. “You act like that’s what’s most important!” He slammed the half-finished whiskey down atop the bar, so that a bit of it sloshed over onto his fingers. 

“Isn’t it?” Thomas demanded. What was the point of mating without affection? Without love? 

“Don’t be so plebeian.” Lawrence grumbled. “Oh wait-“ He paused to take another sip of whiskey, “You are a plebeian.” He finished the glass and set it back down atop the bar. 

“…Love matters more than lust, Lawrence.” Thomas warned, re-fixing his collar so that it hung straight on his frame. “Surely you must know that.” 

“Love is a chemical imbalance.” but there was such bitterness in Lawrence’s voice that Thomas knew he was speaking out of anger and not out of belief. 

“But… in your letters to me-“ Thomas began; Lawrence cut him off, furious. In a sudden move, he threw the crystal glass across the room, almost at Thomas head. Thomas ducked, so that the glass shattered on the door behind him. 

His heart pounded in his chest. Thomas slowly rose back up to standing height, eyes wide at Lawrence’s hulking posture. He was a beast in the shadows. 

“Don’t put words into my mouth, or my pen!” Lawrence barked, “I’m already growing impatient with you as it is.” 

_Careful, Thomas_ … his mother’s voice was in his head. _Careful_. 

“I need a drink.” Lawrence said. A pity that he’d gone and thrown his glass. “Are you pregnant or not?” He asked, distracted. 

“I…” Thomas worded his sentence carefully, wary of every word he might utter, “I don’t know. I’ll need to see a doctor. I’ll go to the village.” 

“Why do you need to go to the village?” Lawrence snapped, still not looking at Thomas properly. For some reason, that just unnerved Thomas more. 

“… I need to pick up stationary.” Thomas said. 

“Why?” Lawrence demanded. 

“I’ve run out.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve… been writing.” 

“To who?” 

“People back home. Friends.” 

“You don’t need to write to them.” Lawrence was starting to twitch. His fingers were jumping upon the bar countertop, “What do they matter? Make new friends.” 

“… Lawrence, one of them has known me since I was a baby.” Thomas murmured, keeping his voice as soft as possible. “She’s very important to me.” 

“You know what I need?” Lawrence didn’t seem to realize he was talking. “ I need… I need a bit of help…” 

_Accurate_. Thomas thought dryly. 

But the help that Lawrence had in mind was far from the norm. Instead of taking a walk, talking it out with a friend, or doing something equally sane, Lawrence walked over to his beside table and pulled out the bottom drawer to take up an ivory snuffbox. He dipped his finger into the snuff, only to draw it out with a fine cone of loose white powder upon its tip. 

“Lawrence-“ Thomas tried to but in with warning. 

“Shuttup.” Lawrence growled, bringing his finger up to his left nostril. 

“Lawrence, don’t-“ 

“SHUTTUP!” Lawrence screamed, almost insane; he shoved his finger up his nose and took an enormous sniff, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head from his sudden high. 

Thomas wasn’t aware his mouth had dropped open in shock. He took a step back, his shoe crunching in the broken glass, and clung to the door frame of his bedroom. 

Jesus hell, he hadn’t really thought Lawrence was serious about having a drug habit!

Lawrence heaved an enormous breath, as if desperate for air, then took another bump of cocaine. Thomas shrunk back in the door frame, still clinging to the wood as if it would somehow save him. His eyes flickered to the bell rope; he could call for help but what if Lawrence turned on him and hurt one of the staff too? Thomas would never forgive himself if a maid or a footman was injured because of his cowardice. 

Lawrence’s eyes fluttered back open. He was dazed now, stumbling about the room, as if trying to re-orientate himself as he drifted back down to earth. When he finally seemed to come to his senses, his head snapped up. He was wearing a beaming smile that somehow frightened Thomas more than his anger. 

“Thank heavens that’s over with I thought I was going to explode there for a minute-“ Lawrence spoke like he was on a timer to get all his words out before they wouldn’t count anymore. He perked up, saw Thomas hiding by the door to the boudoir, and sped over so the he could grab Thomas once more by the shoulders and savagely kiss him on the mouth. 

Thomas could taste bile on his tongue. He pulled back as soon as he could, dazed and frightened. 

“My goodness darling don’t you look beautiful-“ Lawrence’s eyes were fully dilated, no rim of dark brown to be seen. “You know what you need? You need a beautiful robe, something I can just take off of you with the pull of the belt. Yes, I think that’s what I’ll get you, a lovely Chinese robe.” 

The man was close to foaming with his excitement. Thomas tried to pull back from Lawrence, but if it had been difficult before it was god almighty impossible by now. 

“Lawrence you’re scaring me-“ Thomas said. 

“Don’t be afraid, darling. I’m perfectly fine, I just needed a bit of a bump to get me back up to speed, I can’t stand being slow, I find life so dreadfully dull when I am, don’t you agree?” 

No. He did not agree. And he was terrified. 

“What uh… what did you just take?” Thomas asked, eyeing the ivory snuffbox Lawrence still had clutched in his sweaty palm. 

“Not to worry pet, just a bit of cocaine.” 

“Just a bit?” Thomas put on his most dazzling smile, all the while wondering if he screamed who might be able to hear him. Maybe a maid was wandering around the hall outside but _damnit_ they might both end up getting hurt. “Okay well that’s reassuring, can I see?” 

“Would you like some darling?” Lawrence offered him up the ivory snuffbox. “I assure you it’s most delicious, and good for you! An old school chum used to take it for digestion relief.” 

“Well you know what they say-“ Thomas tried for a laugh but found it failing, “Take cocaine, shit your pants; can I see that-?” He took the ivory snuffbox from Lawrence, opening it to find it stacked with loose white powder. 

Christ. It was cocaine. 

“Goodness….” Thomas was speechless, making flustered noises as he tried to find words. “That is… that is cocaine!” He beamed, still flustered and trying to come up with something polite to say that wouldn’t get his head kicked in. “What do you know? Dreams do come true-“ 

_Dreams do come true_ , what the hell was wrong with him? 

“Uhm… you stay right here.” Thomas pointed to the floor, “I’m going to ring for a maid.” 

“Perfect!” Lawrence let him go, spinning on the spot to tousle up his long hair. He was close to making a rat’s nest. “Tell them to bring dinner upstairs. I’ll see to the table.” He spun left, he spun right, and when it seemed he couldn’t find what he was looking for he marched right over to his sitting table and knocked everything off with a massive sweep of the arm. 

“… Well that’s one way to do it.” Thomas mused. The ground was now littered with books, pens, letterheads, and old newspapers. 

Thomas walked into the boudoir, his mind spinning like a top as he grabbed the bell rope and gave it a harsh yank. 

_Don’t panic_ , Thomas thought as yanked the bell rope two more times, _Don’t panic, don’t let him know you’re frightened. Just smile and act natural, everything is fine. He can’t hurt you. He wouldn’t do that- he’s your alpha. He loves you. Surely? Surely he loves you?_

He looked over his shoulder to where Lawrence was scrubbing at his countertop with both hand like a maid with a rag. 

… Did Lawrence love him?   
Thomas doubted it. 

He took slow steadying breathes, eyes locked on Lawrence. He sat down, fidgeted in his chair, then leapt up to kick at the floor so that papers and pens were sent flying in a scuttle. He was clutching onto his ivory snuffbox like it was a baby. 

A soft knock came at Thomas’ east door. He ran to it immediately, and yanked the door open to find Sarah the head housemaid just outside. She’d changed into her black and whites. 

“Is that the maid, darling?” Lawrence called out from the other room. 

“It is! Just one moment-” Thomas looked over his shoulder to find that, for whatever reason, Lawrence was now standing on his regency bed and jumping atop the mattress. Thomas winced, looking back around at Sarah who frankly couldn’t see anything with Thomas blocking the way. 

Thomas stepped out of the room, and closed the door after him so that he and Sarah were sequestered in the hallway. 

“Sarah, I need you to phone a doctor, the idiot’s taken cocaine.” Thomas spat. Sarah paled. 

“Oh not again…” Sarah whispered, exhausted already. 

“What, he’s done this before?” Thomas hissed. 

“All the time!” Sarah wrung her hands, starched from heavy scrubbing, “He does it constantly! I should fear to call his doctor, it’ll only make him angry and then he’ll hurt someone. Last time he nearly threw Benedict down the stairs! The sot broke his wrist!” 

“But…” Thomas looked back over at his closed door, “But… what should I do? I can’t just-“ 

“I don’t know!” Sarah begged. She was just as helpless as he. 

“What do you usually do when he takes drugs?” 

“Leave him be and get Mr. Wallace.” Sarah said. That was as good a tip as any. 

“He wants to eat in the room, just the pair of us.” Thomas murmured. 

“I’ll tell Mr. Wallace his Lordship is unwell, and say he’s taking a tray.” 

“Thanks but… are you sure we shouldn’t try the doctor?” He worried. “Christ I mean he took cocaine!” 

“I’m telling you, if you call the doctor he’s going to bust an egg!” Sarah warned. 

“”Yes but—“ Thomas felt like he was squashed between a rock and a hard place. As much as he would love to tell Lawrence to chuck it, Lawrence was his alpha and it wasn’t responsible to just leave the man on his own when he was high. He need medical attention! “It’s just—“ 

But what it ‘just’ was, he never got to say. At that moment, without warning, the door to the bedroom burst open and whacked Thomas squarely on the nose! 

Thomas shrieked in pain, blood spurting from both nostrils as he clapped his hands to his face. 

“OH!” Sarah shrieked as Lawrence leapt out of the shadows. The bastard had flung the door open with no sense of safety. “Thomas, are you alright?!” She reached out with both hands, trying to keep his blood from dripping down his chin and onto the red carpet at his feet. 

“Oh darling,” Lawrence admonished him with a dazed smile, “Don’t be dim witted, you shouldn’t stand in front of doorways like that. Come here, let me see,” He pried Thomas’ hands off of his face, surveying the damage he’d caused. “Oh heavens you look ghastly. Remind me again why I mated with you.” Lawrence threw his head back and laughed. Cackled, really… it was disturbing. 

“God, I don’t even know the reason myself- cor you bloody broke my nose!” Thomas snapped. His nose felt horribly tender. 

“I’ll go get some ice-“ Sarah turned as if to dash off, but Lawrence caught her by the arm. She winced at the piercing grip. 

“Oh don’t bother with that ice, get us something to eat! Something marvelous! What’s on the menu tonight, Sally?” 

“I uh— It’s Sarah, M’lord. I believe Mrs. Price is cooking lobster.” 

“Excellent! Get us a smashing put together like you always do. Champagne, we’ll take champagne as well- Ah— that’ll have ice in it won’t it!” Lawrence clapped his hands together, rubbing them heatedly. “That’ll work for you nose darling, see? I’m always the clever one in this relationship. Off you pop, Sandra!” 

Sarah’s eye twitched. 

“I’ll alert Mrs. Price, M’lord.” Sarah said. She looked ready to clock him over the head with a mantel vase. 

She left at once, practically skittering across the floor in her desperation to get away. Groaning in exhaustion, Thomas stumbled back into the boudoir and fumbled with the bathroom door so that red smudges suddenly decorated the doorknob. He shut himself in, desperate for a moment of privacy, and washed his face hurriedly in the sink so that the water slowly drained from pink to clear. He flushed his face several times, looking up in the mirror to test the joint of his nose. It was swollen and starting to turn slightly purple. 

“Fucking cocaine.” Thomas moaned to his reflection; if there was anyone he could bitch to it was himself, “What in my life did I ever do to deserve this?” He gingerly tried to reset the joint but only ended up making himself wince again. He’d better get a doctor to tend to this.. perhaps he could stop by while he was out picking up stationary. 

“Christ I’ll be lucky if it isn’t broken.” Thomas muttered. 

The door to the bathroom opened to reveal Lawrence.   
He seemed slightly more sobered, if one could be sobered while high on cocaine. 

Lawrence looked about the room, eyeing the gushing sink and the bathtub which lay bare. 

“What are you doing in here?” Lawrence asked. There was a pale sheen of sweat on his skin. He was probably close to hitting a fever. 

“Tending to my nose.” Thomas grumbled, flushing his face again before gingerly patting it dry on a hand towel. There was still a slight bit of red on the cloth. 

“Why did you close the door?” Lawrence asked. 

“I wanted some privacy.” Thomas was close to losing his temper, grinding out each word. 

“Why did you want privacy-“ 

“Because I’ve got blood dripping down my face and my alpha’s a coke addict!” Thomas barked. 

Lawrence’s eyes flashed, but when had Thomas ever been the one to take a hint? 

“Are you complaining about me, divine Thomas?” Lawrence asked, clipped. 

“Jesus Christ, Lawrence!” Thomas stormed from one end of the bathroom to the other, his voice slightly muffled from his clogged nose. He couldn’t decide which topic to vent about first, now that he’d gotten going. “Coke? Coke?!” He couldn’t stop thinking of all the men he’d seen during the war, begging for a hit of coke just to keep going through the pain and the freezing weather. Medicine had turned to madness. Maybe at one point people had looked to cocaine for a good time, but about six years ago common sense had taken back hold of the medical population and cocaine had been recognized for what it actually was: _a really really bad idea_. 

Except to Lawrence Gray apparently. 

“Do you understand what that shite does to you?” Thomas demanded, heedless to the way that Lawrence’s sweaty cheeks were slowly turning red. “What it does to your system?! You’re lucky to be alive at this point- it can kill you! It will kill you!” 

Lawrence’s eyes were glazing over. 

“You’re supposed to be my alpha!” Thomas cried out, and damn him for it, “You’re supposed to care for me! How on earth are you going to do that when you’re high on cocaine?!” 

Lawrence’s eyes were beginning to dilate again. 

“Have you deduced that, Sherlock Holmes?!” Thomas demanded angrily, “I’m wait—“ 

 

And then it happened. 

 

Lawrence shot a hand out, grabbing Thomas by the back of the neck. Thomas gasped, but wasn’t able to get another sound out before Lawrence used the leverage to haul Thomas from the bathroom and throw him unceremoniously across the bathroom. Thomas fell in a crash, legs and arms sprawled; his sights were dialed in a dizzy spiral. He fell upon his back, and desperately tried to crawl away, hitting his sink with the top of his head. 

Lawrence was practically glowing with anger, towering over Thomas as beads of sweat continued to stream down his temple. It was like he was fostering a fire in his head! 

“Y’done yet?” Lawrence barked. “Mm?” He advanced even more on Thomas, reaching out to grab him hard by the wrist. He pulled, jerking Thomas across the floor so that he went sliding like a rag doll. 

“Let go of me! You’re hurting me-!” Thomas cried out; Lawrence pulled him all the way up, so that suddenly Thomas was stumbling to his feet. Instead of letting Thomas go, Lawrence threw him a second time so that suddenly he was flung from the bathroom and into the boudoir. It was easier to fall on carpet than on cold tile, but it was still a painful landing and Thomas felt positively jarred. 

“Oh I’ll bet I am.” Lawrence snarled. Thomas rolled over onto his back, scrambling up just in time to dodge the marble clock that went whizzing past his head. It shattered against the wall, sending marble and silver flying in a spray of debris. Thomas couldn’t help it; he screamed and threw his hands up over his head to keep from getting hit with razor sharp edges of marble. Cupid and Psyche were now in two different pieces, falling atop the table and bouncing onto the carpet. 

Lawrence picked up a Ming vase and chucked it. Thomas wasn’t quick enough to duck it. 

It exploded against his head. 

Stars burst before Thomas eyes, a sudden searing pain burning against the hairline of his scalp. He collapsed to the carpet, shards of china scattering all around him, and kept both hands clasped over his face lest Lawrence throw anything else at him. Something was dripping from his brow. He had a feeling it was blood. 

“Christ all you ever do is talk!” Lawrence roared, storming about the room. He picked up a lamp from Thomas’ bedside table and chucked it at the wall so that the whole thing shattered. “Do you ever shut up?!” Thomas just kept as still as possible on the floor, hiding his face and neck from harm. “Even for five _fucking_ seconds!?” 

The chaos suddenly stopped. Thomas dared to glance up and found Lawrence groaning and gripping at his head. Thomas rolled onto his back, slowly; any quick movement seemed close to suicide at this moment. He didn’t know what to do—

Not for the first time in his life he was completely and utterly shaken.   
He was _terrified_. 

Thomas sucked in breath after breath as blood trickled down his temple.   
He shook upon the floor, watching Lawrence to see what the man might pick up and throw next. 

_I’ve made a horrible mistake_ , Thomas suddenly thought, _This man isn’t going to give me freedom. He’s going to kill me. I’ve mated myself to my murderer_. 

“You give me the biggest headache of my life.” Lawrence hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes pinched shut. 

Thomas gaped at the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly blossoming in Lawrence’s left nostril. It ran in a slight trail down his cheek to stop just short of his chin. 

“…Laurie…” Thomas whispered, praying he could sway the man back into a sweeter mood, “Laurie please… Please… I’m… I’m your omega.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You can’t do this to me. I’m your mate—“ 

Lawrence bolted. With blood flowing freely down his face, he grabbed Thomas up from the floor by this arms, and slapped him hard across the face. Thomas gasped, staggering back until his knees buckled against his guest table. He cowered there, a hand covering his swollen mouth and cheek. His eyes were wide and glazed, petrified of the seething man before him. 

“My omega-“ For a moment Lawrence almost sounded sane until he snapped again and lunged at Thomas once more, shoving him to the ground. “ MY MATE!” 

The table went with him, toppling over. The silver tray it had bore, along with several books and an ink set went crashing with it. Black ink spilled across the carpet, soaking it like blotting paper. _God_ , how were the maids ever going to clean that up? 

Lawrence bent down, grabbing Thomas by one arm so that he pinned him viciously by the wrist. 

“And my property in the eyes of the law, Thomas Barrow, so don’t you ever forget it!” Lawrence shouted right in his face. “Do you understand what it means to be owned, Thomas?! Does that comprehension ever touch your tiny little mind?! Or does ant not have a quarrel with a boot!?” 

Thomas gaped up at the man, stunned speechless. 

“You don’t get the luxury of calling the shots anymore. I’m the master of the house! I make the decision!” Lawrence jabbed at his chest with fierce pride, “And if you disobey me for even a second, do not think I will hesitate to strike you down. You’re a pathetic, miserable, whining weakling… and you’re nothing without me. Do you understand?” 

Thomas couldn’t speak. He was too scared to utter a sound. Lawrence grew impatient, and jerked him hard by the wrist again to jar him to his senses. “I said do you understand me?!” 

Thomas nodded. Anything to make this nightmare end. 

“….” Lawrence straightened up, smoothing back his hair which had fallen into a state of wild disarray. He whipped out his pocket square, and licked it with his tongue, carefully dabbing away his trail of blood until his face was clean. He re-pocketed his handkerchief, coughing a bit and straightening the lapels of his dinner jacket. “Excellent.” He said, as if all had gone to plan though Thomas’ room was in a state of disarray and there was blood dripping down Thomas’ face. 

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door. It opened to reveal Sarah, bearing a wheel tray with two silver platters covered in finely domed tops. They were steaming slightly around their edges, and a bottle of champagne had been set to ice in a silver bucket brimming with chunks of ice. 

Sarah gaped at the sight of Thomas. She, like he, was speechless. 

“You know, now that I think about it, you’ve put me off my appetite.” Lawrence said, completely ignoring the fact that the room looked like a bomb had gone off. “I’ll head off to bed then. Excuse me.” 

He left without another word, closing the door behind him. Thomas heard it lock several times. 

Sarah abandoned her rolled tray, coming around the door to crouch before Thomas with an open mouth. She reached up to touch his bleeding temple-

“I’m sorry-!” Thomas blurted out, his voice but a squeak. “I’m so sorry-“ He scrambled to his knees, grabbing up pieces china that had fallen about him. 

“It’s alright-“ Sarah tried to stop him, lest he cut himself. Every shard Thomas picked up he put in his lap so that suddenly his dress was littered with white shards. 

“I’m so so sorry- let me help-“ His voice broke. 

“It’s perfectly alright.” She took his hands in her own, stopping him from taking up anymore. The pair of them sat cradled on the floor. 

Thomas took one shuddering breath after the other.   
He whimpered, only to drip into slow soft tears. 

 

 

 

In the end, Sarah had Thomas sit in the bathroom while the other maids set his room to rights. China was swept up, ink was carefully sequestered off the carpeted floor, and Sarah carefully tended to Thomas’ temple while Roland made sure Lawrence got something to eat in his own room. By the time the whole affair was settled, Thomas was exhausted and unwilling to eat his meal. 

But Sarah wouldn’t stand for that. So the pair of them settled against the far corner of the boudoir, completely ignoring table and seatings to instead eat upon the floor splitting Thomas’ tray. A fine splendor of lobster, with béchamel and a small cup of bouillabaisse…. Thomas had never eaten anything so fine in his life. 

It tasted awful. He wanted lower class food. Something fried and salty. 

Sarah agreed, his companion in dinner; she currently sat sucking the lobster and béchamel from her silver fork. If Mr. Wallace or Mrs. Gibson knew that Sarah had eaten an upper class meal, Thomas had a feeling they’d suffer cardiac arrest. 

“… Lobster’s not half bad.” Sarah murmured. She’d taken off her white cap and apron, laying them both to the side. Without a cap, her red frizzy hair fell all about her face. “It’s a little sweet, isn’t it? As far as meats go.” 

“I don’t like it.” Thomas mused. “I’d give anything for battered cod and chips.” 

Sarah let out a long sigh. She relaxed her head against the wall, turning to look at Thomas. Thomas looked back at her, so that their poses were mirrored. 

“… You’re really brave.” Sarah whispered. “To face up to all of this. I’d try and make a run for it if it were me.” 

“What makes you think I won’t?” Thomas asked. He played a bit with the dregs of his bouillabaisse, carefully running his spoon around the edge of the fine china bowl so that it softly sung. 

“I dunno.” Sarah said, “You just seem the type to stay and fight it out.” 

“You don’t know me very well.” Thomas muttered, thinking of Flanders and the bullet that had ripped his hand nearly in two, “I’ll run if I have any chance to.” 

“Do you think you’re pregnant?” Sarah asked. 

“God I hope not.” Thomas whispered. After tonight, a baby was the last fucking thing he needed. “I’m so frightened I am.” 

Sarah seemed to be thinking something over. Her eyes narrowed, and she ran her tongue carefully about her plump velvet lips. When she spoke again, it was almost too low to be heard. 

“…I have something you can use.” Sarah whispered, “To make sure you’re not.” 

Thomas leaned in so that their faces were nearly pressed together. “Yeah” 

“Are you interested?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll bring it by tonight.” Sarah said. “Leave your east door unlocked. We’ll need the tub for it to work.” 

“Alright.” Thomas agreed, feeling a spark of hope in his chest. 

 

When Sarah left, taking her rolling tray with her, Thomas lay curled up in bed without falling asleep waiting for the knock at his door. The hours slowly slipped bay, with the moonlight playing across the broken statue of Cupid and Psyche. Thomas wondered at the irony behind it all… why that statue of any other to be put on a clock in his room? 

His head throbbed a bit, he gently rubbed at the cut on his temple; Sarah had tended to it well. It looked worse than it actually was, he was sure. 

By the time he finally heard the knock at his door, the moon was high in the sky and not a single other sound could be heard in the house. 

Thomas slowly sat up in bed, wondering if his ears had deceived him. He slipped quietly across the carpeted floor, his bare feet still feeling the tiny sting of minute shards buried in the carpet. He opened the eastern door to find Sarah just outside, her frizzy red hair spilling over her shoulders to cover her pert breasts, wearing a beige tattered housecoat and a simple white nightgown beneath. She carried a small wooden box in her hands. 

“Ready?” Sarah whispered. 

“God yes.” Thomas let her in, shutting the east door behind her. They went to the bathroom, and Sarah sat the wooden box upon the edge of the sink before turning on the bath taps. 

Thomas shut the bathroom door, pressing his spine to the seam as Sarah got the water boiling hot but didn’t put in the stopper. 

“We’ll need to the get the water hot.” She grabbed the box, opening it to reveal an long rubber tube connected to a massive syringe. There was also a pamphlet and a small brown bottle stoppered with a cork. “I brought some jelly to help us.” Sarah fished into the pocket of her house coat to pull out a tin of petroleum jelly. 

“So…” Thomas crept closer, apprehensive, “How do we do this?” 

“We use this syringe to draw in hot water and a few drops of pennyroyal oil.” Sarah held up both the syringe and the brown bottle, “Then we flush it up inside of you. It’s going to sting a bit, I won’t lie.” 

“I don’t care.” Thomas said, for after tonight what did a bit of pain matter? The pain he’d feel watching his child be abused by its father would be ten times worse. 

It was better this way. He was sparing two lives in one. His own, and his child’s. 

He climbed into the bathtub; without the stopper in it was mostly free of water and didn’t wet his nightgown. Gathering it up about his knees, Thomas took the tube and slicked it up with jelly while Sarah prepared the syringe with oil and hot water. It might have been slightly embarrassing to finger himself in front of a woman, but he didn’t feel nervous with Sarah. He supposed that it came down to a sense of camaraderie… that they were both on the same side of things. He fingered himself for a few moments, allowing his hand to ease the way before carefully inserting the tip of the tube. It felt slightly sharp against his inner channel but Thomas just kept pushing, forcing the tube up inch after inch until it felt like it was impossibly inside of him. Like to push it any more would result in bodily harm. 

He let out a slow deep breath, and nodded to Sarah. 

“Now, the booklet recommends you do this several times.” Sarah warned, letting three drops of pennyroyal oil fall into the nearly full syringe before she re-inserted the tip of the plunge. 

“Fine. Whatever it takes.” Thomas whispered. He closed his eyes. He braced his arms on the rim of the tub. 

Sarah put her hand on his arm.   
“Okay… here we go.” She murmured. 

The feeling of hot water flushing up inside of him did sting, but not as much as Thomas had been preparing for. Maybe after tonight he’d become desensitized to the pain. 

When the syringe bottomed out, Sarah refilled it. In the moment of quiet and pause, Thomas took several deep steadying breathes. Sarah gently stroked the skin on his arm in a caring motion; it meant a great deal to him in this dark moment. 

“Something to take your mind off the pain,” Sarah said as she flushed the syringe again. This time it hurt a bit more, possibly because there was water already inside of him. “Christopher got an earful from Mrs. Gibson tonight. He got Ben to say naughty words out loud.” 

Thomas gritted his teeth, “What word?” He grunted. 

“He told Ben that there was such a thing as have a Hugh Jazz.” 

Hugh Jazz… _huge ass_. 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Thomas muttered, he rolled his eyes and found Sarah sniggering despite the very serious moment. God forbid both of them be found by Lawrence in this moment, Thomas had a feeling neither of them would survive the encounter. 

“Said it was a mole, usually on the face, but it had to have a hair coming out of it. the bigger the mole, the worse it was.” Sarah was trying not to laugh but it was clearly difficult. “Well guess who fits that bit? Mrs. Price, the cook.” 

Thomas could see where this was going. He began to snigger to, causing his stomach muscles to flex with pain. 

“Mrs. Price!” Sarah said in a mockingly falsetto voice, “You have a Hugh Jazz!” 

The pair of them were like children, unable to contain their giggles. Thomas put a hand over his mouth to keep the noise down. Sarah let out a soft breathe, her eyes still twinkling with mischief. 

“And of course, Mrs. Price smacked Ben about the face, and he burst into tears. Christopher never heard the end of it. Mrs. Price smacked him, Mrs. Gibson smacked him, and now Mr. Wallace is forcing him to polish silver till midnight. The sot.” 

Typical footman rivalry. It all seemed so childish now. 

“Hugh Jazz… huge ass…” Thomas sighed, “Bad, bad, Christopher.” 

“Nearly done.” Sarah brought them back to their original plight, filling up the syringe again, “One more time and then we’ll be done. We have to be sure to get this right. A mistake…well…. it can’t be undone.” 

“My child’s misery is on the line.” Thomas murmured, closing his eyes again as he relaxed against the back of the tub. He rolled his neck to dispel some tension. “I want it to be thorough. I can’t afford to give birth to a baby that’ll be dead before its fifth birthday.” 

“Bastard.” Sarah whispered, “To throw you about like that. Think what he’d to a baby. Baby’s can’t be handled like that.” 

Thomas nodded in agreement. 

“If I… If I ever have a baby…” Thomas mumbled, heart squeezing at the thought, “I want it to be on my own time. My own decision.” 

“You’re smart to say as much.” Sarah said, “How many babies are born to omegas who don’t want them? Who can’t provide for them?” 

“Who can’t protect them.” Thomas added, thinking of all the children who never stood a chance. Who couldn’t be given a semi-decent life. It made him sick to his stomach. 

“The bastards in power demand every life to fruition, but what do they do for that life when it’s here?” Sarah demanded. Thomas agreed with every word Sarah said. 

“Where is the welfare? The aid?” Thomas grunted through the pain growing in his stomach, “Where is the kindness to aid in a child’s first years? It seems like sympathy ends at birth. They’re not pro-life… they’re pro-suffering. Suffering for a pregnant omega, and suffering for a dying child.” 

“I live to deny power to alpha’s like that.” Sarah said. There was something sultry and dark in her voice that Thomas felt a special kinship to. He grinned, opening his eyes to find Sarah glaring at the bottom of the top. 

“You know Sarah…” Thomas murmured, catching her eyes, “I think you and I… are gonna get along just fine.” 

 

As soon as Sarah was done, Thomas expelled the water. With it went a slight flush of blood, that neither of them commented on. Thomas wiped himself dry, Sarah washed the tub, and the pair of them said a quiet goodnight at his eastern bedroom door so that they both could return to bed. But Thomas bled more that night, and ended up having awful cramps until the early morning hours. 

Finding it difficult to get to sleep, he used his last piece of stationary to write to Baxter. Moonlight spilled over his shoulders, as he sat hunched at his writing desk. He sat upon a folded towel to catch the slight trickle of blood that seeped from between his legs. 

_Phyllis_ , 

_It was a terrible trap. I know that now. I was a fool to fall for it. I will have to summon all my courage and strength to dig myself out of it. There is no love in Gray’s heart for me. Only lust. He lusts for power, for sex, for cocaine, for anything that will allow him to chase a high. The crash that follows is a nightmare. Fortunately I am an expert at living through them_. 

His pen was shaky in his hand. He doubted he was making sense. 

_I have garnered a few friends downstairs. None upstairs. Anthea, the sister, is vicious in her attacks. The Dowager Countess is exhausted with both her children. Imagine having born such brats_. 

_Gray stayed with me through the heat. He raped me. But it’s okay- I took care of it. There’s a girl in the house named Sarah. Head housemaid. She gave me an antidote. I won’t conceive. So long as I am careful, Gray will not get his way. His anger is felt, but the pain brought from bearing an innocent child into this abusive union would be worse. I am strong. I will survive_. 

He paused at this point, the weight of his words making him weary. Another wave of pain cramped at his stomach, causing a slight gush of blood to pass through his legs. He let himself take a moment to gather his strength before finishing his macabre letter. 

_I love you. I love them all. Tell them that I love them. Tell them that I think of them. Tell them, please_. 

_Thomas_

 

 

His letter was posted the very next morning, and went out with the papers so that by breakfast his post was on its way to Downton. He ate breakfast in his room, still feeling unwell, and spent the rest of the day in bed with his doors locked. Every tense noise, every shout, every sound of a heavy thump or sharp knock sent Thomas skittering as he wondered if Gray would try to intrude upon his solitude again. 

But Gray did not, and Thomas had the day to himself. He received post from old friends (not from Downton but his valeting days), and had to use downstairs stationary to reply to them. The sooner he went to the village, the better. But he couldn’t do that without upsetting Gray, and Thomas was wary of testing the man’s temper. 

The next day, Thomas decided to venture downstairs. 

Since his clock was destroyed, Mr. Wallace had been kind enough to search the attics and find another mantel clock for Thomas to use in his room. It was a dusty and dingy mahogany lancet topped English bracket clock. She had brass inlaid to the front of her case, and a fleur de lis decoration with pierced brass sound frets to the sides. She was a Richard Hornby, a Liverpool lover, and with her five pillar movement and eight day twin fusee sound piece, Thomas found her delightful. A simple, artful piece… and a lovely replacement for that ridiculous Cupid and Psyche marble clock. 

He spent the morning cleaning the clock, waxed her mahogany case before polishing her brass and making sure her time was accurate. Eleanor, a simple house maid, took the clock up when he was finished and brought back down a coat for him to wear at his insistence. He felt oddly cold, even while sitting by the fire in Roland’s favorite rocking chair. 

He’d stopped bleeding, but his stomach still cramped every so often. He wondered if it was a sign he actually had been pregnant… if Sarah’s diversionary tactics had allowed him to carefully and pointedly miscarry. 

It shocked him to think that he was capable of such things. To think that, even if only temporarily, his body had housed a life. 

 

Sarah broke his reverie by appearing with a cup of tea and a letter of a wooden platter. She offered Thomas the cuppa, which he accepted gratefully. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked. She was still in her day dress, a soft beige green that complimented her ivory complexion and hair color. 

“Tired, and cold.” Thomas admitted, “My stomach hurts.” 

“The tea will help.” Sarah said. He sipped it at once, grateful to find it laced with lemon and honey, “Pennyroyal is difficult on the body.” 

“Thank you.” Thomas murmured, looking up to find her smiling. He had a feeling she knew the meaning behind his words. “Thank you for everything. You saved more than one life with your ingenuity.” 

“You’re sweet.” Sarah murmured. She touched his shoulder, rubbing it warmly before offering him the letter. Thomas took it to find it was stamped with red ink, a sign of express mailing. 

“This came for you today with the afternoon post.” Sarah said. 

It was from Phyllis. 

Thomas pursed his lips, setting his teacup aside and carefully rising to his feet. His back was sore, and he rubbed at the base of his spine to try and diffuse some of the tension. 

“I think I want to be alone to read this.” Thomas explained, “Is there anywhere I can go for privacy downstairs?” 

“Why not the back pantry?” Sarah offered, “We hardly ever go in there. I can pick the lock.” 

So the pair of them walked off towards the northern wing of the house, where the savory smells of roasting turkey and sautéing cranberries filled the air. Clearly dinner tonight was going to be a feast… not that Thomas was going to be upstairs to enjoy it. 

The back pantry was on an off wing from the kitchen, in a sequestered nook across from the boiler room which was gassing with steam as coal fueled the house fires. As the weather turned colder, the boiler made it’s money’s worth… even the doorknob to the boiler room was hot to the touch. The pantry, across the way, was likewise warm but not desperately so. Sarah picked the lock with one of her hair pins, with Thomas looking over his shoulder to check the coast was clear. 

When the lock clicked, Sarah stepped back to let him in, and Thomas slipped wordlessly inside. She shut the door behind him, and he relocked the door so that he was sequestered in the gloom. 

The pantry was a small but tidy space, utilizing several floor to ceiling shelves that stocked everything from jams, to flour, to cooking oils and beans. Pheasants hung from their necks by ceiling hooks, still un-plucked with beautiful gleaming coats. A skinned rabbit was resting in a ceramic pot, covered in a cheese cloth lid to keep out mice and flies; perhaps it would be dinner tomorrow. 

Thomas sat down atop a crate full of apples, and carefully opened Baxter’s letter. He brought the parchment up to his nose to smell, desperate to catch even a scent of Downton. Instead, all he smelt was the musky dry scent of paper and ink. Nothing spectacular, but all the while beautiful because he knew it was paper and ink from home. 

He read in the dim light, hunched over to decipher the elegant script: 

_“My dearest Thomas_ , 

_Your tidings horrify me and bring me to tears. I have wept this night, staining my pillow for grief at your plight. I have prayed for your salvation, and the salvation of the child whose life you were forced to take to save it from its father. The babe has passed from the perils of this world, and will never know pain or grief. You have spared your child in the way that only an omega is capable of. I feel that this is a sign of strength and courage… but you already know I think you both strong and brave_. 

_I wish I could give some type of mercy to you. The hour of your salvation is not close at hand. I will not delude myself into thinking there is an easy way out. But the tender love that I have for you demands me to make you remember how I have aided in your health, and safeguarded your soul even in the past year alone. Remember this above all things, despite Lord Gray’s cruelty. You are loved here at Downton. You are loved in the spirit of the earth, too. Go outside, walk among the trees. There’s love for you, there_. 

_Knowing that I am so far away from you and cannot protect you anymore, part of me wishes to beseech you not to rob yourself of a child that should love and care for you. A child could uplift your spirits, but at the same time it is not a child’s duty to protect its parent. This is such a difficult topic that I don’t know how to word my position clearly. I’m angry and exhausted at Lord Gray. I’m afraid and lonely for you. I know you would make a wonderful parent, but at what cost? I cannot tell you when you’ll be ready for a child… it’s your own decision. But I dreamed of you the other night holding a baby and it made me feel warm in my chest._ ” 

Thomas paused, a burning in his eyes. He rubbed at them carefully, before continuing on. 

_“I have some advice for you: I understand you’re resentful towards Lord Gray, and by god I don’t blame you but I feel like his habits are indicative of a terrible illness. Who on earth uses cocaine in this day and age, particularly after the medical reveal of 1920. We know it’s dangerous now. Surely he’s not ignorant to this. It doesn’t make any sense… Gray has everything! Money, position, and potential. Why throw it away? I think something dark is going on. But even if it is nothing, you should still talk to a doctor about this. Gray is your alpha, and Cocaine isn’t known for its nutritional value. Maybe Dr. Clarkson would be a good confidant? Write to me either way, and let me know what you decide to do_. 

_All I can do is command you to love yourself, and command you to love the good and beauty of the earth that sweeps itself before you_. 

_My love is always with you_.   
_Phyllis Baxter_

_Post script: Mrs. Hughes loves you too._ ” 

 

He held the letter to his chest, digesting the words. 

Maybe it would nice to just walk about the trees. To have a moment to enjoy the beauty of the earth. He could go up to the aviary again, or walk through the Italian gardens. It might be nice, to get some fresh air on his face. 

Having a baby… part of him felt a strange warmth in his chest too. Imagining a sweet little think like Master George or Mistress Sybbie and Marigold…. clinging to his ankles and babbling nonsensical words. A baby all his own that would have his eyes or hair… maybe his lips or nose. 

The burning was coming back in his eyes. His throat was clenching. 

But it was the fact that Phyllis loved him which hit him the most. The fact that she was so far away and he couldn’t reach her physically anymore. He’d give anything to… 

But really. What was stopping him? 

The more Thomas pondered it, the more he realized that the only thing keeping him at Belton House was his fear of Lawrence Gray. Gray was relying on Thomas being too afraid to seek help. Being too afraid to leave. 

Thomas sat up straight on the crate of apples, his brain churning out an idea.   
He would leave for Downton without Gray’s knowledge or consent. He would leave on a day when Gray was out doing business, and would take the train to save time. He’d speak with Clarkson in person, make sure he wasn’t pregnant, and visit Downton Abbey again. 

Thomas remembered his solemn vow to Gray before their union. That if Gray had turned out to be a bastard, Thomas would destroy him and take him down until he was nothing. Gray had been an absolute idiot to think he was bluffing… and what was more, Gray had gone so far as to show Thomas his obvious weaknesses. So it was decided: Thomas was going to one up Gray and hit him where it hurt. 

He was going to take his cocaine, and give it to Clarkson. He’d swap it out for something else, fuck he didn’t care if it was powdered aspirin. 

After all, Phyllis Baxter had said it best:   
He was strong and brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important Author's Note** : Pennyroyal is a real stimulant that was used for abortion in the early 19th and 20th century. For GODS SAKE **do not ever ever ever put this oil in your body**. It is incredibly toxic and dangerous, and has resulted in horrific deaths. 
> 
> Likewise, the mentions of views on abortion are kept to their characters. Both Thomas and Sarah are progressive thinkers, and liberals. **Please, don't get into arguments in the comments section with pro choice vs. pro life**. I don't want to hear it and neither does anyone else. Keep that shit to yourself, for god's sake. Personal views are called personal for a reason. 
> 
> Finally if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to comment. Thank you for your patience on this chapter.


	13. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas attempts to one up Lawrence Gray. It doesn't go well. 
> 
> In between the two, he meets someone special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings Abound: drug references, physical and verbal violence, will abound in this chapter. Rape will likewise be mentioned verbally once but not alluded to physically. If this disturbs you in any way, please be aware of its presence.**
> 
> I've enjoyed watching in the comments as everyone tries to work out what happens. I will say we've got three more chapters to go with Gray, after which the story will take a much more different turn and the 'abuse' part will end. I guarantee that no one will be able to guess how it unfolds. If I'm wrong, I'll happily write a DA ficlet for whoever guesses it right.

_Litigo 27:30: “And so she went to the village, questioning all whom she met “Will you help me?” and after a time she came upon an alpha of medicine who would speak with her. “My alpha is unwell. I need medicine” Said the omega. “Did you gain your alpha’s approval?” the medicine man asked. And when he found that she had not, the medicine man sent her away._

 

There was no such thing as a ‘simple’ cocaine addiction. No easy answer or obvious sign of what to do next. Now that Thomas knew Gray’s true nature, he was able to view from a distance the miniature meltdowns that ended in drug usage. For whatever reason, Gray’s major tantrums usually revolved around his mother or his sister, so that every time they argued he ended up using cocaine to resolve himself back to a ‘normal’ position. At least, this must be the way the man was rationalizing everything in his head. What he failed to see was that using cocaine didn’t bring any amount of normality into the situation. All it did was strike a match against a tankard of kerosene. When Gray used cocaine, Thomas fled the premises, running downstairs and hiding until he knew it was safe enough to go back upstairs. There were times when Gray would try to pursue him, screaming his name up and down the halls, but he never managed to find Thomas. He was as high as a kite. Thomas was the wind that skirted past him. When Gray crashed, as he always would, Thomas would use that time to try and set rooms to rights, and get out of the house. It was pleasant to go into the village of Belton, gathering stationary or raspberry biscuits from pastry shops, but it wasn’t the same as Downton. Thomas was constantly receiving mail from home, mostly from Baxter who was panicking at his mating situation, but he still couldn’t go home or get out of Belton. 

Or so Gray thought. 

Poor little cokehead, it was difficult to have a business and keep up with a drug habit; still, someone had to pay the bills. Gray had meetings, usually that were outside of Lincolnshire, and would involve him leaving early in the morning only to return around six at night. Of course, he never told Thomas when he was going to meetings, but Thomas had a calendar and a penchant for tracking patterns. For whatever reason Lawrence usually had a meeting on Tuesdays and Thursdays that were longer than others. Maybe he was going out of the county on those days; maybe he just liked to stop somewhere else and get lunch before coming home. Thomas didn’t care. He just decided to make an appointment for twelfth, a Tuesday, with Dr. Richard Clarkson, and what was more… he told the good doctor everything. 

_Everything_. 

Thomas hadn’t really thought about drugs before Gray. When he’d been a medic, cocaine had still be used sparingly to keep dying soldiers from feeling intense pain in the face of amputations. One of the biggest techniques Thomas had had to his advantage was a salt water wash he’d used on wounds and skin ailments. When he’d been lucky, he could use a Dakin solution as an antiseptic, chloroform, morphine sulphate, and even an opium elixir. The cocaine had only be used in the most dangerous of circumstances. The kind where survival was nil, and doctors would give each other knowing looks across hand stretchers in muddy rat strewn trenches. 

_Fuck it_ , had been the general consensus, _He’s gonna die. Give him something to make it easier_. 

But Gray wasn’t dying. Yet. 

Two days before Thomas’ appointment with Dr. Clarkson, Thomas sat downstairs enjoying a quiet moment by the fire while Gray slept off a cocaine high upstairs. He’d taken a bump shortly before midnight and had spent the entire affair terrorizing Thomas or at least trying to. What he’d actually managed to do was make a mess in Thomas’ room while Thomas had been fast asleep in the attics on a guest cot. Sarah had been kind enough to let him bunk in her room. The next morning, Thomas had poked his head into the boudoir to find Gray asleep, face down on the floor amid a pile of debris and naked. He’d rolled his eyes, collected clothes to dress in, and had rung for Roland to make sure the idiot wasn’t dead. 

Downstairs, Thomas had taken breakfast with the staff and had been sufficiently assured that Gray was fast asleep in his own bed sans wreckage. 

Quiet by the fire, keeping out of the way of the maids, Thomas went through a book full of legal jargon on the virtues of ‘owning’ an omega. He was determined to see if one of them mentioned a reverse clause, anything to do with abuse or drugs. Unfortunately the most it mentioned was that damages could be paid to the original alpha of the omega if the omega was found to be suffering from insufficient care. There was nothing that mentioned a ‘return of sale’, which pissed Thomas off on several levels and put him in a grumpy mood as he sulked by the fire. 

He was intruded upon in his ugly solitude by Mrs. Gibson who offered him a cup of tea and some of his favorite raspberry biscuits. He accepted them both with a forced smile, noticing that Mrs. Gibson also had a letter in her hand. 

“A letter for you dear.” He accepted it gratefully, and was pleased to find that it was return correspondence from Dr. Clarkson. 

“Thank you very much.” 

“Is his Lordship still asleep?” 

“Yes, he finally went down around six, thank god.” Thomas muttered, taking a sip of his tea. They’d changed the brew apparently… this one was a new blend. 

“I’ll make sure there’s no noise on the gallery floor.” Mrs. Gibson said. 

“Thank you-“ Thomas said, “I appreciate that.” Her attention was soon recaptured by Eleanor the maid, who was panicked over the disappearance of a tablecloth. Left to his own devices again, Thomas bowed his head and opened Dr. Clarkson’s letter. 

_“October 10th, 1926_  
_Downton Cottage Hospital_

_To Thomas Barrow:_

_I was surprised to receive correspondence from you, and am unnerved by your news. Cocaine is a serious drug, known to the medical field as a ‘class A’ for its content and potency. You wish to know more about its side effects, primarily for long term usage. I’m afraid my response won’t paint a pretty picture._

_While an occasional usage will produce an intense euphoria followed by increased alertness and feelings of self-confidence, the long term user will instead suffer from tachycardia, twitching, insomnia, and anxiety. Hallucinations are also not uncommon, certainly persecutory delusions aren’t out of the question. Dangerous aggression is almost always a given, and I urge you not to provoke your alpha while he is on a cocaine binge.”_

Too late, Thomas thought irritably. His temple was still bruised though the cut had at least healed. 

_“It sounds to me, from your detailed description, like Lord Gray is suffering from what we might refer to as a washed-out syndrome. The lethargy and deep sleep is only common when you’ve suffered from a coke-induced insomnia. You may find that your alpha does not stir for several days. That is not uncommon._

_Of course, the true risks come from a perforated nasal septum, sever psychiatric and medical complications, as well as the eventual fatalities that so often come from chronic high-dose dependency.”_

This was in reference to Thomas’ original questions as to why on earth Gray was prone to falling into a strange sub-space of consciousness, unshakable and like the dead for days at a time. 

_“You ask me how to proceed. My answers will bring you no immediate comfort. I would have to be in contact with Lord Gray. I would likewise have to perform a systematic examination if only to exclude common acute medical complications… pulmonary oedema, heart failure, myocardial infarction, stroke, and hypothermia are not uncommon in chronic cocaine dependency. There is nothing that I can do from afar. I would need to speak to Lord Gray’s primary physician. I urge you to write to him as well. Today, if possible.”_

That wouldn’t be possible. Gray’s primary physician was apparently the one giving him the cocaine, if Sarah was to be believed. Thomas doubted he would find a sympathetic ear. 

_“I urge you to watch closely as to how many times Lord Gray uses cocaine a day. Perhaps keep a journal, and see if you can’t spot fluctuations or decreases. You might be surprised by the patterns you uncover. Watch him for weight change, palpitations, chest pains… you can never be too thorough. The only true cure from cocaine is to cut it off at the knees. I feel that won’t be an accessible avenue with your alpha. I could do more, of course, but I’d need to see a selection of the cocaine solution that he’s taking. Depending upon its purity, I might be able to prescribe something to help with the ‘come-down’ and insomnia. This of course would be tantamount to suicide without knowing Lord Gray’s personal health and the solution with which I am working against.”_

But Thomas had already deduced this. The patterns came not from habitual use but from emotional dependancy. If a fight occurred, a cocaine bump was never far behind. In regards to Dr. Clarkson’s suggestion to see the grade of cocaine, Thomas was more than willing to steal a sample while Gray was out. Hell, perhaps he ought to steal the lot of it and let the bastard fall out on his own. Wouldn’t that be fun to watch from afar? 

An evil smile toyed at the edges of Thomas’ lips as he thought of Gray howling in agony, deprived of his beloved white powder. 

_“I will forward your questions and concerns onto several friends of mine who might be able to shed more light. In Grantham, we rarely see cocaine addiction. London, however, is full of up and coming science. It may be better for you to seek help closer to a larger city. Even York or Leeds might have more for you than Grantham. I will see you on our scheduled visit for October 12th, and look forward to speaking in person so that we might fully examine these difficult matters._

_Please do not hesitate to contact me further,_   
_Dr. Richard Clarkson, M.D.”_

 

 

The night before Thomas’ escapade, Thomas ran a mental checklist through his head of everything that would need to be done. He’d decided that his trip would be a double hit, allowing him to speak with Clarkson and return to Downton in order to get Lord Grantham’s opinion on he situation with Gray. With luck, Lord Grantham might be willing to contact his lawyer Murray; Thomas could use the connection to try and explore a legal avenue that would let him out of his predicament. He knew it was a long shot, particularly after combing legal books himself, but he was still willing to try it if it might give him a favorable outcome. 

Gray would be leaving early, around seven in the morning in order to get to a business meeting in Derbys before ten. Thomas only knew this from Roland, who had gleaned the information while attempting to keep Gray from making an ass of himself while high on cocaine. Thomas would therefore catch the eight o’clock train into Downton, and walk to the village hospital for his 10:30 appointment. Thomas would likewise use his trip to Downton to secure away some of his more precious belongings such as Jimmy’s picture and Lady Sybil’s old earrings. It was too unsafe for his delicate things to be at Belton house. Baxter could watch over them from afar, and when Thomas’ situation was more balanced he would be able to send for them again. He packed a small bag that night, and made sure to leave room for Gray’s cocaine. He didn’t know how much he’d be able to sneak, but he was determined to grab as much as possible. 

It was difficult to sleep that night. Thomas found himself awake till near two in the morning, just staring up at the ceiling and jiggling his feet underneath the covers. If his plan failed, he didn’t want to contemplate the consequences. He had a feeling Gray would go over the top, possibly injure him permanently. He might have to enact a ‘plan B’… use Mr. Wallace or Roland as a shield until Lawrence calmed down. 

Christ, he’d take Dover over this. 

 

When the dawn came, Thomas felt slightly exhausted in his bones, and waited until he heard the sounds of Roland entering Gray’s private bedroom to get up and dress himself. He decided to go above and beyond the call of duty, forgoing the typical omega dress to put himself back in his blue pinstripe suit. It felt invigorating, to say ‘fuck off’ to stockings and corset so that he could instead knot his tie and button his vest. He could hear Gray in the other room, muttering comments to Roland. 

Wary, Thomas leaned carefully against their shared doorway to glimpse at Gray and Roland through a minute crack in the door. A silver of light fell across his face, illuminating the room beyond. 

Gray was fiddling with tie as Roland went through sets of cufflinks. He was in a blue suit, looking disgustingly posh. 

“I’ll want my best cufflinks-“ Gray muttered; his back was to Thomas, but even the sit of his square shoulders made Thomas sick to his stomach. 

“Perhaps the sterling, M’lord.” 

“Excellent.” Gray held out both his wrists, allowing Roland to button them at his wrists, “You always have an eye for these things, Roland. That’s why I like you.” 

Behind Gray’s back, Thomas watched Roland roll his eyes aggravated. 

What Gray didn’t know, couldn’t fathom, was that Roland was in cahoots with Thomas. He’d been the one to find out the train schedule for Thomas, the one to take Thomas’ money and pick up a preliminary ticket the day before. He, along with most of the downstairs staff, knew Thomas was going to run to Downton for help. Thomas noted that Roland glanced at Thomas’ bedroom door. He seemed to sense that Thomas was hiding behind the frame, listening in. 

“When may we expect you home, M’lord?” Roland asked, his eyes still upon Thomas’ door. 

“Mm, late I fear.” Gray muttered. Roland began to brush his long black hair, tying it back with a silk blue ribbon, “Unless something delightful springs up, these Derby’s meetings can get ungodly tedious.” 

“Would you like for me to pack you a valise?” Roland offered, “Perhaps you’d rather take a hotel room-“ 

“No.” Gray’s tone was growing dark, “I won’t be apart from Thomas.” 

Roland almost paused in his brushing of Gray’s suit, slightly taken aback by Gray’s bizarre obsession. The downstairs staff knew better than most that Gray hardly liked to interact with Thomas. The only time the pair of them saw one another was late at night, when Thomas finally conceded to return to bed. Even then, they only passed in glancing, with Gray locking the door to his own suite or Thomas hiding away until he knew it was safe. Today, Thomas would take no chances and would stay as far out of sight as possible, using the servant’s stairwells and slipping out the West entrance. The family cared nothing for him and would not miss his presence. If all went well, no one above the basement floor would know he was gone. 

“I thought you said he was needy, M’lord.” Roland murmured, keeping his eyes averted in case he was accused of impertinence. 

“Of course he’s needy.” Gray’s shoulders tightened again, “I’m his alpha… His needs are my bread and butter.” 

Oh what utter bullshit the man couldn’t care if he lived or died. 

“Forgive me, M’lord.” Roland was quick to smooth over his blunder, coming around Gray’s front to button his jacket, “I didn’t mean impertinence.” 

“No need, no need-“ Gray brushed off Roland’s busying hands. “I want you to keep an eye on him, Roland-“ Gray turned, and Thomas shrank back slightly from the doorframe in case he was seen. But he needn’t have bothered, Gray was too busy looking in his mirror, not focusing on the doorway to see who might be hiding beyond. 

“I want him to go to the doctor. He’s pregnant, I’m almost certain of it.” 

_Shows what you know_ , Thomas thought darkly. 

“I’ll see to it that he’s safe downstairs, M’lord.” Roland said. Lord Gray tutted underneath his breath, irritable. 

“Why does he stay downstairs with you lot? I should have thought he’d love to crawl out of the dark and the dirt.” 

Roland looked ready to bite off his own tongue. 

“It’s comforting to him, M’lord. He misses Downton.” 

“Christ, that tomb?” Lord Gray sneered, looking over his shoulder to where Roland was now putting away the clothes horse. “He’s much more intelligent than all that. No, he’s just shy. He’s always been that way. I practically had to chase him into the ground to get him to mate with me.” Gray sighed, briefly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, “My silly little peach.”

He turned about face, and clapped his hands to rub them together. Roland collected a black top hat and clock from the clothes horse; Gray grabbed his falcon cane from where it lay propped upon his bed. 

“I’m off.” Gray declared, whisking himself out his bedroom door. “Follow me, out Roland.” 

And so they both went. 

Thomas crept from the shadows of his own room, careful not to be spotted if Gray suddenly came whisking back into the room. Left to his own devices, Thomas immediately began to pilfer through Gray’s belongings for cocaine. He found soiled stationary and broken pen nibs in most drawers; in another he found broken off feathers of Champion the peregrine falcon. 

Thomas turned to the bedside cabinet instead, and opened the bottom drawer so that a box of cigars and several books fell out. Irritated, he slammed the door shut and fished his hand beneath the Gray’s mattress to see if anything would come out. 

He felt the edges of something hard, and pulled to reveal a leather book.   
Thomas knew a journal when he saw one. 

Casting a way eye over his shoulder lest he be caught, Thomas carefully flipped open to the very last pages of written text to see what was there: 

_“He was as beautiful to me as any erotic portrait I’d ever seen- so completely laid bare before me that I could not contain myself in my excitement. How can I describe to you what sin looks like when carved from purest marble? His plump thighs, his swollen buttocks, I could have spent an eternity licking at the juices I found between. His scent is so combined to me, partly a peach, partly a pear, partly any fruit that gives way when you bite into its tender flesh. That’s what it felt like when I sank home. No more dry rutting, no more shameful mornings after. When he came to the next day, he only begged for more and more. Nothing could satisfy him, save my manhood and I gave it to him gladly._

_I’ve dreamed of him, his belly round with my child, naked and surrounded by fine linens on a bed of goose feathers. If I could, I would paint his skin with my spunk and watch it dry. I want to watch him give birth. I want to see how his body flexes and rolls to support my child, how the flesh of the peach becomes hot and warm when applied to the fire. Imagine how beautiful he’ll look, when the baby crowns and appears… covered in slick and me.”_

Thomas grimaced at the vulgar display. Gray seemed to have a very rose-tinted view of omega male birth. Thomas knew very little about it; the only other omega male he’d known had been Matthew Crawley. When George had been born, Carson had declared that all was well but had said no more. Thomas had a feeling that ‘all was well’ didn’t sum up what it took to push a baby out your bum. 

“He’s gone.” 

He jumped, nearly given a heart attack as he whipped around to see Roland peering in through the door. The cloak and hat were gone, so it seemed that he was Gray was gone. Thomas shut the leather diary and shoved it back underneath the mattress. 

“Where’s the cocaine, d’you think?” Thomas asked. 

Roland dropped to his knees, and reached beneath Gray’s roll top desk to feel for something hiding in its under belly. It seemed there was a secret compartment, which when revealed offered an ivory box clasped with golden hinged. Roland offered it over, and Thomas opened it up to reveal an enormous stash of cocaine. 

Thomas held the box back at arms length, wary of accidentally inhaling anything. 

“Anything else?” Thomas asked, remembering the ivory snuffbox. 

“Nothing that I know of.” Roland said, though he crouched beneath the roll top desk to see if anything was out of view. 

“What about the snuffbox-“ 

“Tough luck on that love.” Roland said, “He keeps it on him at all times. That’s his storehouse, though.” 

Thomas would take it and roll with the punches. He closed the lid of the box, carefully securing its golden snaps, and headed back into his room to quickly stuff the offending item into a satchel that contained his precious items. 

“Did you get my ticket?” Thomas asked, looking over his shoulder. Roland offered it, and Thomas took it up at once to put it in his trouser pocket. 

“You’re wearing trousers.” Roland seemed impressed. 

“I don’t like to wear dresses.” Thomas explained. “I feel more comfortable in trousers. I’m a man for christ’s sake.” 

“I can see that.” But Roland seemed to only have eyes for Thomas’ behind, which he eyed as Thomas bent over to hoist his leather satchel over his shoulder. 

Thomas caught him looking and glared. Roland immediately moved his eyes elsewhere. 

“Let’s go.” Roland advised, “The maids will wake up Lady Anthea soon. If she catches wind of you slipping out, she’ll tell the Dowager.”

Thomas didn’t need telling twice. 

They left the boudoir, exiting out through the Regina bedroom and into the library. The ante library held a small passageway for servants, which they took to head down into the hallway by the church. Christopher was already passing through the library with a silver platter in hand, scooping up emptied crystal glasses from the night before and rectifying a crooked lampshade. When he saw Thomas wearing trousers, Christopher nearly lost his balance on the platter and swiveled about so that he could watch Thomas walk into the ante-library. 

The trip downstairs was short and calm, with so many of the servants on the move to complete morning chores. The only ones downstairs were the kitchen staff, Mrs. Gibson, and Mr. Wallace who was showing Benedict how to iron the paper for the Dowager Countess. Benedict nearly burned a hole in the London Times when he saw Thomas whip around the bend in a pin stripe three-piece suit. 

“Good lord!” Mrs. Gibson proclaimed at the sight of Thomas’ suit, “What ever are you wearing, Master Thomas?” 

“It’s a Woolcox.” Thomas said proudly, twisting a bit so that the gathering crowd could see how the line of the pinstripe suit showed off his long legs. “I always liked pinstripe. I used to have a hat too but I lost it.” 

“But… Master Thomas, that’s not particularly becoming for an omega,” Mrs. Gibson looked close to tears as decency and decorum crashed around her ears. “Surely you’d rather wear one of your dresses, perhaps the black one you’re so fond of-?” 

“No thank you.” Thomas refused to discuss the subject anymore. Fortunately for him, Mrs. Price had seen him in the hallway and came up with a wrapped sandwich for his train ride. 

“Here you are-“ She was a stalwartly woman with an enormous hairy mole on her chin, and reminded Thomas reminiscently of Mrs. Patmore (save the latter was more beautiful in his opinion). Thomas took her sandwich and almost put it into his satchel before remembering the cocaine and deciding to hold onto it instead. “Now, you eat that sandwich while it’s cold, you hear?” 

“Thank you.” Thomas said. He hoped it was a tomato and egg sandwich; he had a fondness for them. 

“Oh-“ Mrs. Gibson dithered, still distressed by his suit. Mr. Wallace would be the one with the deciding voice though, taking off his square spectacles to polish them on his handkerchief. 

“A Woolcox, you say?” Mr. Wallace mused, “That’s a fine make.” 

“It was a hand-me-down from one of the Crawly family.” Thomas explained, for as the one-time valet to Lord Grantham, Thomas had received a few pieces of the man’s suits. Woolcox was far too above his station to buy brand new. 

“Then wear it with pride.” Mr. Wallace said, “And mind yourself on the train. Don’t dally with strangers.” 

“And come back as quickly as you can.” Mrs. Gibson beseeched. 

“I will, I will-“ But Thomas noted that the time was getting short and began to make his way towards the western entrance. As he walked, he was followed by Mrs. Price, Mrs. Gibson, and Mr. Wallace. Roland and Benedict waited in the servants hall, neither of them free enough to enjoy a moment to slack. It was Mr. Wallace who walked Thomas to the western door and saw him out; Mr. Wallace, who had one of the gardeners take him to the station. 

It was with elated pride that Thomas clambered into the front of the wagon; he would go by horses and not my motorcar. It felt like he was a free man all over again, watching Belton slip out of view as he entered the village proper. They passed the Gray family motorcar on its way back to the house, and Thomas was relieved to know that Lawrence was officially out of the way on his own train. Now Thomas could breath a little easier and not have to look over his shoulder. 

 

He did not see Lady Anthea sitting in the backseat of the motorcar. 

 

As Thomas reached the train station, he thanked the gardener for going out of his way before boarding the eight o’clock train to Downton. Wearing a pantsuit, Thomas’ status as an omega wasn’t entirely clear, and so he was deprived the audacious looks that alphas had so readily given him while he was in a dress. He was comfortable in third class, eating his (blessings above) tomato and egg sandwich quietly in the corner as Lincolnshire slipped away to be replaced by Yorkshire. Thomas looked out the window, eyes gleaming at the sight of rolling countryside unbroken by tree line or swamp. Instead, all he could see were little picket fences, criss-crossing the valley as farmers tended to their flocks and errand boys drove tractors through rich mud. He suddenly felt more free than before, with a million ideas buzzing around in his head. Why on earth should he even make to go back to Belton House at all? Why not just hide at Downton and ask Lord Grantham for his help? Surely the man wouldn’t force him to return to Gray if he knew how awful the man was. Thomas was determined to try every angle he came across, and so as the train finally pulled into the Downton station around ten Thomas felt ready to jump out of his skin just to get off board. 

God— the sight of it all! The sounds, the smells! It was a beautiful thing, to see Downton again. 

He’d missed the village terribly, with its pottering little roads and tiny family owned shops. There was the post office he’d been to so many times before, and there was the church peeling out its morning songs. He saw a few familiar faces as he walked to Downton Village Hospital, such as Lady Crawley being driven by her chauffeur (undoubtably to the Dower House), and the man who ran the Dog and Duck pub. Thomas wished he had time to stop in for an ale, but decided he would do so later. For now, he had an appointment to keep as he steered away from the main village road to take a side alley that would short him across the local park where the war memorial had been revealed a year before. The hospital was just on the other side, surrounded by nurses in white tipped hats out for a morning stroll with patients on crutches and in wheelchairs. Thomas slipped by them with ease, going around the back way so that he was taken through the same courtyard where Edward Courtenay had once waded through borrowed chairs and crates with his walking stick. Now, there were only a few nurses supervising several children who looked like they were recovering from chicken pox, each being instructed in a set of regimented drills for exercise and breathing. Thomas ascended the steps into the lobby of the hospital, and found it just as the same as before with a nurse in a starched white apron holding down the front desk. There was already another couple in the lobby, an alpha and his omega who looked very pale indeed and seemed to be nursing a headache. He had a hand on her back, and kept fretting over her with soft whispers. 

The nurse gave him a polite smile. “How may I help you?” 

“I have a ten thirty appointment with Dr. Clarkson.” Thomas said. The nurse immediately poured over an aged leather volume that was opened upon her desk counter, scanning written names with a finely manicured nail. Thomas saw his own near the bottom. 

“Name?” 

“Thomas Barrow”, the nurse found his name with ease and checked him off with a black pen. 

“I’ll fetch the doctor now.” The nurse said. “He’s running ahead of schedule.”   
Thomas was pleased to hear it, knowing that Clarkson was quite a busy man. 

He only had to wait for a few minutes. He didn’t even bother to sit down, not wanting to get too close to the alpha hovering over his omega. Even though he was wearing a pantsuit, Thomas had the unnerving feeling that alpha’s could smell him and know he was trying to pull the wool over their eyes. When Dr. Clarkson appeared, Thomas could not contain his elation and beamed at the man. It warmed him on the inside to see a familiar face. Dr. Clarkson seemed taken aback, having never experienced Thomas’ enthusiasm before. 

“Mr. Barrow,” Dr. Clarkson extended his hand. Thomas shook it at once, “I hardly recognized you. Your hairs gotten quite long.” 

“I’m afraid it has.” Thomas agreed. 

“Come with me.” Dr. Clarkson lead him down the main hallway, only to divert to the right so that they walked down a small hallway full of examination rooms. Instead of entering on of them, they walked right to the end of the hall where Dr. Clarkson’s office lay waiting. Sequestered inside, Dr. Clarkson went so far as to lock the door before coming around his desk to pull out an innocent looking wooden box. 

“Did you bring the substances?” Dr. Clarkson asked. Thomas sat his satchel down upon the guest chair and opened it to reveal the ivory box. He handed it over to Clarkson, who accepted it at once to open it carefully at the golden hinges. 

“That’s all of it.” Thomas felt breathless, edgy, like a police officer might come banging on the door at any moment. 

“Stay back, please.” Dr. Clarkson warned, eyes never raising from the desk as he opened his little wooden box to pull out a bizarre assortment of items: a dropper and bottle filled with what appeared to be water, a minuscule tea spoon, what appeared to be a microscope slide, and several perforated sheets of cream colored card-stock. Thomas wondered if he was about to see a science experiment. He kept behind the guest chair, clutching its back with white knuckled hands. 

Dr. Clarkson took the minuscule tea spoon and used it to lift a tiny bit of cocaine from the ivory box. He laid it atop the supposed microscope slide, and then unscrewed the bottle of clear liquid drop three beads onto the segment of cocaine. He waited for a moment, re-screwing the lid of the bottle before tearing off a slim segment of perforated card-stock and sticking it in the wet mixture of cocaine and liquid. 

Thomas was amazed to see the parchment change color, almost as if by magic. IT turned a bloody dark red, almost black. Dr. Clarkson held it up to light, his lip curling in irritation. 

“That’s amazing.” Thomas wondered if Clarkson would consent to stick the card-stock into other things. What color would it change if you put it into a cup of tea? Or port? “But what does it mean?” 

“It means it’s worse than I feared.” Dr. Clarkson grumbled, putting away his little kit. Thomas watched Dr. Clarkson pull out a metal box from beneath his desk, small but heavily bolted, which he opened to reveal several other items inside. From what Thomas could see, they were all loose pills. “The darker the color of the blot paper, the purer the cocaine content.” The damning evidence lay in the blackened blotting paper clutched in Clarkson’s hand. 

“I can safely say that your alpha will kill himself if he keeps this habit up.” 

“Good.” Thomas could not keep the darkness from his voice. Dr. Clarkson was taken aback. Thomas did not make to justify his remark, vindictive that Gray should be punished someway somehow. 

“You know I can’t allow you to have this back.” Dr. Clarkson said, slightly tentative. 

“I don’t want it back.” Thomas corrected. “Take it, burn it, bury it… whatever you want.” 

Dr. Clarkson was silent for a few moments, unsure of how to best proceed. 

Thomas watched as Dr. Clarkson carefully put the ivory box and all its cocaine into the metal tin. He locked it back down, and replaced the box back inside the confines of his desk where it would be safe from the desperate and the drug addled. Perhaps Thomas wasn’t the first person to have to come to Clarkson with help for an illegal substance. 

“Forgive me for prying, but I wondered if… you were pregnant?” Dr. Clarkson asked. 

“… I took care of it.” Thomas said. 

“Perhaps we should confirm it.” Dr. Clarkson offered, “Just in case.” 

“… On the condition that if I am pregnant, you’ll help me deal with it.” Thomas said. 

Dr. Clarkson looked distinctively uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, thinking his words through before speaking. 

“I can’t do that, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson said. “It would be against the law, and against my conscience.” 

Thomas reached up and pushed back an enormous lock of his hair, so that Dr. Clarkson could see the awful swelling bruise on the side of his temple. Dr. Clarkson made a dark noise, eyes wide that the mottled swelling and ugly red cut. 

“That’s infected.” Dr. Clarkson said at once. 

“If I am pregnant, the child will not live.” Thomas warned, refusing to address Dr. Clarkson’s warning. “Gray will kill it. And me… Though I don’t know which one of us will go first.” 

Dr. Clarkson seemed to need a moment to register the situation. He collapsed into his office chair, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temple. It was clear from Dr. Clarkson’s inability to give and immediate reaction that he was heavily conflicted on what to do. He’d always been a sharp man, making quick work and deductions with the patient before him. It had saved many lives during the war but seemed to have failed him now as he stared up at Thomas with a loss for words. 

“… Let’s just see if you are.” Dr. Clarkson finally agreed, “And then, we’ll talk about the rest.” 

If he was, Thomas was willing to swallow lye to get the rest of it over with. 

They regrouped in an exam room just off Dr. Clarkson’s office, with Thomas stepping behind the divider sheet so that he could disrobe his trousers and pants. Dr. Clarkson was avid about giving Thomas his privacy, offering him a sheet wrap only when Thomas assured him that it was safe to look. It was a funny thing, to have his shirt tails and vest still on while wearing nothing underneath but his sock garters. He sat propped upon an examination table, his legs spread with the sheet to keep him decent, watching as Dr. Clarkson washed his hands thoroughly with an iodine soap bar. He was methodical, scrubbing underneath his nails and into the deep grooves of his palms. Thomas refused to lay back, feeling oddly vulnerable despite knowing Dr. Clarkson was a good man. He was tired of being open and exposed. His trousers had offered him a brief intervention from the ugly life of an omega; he was loath to set into it once more. 

“What will you do with it then, the cocaine?” Thomas asked. Dr. Clarkson dried off his hands on a steamed towel, coming back around the examination table to sit himself on a stool between Thomas’ legs. 

“There are medical labs in London that use cocaine in tests. Believe it or not, there are medicines which utilize cocaine as well. It will be put to good uses, I assure you.” He snapped back to the subject at hand with practiced ease, “If you’ll scoot down a bit on the table?” 

Thomas pursed his lips, forced to lay on his back in order to do as Carson complied.   
“A little bit more.” He did so, once again. 

“Legs apart.” Dr. Clarkson said, when Thomas did not immediately make to do so. Now, more than ever, Thomas felt horribly exposed. He clutched at the examination table beneath him, thin mattress giving way to his iron grip. 

“A slight pinch” But Thomas had heard it all before, and winced as he felt something cold slide into him. As horribly intrusive as it was, it made Thomas feel better to know he was underneath Dr. Clarkson’s care. He trusted the man implicitly. 

“You’re bruised.” Dr. Clarkson was dismayed. 

“Yeah well my alpha’s a piece of shit.” Thomas managed to grunt out through gritted teeth. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to meet Dr. Clarkson’s eyes when he was essentially fingering Thomas loose. 

“He doesn’t deserve you, then.” Dr. Clarkson said. 

“…Have you ever had an omega?” Thomas asked softly. It felt horribly personal, but somehow Thomas was willing to do anything to distract himself. 

“Once.” Dr. Clarkson said. He sounded detached to the subject, “She passed away several years ago.” 

“What happened?” Thomas winced as something inside of him seemed to be poked. Dr. Clarkson was silent for a moment; Thomas thought that he might not get an answer. 

“She wanted a child, but she had diabetes.” Dr. Clarkson explained. “I warned her but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t make it.” 

Thomas decided he didn’t want to press the subject anymore. For a long moment it was just the two of them, with Dr. Clarkson holding him open with e rectal speculum while seemingly attempting to dig for gold or god knows what else up Thomas’ bum. When he finished and withdrew, Thomas let out a long sigh of relief. 

“Done.” Dr. Clarkson spoke up; there was a clatter of metal on metal and Dr. Clarkson wheeled his tray away from Thomas’ feet. He rose from his stool, making to rewash his hands again with more iodine soap and a fresh hand towel. “I have some news for you.” 

Thomas tried to sit up but felt a twinge of pain his backside so he continue to lay flat. He watched Dr. Clarkson dry off his hands. 

“You’re not pregnant.” Dr. Clarkson put his hand towels in a soiled linen cupboard. Thomas breathed another long sigh of relief, feeling the entire world lift from his shoulders in that moment. 

If he had been pregnant in the beginning, he’d saved his child’s life. He’d protected an innocent soul from getting wrapped up in this fiasco. Dr. Clarkson seemed oddly at ease too, probably now wagering that he would not be forced to give Thomas an illegal abortion. 

“I want to clean that cut.” Dr. Clarkson said, fetching yet another medical kit from a glass cabinet that could handle minor lacerations. He didn’t bother with the stool this time, propping himself up on the exam table beside Thomas, so that he could lean close and doctor Thomas’ cut with an antiseptic and salve. 

Thomas kept his eyes low, quiet as Dr. Clarkson wiped away slight beads of dried blood from the rim of Thomas’ cut. 

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for another omega?” Thomas tried for a joke. 

“Good alphas don’t take on omegas just because.” Dr. Clarkson informed him gently, “It’s like I told you before, Thomas. Harsh reality is always better than false hope. I suppose you see that now?” 

It couldn’t be denied, that was for certain. 

After Dr. Clarkson finished up, Thomas was able to re-dress behind the divided curtain while Dr. Clarkson wrote up a report of the visit. When Thomas was finished, he waited for Dr. Clarkson to finish up, and by the time Dr. Clarkson was done it was close to noon. 

“I’ll walk you out.” Dr. Clarkson offered, taking Thomas down the same route they’d walked before. Yet as they made it to the four point branch where different wings of the hospital changed from reception area, exam rooms, surgery rooms, and a private wing for priority clients, Dr. Clarkson paused in his long legged stride to greet a man coming up the way with a brown leather briefcase and a homberg hat. 

Thomas slowed up as well, but not for the same reasons. 

It was odd to say what sensation was coming over him, only that he’d never been struck by a man’s presence so hard before. Like he’d walked smack into a brick wall and was suddenly dazed. The man was incredibly handsome, with dark brown hair that curled against the nape of his neck and around his ears. His eyes were brown as well, full of warmth that ignited a sensation of light headedness within Thomas. Worst of all, a soft fragrance permeated the air around the man, a gentle wave of white tea and honey that reminded Thomas of all the leisure and quiet Downton Abbey could offer in the dead of night. Like you had bolted the back door and were crouched around a dwindling hearth enjoying the glow of dying coals on the fire. 

That’s what the man reminded Thomas of. A scene so burned into his mind that he could hardly dispel one from the other. 

“Ah, Dr. Kinsey, you’ve arrived-“ Dr. Clarkson shot a hand out to shake Dr. Kinsey’s. The man was taken aback from his own reverie forced to concede that time was flowing on with or without his approval. He shook Dr. Clarkson’s hand, a warm smile toying at his carved lips. 

“Indeed I have.” Dr. Kinsey said. Even his voice was warm, and it seemed to melt something cold inside of Thomas, thawing him for all the world to see. But instead of carrying on his conversation with Dr. Clarkson, Dr. Kinsey slowly took off his fedora hat and tipped it politely to Thomas. 

Thomas was lost for words at that gentle smell of white tea and honey. 

“How do you do.” Dr. Kinsey said. 

“…How do you do.” Thomas finally answered. He damned himself for how breathless he sounded; what an idiot he must appear to be. 

But Dr. Kinsey didn’t seem to think so… at least… he was still smiling.   
And what a wonderful smile it was. 

_Christ, I might faint_. Thomas wondered in delight. 

“This is Thomas Barrow.” Dr. Clarkson said, gesturing to Thomas. Dr. Kinsey’s smile just seemed to grow wider. 

“And this is Dr. Robert Kinsey.” Dr. Clarkson introduced them, “A close friend of mine, and an excellent psychiatrist.” 

“Well.” Dr. Kinsey was bashful in lieu of praise, “I don’t know about any of that.” 

“Don’t let his modesty fool you.” Dr. Clarkson said to Thomas, “This man single handled saved a prominent politician’s son from suicide only a few weeks ago. Talked him off a ledge.” 

“That’s very brave of you.” Thomas couldn’t help himself. He meant every word. Dr. Kinsey blushed, a soft warm hue tickling his handsome cheeks. 

“Oh no, the bravery went to the young man.” Dr. Kinsey said, christ Thomas was close to blushing now, “He was the one willing to fight for his life. I just gave him a weapon.” He looked away, seeming to compose himself, “I say-“ Dr. Kinsey cleared his throat, “I hope you don’t think I’m terribly forward but that suit is very flattering on you.” 

Dr. Clarkson’s smile dropped. He fixed his old friend with an irritable glare.   
Thomas on the other hand was ready to catch fire for the heat in his cheeks. 

“Did your alpha buy it for you?” Dr. Clarkson asked forcefully. At the mention of an alpha, Dr. Kinsey seemed to grow crestfallen. 

Thomas frowned as well. So it seemed Dr. Clarkson had put a damper on them both. 

“That’s very kind of him-“ Dr. Kinsey tried to regain face. 

“He’s not kind.” Thomas corrected him, “He’s a bastard. This suit was a hand me down from my prior employer.” 

Dr. Kinsey opened and closed his mouth twice, unable to gather the composure to make a correct response. Thomas supposed that it was up to him to set things straight. 

“I hate wearing dresses.” Thomas explained, “I’d much rather wear trousers.” 

“Well then.” Dr. Kinsey tried for another gentle smile, though the happiness seemed to have fled from his warm eyes, “Cheers to you, and may your future be full of trousers.” 

Thomas doubted it would be, but it was sweet of Dr. Kinsey to say. He smiled, pursing his lips to keep his pessimism to himself. Dr. Kinsey didn’t deserve to be bothered to his troubles. 

Dr. Kinsey didn’t seem to agree. He reached into his inner vest pocket and withdrew a cream colored business card which he gave to Thomas. Thomas flipped it over to see that Kinsey was stationed in London and certified by the School of Medicine. A learned man…. 

“If you ever need me, for anything.” Dr. Kinsey explained.   
Thomas had a feeling he’d find a reason in time. He smiled, and pocketed Dr. Kinsey’s business card. 

“I don’t have a business card.” Thomas said coyly. Dr. Kinsey tutted. 

“Better get on that.” Dr. Kinsey advised, “It’ll make these introductions go much smoother.” 

“Well I’m not certified by the School of Medicine either.” Thomas reminded him. 

“Oh neither am I.” Dr. Kinsey joked, “It just helps if you lie a bit… grease the tracks and all that.” 

Thomas laughed. He couldn’t help himself.   
Dr. Clarkson did not look impressed. 

“Dr. Kinsey, we have a meeting in Board Room #2,” Dr. Clarkson reminded his companion. Dr. Kinsey coughed rapidly, re-situating his hat upon his head to try and pull himself back together. 

“Mr. Barrow.” Dr. Kinsey said. 

“You can call me Thomas.” Thomas said. 

Dr. Kinsey let out a string of pleased but flustered noises, shrugging so that his briefcase was jostled and fell open. Suddenly papers spilled out in a white tidal flood. Dr. Kinsey cursed aloud, and suddenly the three of them were all on their knees to pick up papers and pens as fast as the could before they got stained with dirt. 

“Sorry- sorry-“ Dr. Kinsey cursed his poor luck. 

“It’s quite alright-“ Dr. Clarkson said, “I’ve told you to get a new briefcase for a while now.” 

“Like I can afford it.” Dr. Kinsey lamented, “With my luck I’ll be holding it up with twine by the end.” 

Dr. Kinsey tried to stand up at the same time as Thomas. Unfortunately for the pair of them, they ended up butting heads so that Thomas’ teeth clacked painfully in his mouth. 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Dr. Clarkson had lost his last straw of patience, “Just go to the board room and I’ll meet you there-“ 

“I’m sorry-!” Dr. Kinsey protested, reaching out a hand to touch Thomas’ reddened chin, “Did I hurt—“ 

“I’m the Doctor I’ll see to it-“ Dr. Clarkson pushed Dr. Kinsey away before his fingers could stray against Thomas’ skin. 

“I’m a Doctor too!” Dr. Kinsey said haughtily. 

Then they paused, seeming to realize they’d caught the attention of nearly everyone in the divided hallways. Nurses were watching amusedly, patients were disturbed, one man in a wheelchair looked delighted. 

“I’ll see you out-“ Dr. Clarkson took Thomas by the upper arm and steered him away. 

Thomas looked over his shoulder to see Dr. Kinsey crestfallen. His proud shoulders were sagging, his warm eyes growing cold. Thomas wished they could have more time together- perhaps if he was quick he could catch Dr. Kinsey in the village later and they could take tea? 

But no matter, by the end of it Dr. Clarkson had walked him right out into the gravel path back to the village and had left him there with a firm if polite ‘goodbye’. Thomas was put out, denied a great treat as he sulkily made his way back Downton Abbey. He managed to flag down a passing farm wagon, the back of which was loaded with an enormous array of fruit crates and a working boy in patched overalls. Able to relax as they headed at a comfortable pace towards Downton’s far corner, Thomas was left to wonder at the enigma that was Dr. Kinsey. 

Good god the man had been like sex on a stick. That voice, those eyes, the curls at the nape of his neck… if he could have had a flavor, Thomas was certain it would be rich velvety chocolate. He was ready to break his arm trying to claw his way up Dr. Kinsey’s front to kiss those sweetened lips. He’d never been so aroused by a man so quickly, but one thing was for certain… Lawrence Gray paled horribly in comparison to the perfection of Dr. Robert Kinsey. 

Lying on a business card… as if! It was clear that Dr. Kinsey was an incredibly smart man. But unlike most scholars, he didn’t wear it around on his sleeve and boast it to everyone he came across. No, instead he was a perfect gentleman, and that sat well with Thomas. 

That smell of honey and tea haunted him all the way to the abbey.   
Indeed, many months from now Thomas would still be laying awake wondering at the perfection of it. 

 

But even Dr. Kinsey was pushed from his mind when he saw the quad corners of Downton Abbey poking high against the gray English sky. A blue and red flag was flapping the breeze just like before. The grassy knolls and carefully combed trees made Thomas’ heart race. 

_I’m safe_ , Thomas suddenly thought, _Oh thank god, I’m safe_. 

He leapt off the back of the farm wagon without even saying goodbye, tearing up the front walkway in his oxford flats. Gravel was flying beneath his feet, bouncing onto freshly clipped grass; he didn’t care. He felt like he was running back to his childhood, running through the gates of heaven, and a hundred details were sticking out to him in a blaze of golden glory. The windows shone against the sunlight; the birds sang sweetly. Thomas had a feeling that even the air would taste purer here than in Belton. 

As he finally reached the front, Thomas didn’t even bother pounding on the door or attempting to go through decorum. Instead, he slipped around the back into the servant’s yard where a stack of neatly chopped wood told him that Andy had been hard at work this morning. Andy himself was nowhere to be scene, but that was no matter. All that mattered now was that Thomas would be able to see Baxter and Mrs. Hughes soon. That he was but yards away from them with only a door between him and home. 

He did not knock on the back door. He hammered, ringing the door bell several times as he leaned his head against the wood. He tried to hear anything beyond the wood, but it was difficult. The door was steady solid oak. 

But it gave, and when it did opened on the view of Mrs. Hughes wearing a slightly peeved expression. When she saw it was Thomas on the doorstep, her scowl slid away into wide eyed shock. 

“Thomas-!” She cried out his name in surprise.   
Thomas could not contain himself- he leaned forward and brusquely hugged her. 

She was frozen in her leather lace up boots, unsure of what to do as Thomas buried his face in her neck. 

He’d needed her protection for so many weeks now. Needed to hear her comforting Scottish voice instead of Mrs. Gibson’s English trill. An ugly feeling bubbled up within him, making him shudder against Mrs. Hughes’ black dress. 

He could feel her hands upon the back of his head, touching the silken strands which had grown slightly too long to be fashionable for a beta-man. 

She forced him to pull back, fearfully searching his face for something… Thomas was unsure what. 

She noticed the cut on the side of his temple almost at once, now dyed dark yellow by iodine thanks to Dr. Clarkson. She gasped softly, her fingers tracing the crescent-moon shape of the butterfly bandages. 

“You’re hurt-“ She fretted. 

“It’s nothing-“ Thomas pulled back, swallowing and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. He beamed, in spite of himself. He’d forgotten how beautiful Mrs. Hughes was. He slid his hands upon her shoulders, squeezing her arms to reassure himself that yes… yes she was before him. Yes she was real. 

“I missed you.” Thomas tried to say. Instead what came out was “I…” 

Mrs. Hughes seemed to realize it cost him too much to speak the plain truth.   
She didn’t push him. 

Mrs. Hughes took him by the elbow and gently lead him inside, eager to get him indoors and out of the cold. In all her shock, she didn’t seem to have taken offense to his wardrobe choice. If anything, she seemed relieved to have him in once piece, whatever the wrapping he chose. 

In the quiet and comfortable warmth of the outer servant’s hall, Mrs. Hughes let her facades drop to once more touch Thomas’ forehead. She rubbed it carefully, wary to harm him when his cut and bruises were so obvious with his hair pushed back. 

“What happened?” Mrs. Hughes asked. 

Thomas couldn’t meet her eyes. 

“It’s nothing.” Thomas tried to diffuse again, “Really-“ 

Mrs. Hughes didn’t seem to know whether to press the issue or let it drop. 

“You ought to go to Dr. Clarkson about that-“   
“Just got back, actually.” Thomas told her. Mrs. Hughes seemed relieved for that at least. 

“Oh- Ms. Baxter will be over the moon when she sees you.” Mrs. Hughes said, “She told us to expect you but to be honest we weren’t sure if you’d actually show. Lord Gray was kind to allow you travel in your condition.” 

Unable to trust his tongue, Thomas kept his silence as Mrs. Hughes lead him down the hall towards the servant’s hall. He grew horribly nostalgic to the point of despondency, hearing Mrs. Patmore howl at Daisy from the kitchen- 

_“Are y’goin’ deaf? Fetch me those eggs before we lose the soufflé! Idle hands are the devil’s delight, Daisy!”_

-the tap of Mr. Bates’ cane, somewhere far off, _tip, tip, tip_ against the stone. 

As they passed Mr. Carson’s office, Thomas looked in to see a half decanted bottle of wine on the desk, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. 

For some reason, that image in particular struck him hard. Thomas had to swallow viciously around the lump in his throat. 

As they entered the servant’s hall, Thomas was pleased to see several people downstairs taking tea. 

There at the end of the hall sat Anna, positively enormous in the belly and sitting wide away from the table so that she could be next to Bates who was in Thomas’ favorite armchair by the fire. They were both warming themselves, sharing a small plate of freshly baked almond biscuits while Bates read the paper. Moseley was at the table, grossing over papers his students had written, clearly still basking in his part-time teaching position. Across from him… 

Baxter. 

She was nursing a cup of tea. Thomas’ latest letter was before her on the table. She was perusing it as if for hidden clues, forlorn as she came up empty. In the far off sunlight, Baxter looked like there was a slight halo around her hair. The golden light gleamed against her black and brown braids. 

Thomas was captivated by her image, absolutely frozen as he drank her in.   
How many times had he dreamed of her just this way, reading his letters and taking tea as she thought of what to write back. How was she to know that her words had saved his soul from Gray’s cruelty? That had it not been for her almost-daily letters he would have lost himself in the despair of Gray’s world. Falcons, vicious abuse, cocaine, and darkened hallways where even servant’s dared not to whisper for sibling rivalry. 

“Look whose come to visit.” Mrs. Hughes said pleasantly.   
At once, Baxter looked around. When she saw him in the doorway, a beautiful light lit up her face. She rose from her chair, leaving behind her letter and tea. 

She almost made to run to him, but froze in Mrs. Hughes’ presence, remembering herself. Instead she stood tense, stock still, fingers bone white as the gripped the back of her abandoned chair. 

“Thomas-“ Baxter’s voice was hoarse as if from a cold. 

“Thomas!” Anna was much more pleasant, rising up from her chair with slight difficulty. Bates had to help her, setting his paper down so that the pair of them could appraise Thomas in his long hair and faded three-piece. Mr. Moseley rose up as well, but he seemed to only be doing it out of a formality. Despite Moseley’s care for Baxter, he’d never fully taken to Thomas. He was much too ‘honorable’ (and in reality, stuffy). 

“I’m so glad to see you-“ Baxter was clearly on the verge of saying something emotional, only constraining herself for Mrs. Hughes ever present sense of dignity and decorum. “Are you… are you alright?” 

Her words were weighted and measured, each one clearly meaning something significant. 

“Not really.” Was all Thomas could manage. “I have a favor to ask you later though, in private.” The weight of his personal belongings was heavy on his shoulder, strapped within the leather rucksack. At least he wasn’t carrying around a solid pound of cocaine anymore. 

“Of course.” Baxter said at once. 

“I see your alpha let’s you wear suits.” Bates spoke up. While he words weren’t exactly friendly, there was warmth in his voice. He seemed amused to have Thomas in men’s clothing again. 

“He doesn’t.” Thomas corrected Bates. The man frowned, leaning a little heavier upon his cane. “He doesn’t even know I’m here.” 

“A bit brazen for you to travel without permission.” but Bates had never been the type to seek ‘permission’ from Anna to begin with, so Thomas knew he was being sarcastic. 

“You know me, Mr. Bates.” Thomas drawled. Heavens he’d only been back five minutes and already they were butting heads. Ah, it was good to be home. “A brazen omega if there ever was one. Has Mr. Carson gone up with the tea? I need to speak with his Lordship.” 

“I’m sure his Lordship will be happy to see you.” Mrs. Hughes said, “He’s in the library.” 

But even as Mrs. Hughes meant to say something else, Daisy came into the hall with a fresh pot of tea and immediately broke into a happy smile at the sight of a familiar face. 

“Thomas!” She sat down the teapot upon the table before she could burn her hands through her threadbare oven mitts. “I’m glad to see you back but what are you doin’ wearin’ trousers? You’re an upper class omega now, surely you ought to be wearin’ all those fancy dresses like Lady Mary and Lady Edith.” 

“Dresses aren’t for me, Daisy.” Thomas explained, “I don’t like wearing them.” 

“Well I wish I could.” Daisy said wistfully. “I’ve been reading all the fashion magazines, picturing you in the gowns. If I could, I’d have something beaded and silky-“ 

“But where would you even wear it to?” Anna pointed out. Daisy pouted, slightly disappointed in her lack of support. 

“Dresses like that are hard to care for.” Baxter added gently, “Maybe you’d be better off with a hand-me-down that’s been broken in instead of something new.” 

“But you wouldn’t have any trouble buying them, so why don’t you?” Daisy asked. Thomas shrugged, unsure of how to best put the feeling into words. He supposed brutal honesty was his best option. 

“It’s demeaning to me.” Thomas explained. “Particularly when I’m out in public.” 

“But surely your alpha treats you well?” Anna cut in. 

Thomas did not answer her, unwilling to say the ugly truth when Daisy was in the room. She was too young, too naive, and didn’t need to hear such awful things when she was an omega herself and surely to be mated soon. 

Anna grew slightly paler, as if realizing what Thomas wasn’t saying. 

“How is everyone doing?” Thomas asked, to try and change the subject. 

“We’re well.” Daisy carried right on, oblivious. “But are you alright? You look different. Like something’s on your mind?” 

“Is it too much to hope that you might be in a way?” Mrs. Hughes asked, sounded tentative, “Only… if you’ve been to see Dr. Clarkson-?” 

Thomas noticed Bates’ expression grow keen and interested. Even Moseley seemed slightly amazed at the prospect of Thomas being knocked up. Baxter pursed her lips, already aware of the terrible circumstances behind his ‘delicate conditions’. 

“No.” Thomas said, “I’m not.” 

“Oh…” Mrs. Hughes was terribly sad. It seemed she’d been building up hope at the thought, “Well no matter.” She brushed her blues off, putting on a face of optimism as she so often did. “Sometimes these things take a while.” 

“Look at us.” Anna added, smiling lovingly up at Bates. He put a hand on the small of her back with no small amount of pride. 

“Where’s Andy?” Thomas asked, wanting to get off the subject of pregnancy as soon as possible. 

“It’s his afternoon off.” Mrs. Hughes explained. “He’s in the village.” 

“Ah.” Thomas wondered if he might see Andy eventually. If he was lucky, he might even be spending the night here tonight. How wondrous would that be? 

“Why don’t we head upstairs?” Baxter cut in, clearly eager to get him alone as soon as possible. Thomas was in full agreement, for there was much for them to speak about and none of it could be done in front of Mrs. Hughes or Daisy. 

Thomas made to follow her out of the servant’s hall, only pausing when she collected her letter from the table. Before they could ascend the stairs, however, Daisy interjected into their conversation once again with her cock-eyed optimism. 

“Will you write to me?” Daisy asked, leaning over the banister to look up at Thomas. Thomas was slightly taken aback, for though Daisy and he had once been close she’d certainly never thought to look to him since William had courted her. “Only that I’d like to know how you are.” 

“…If that’s what you wish.” Thomas knew he wouldn’t be able to tell Daisy the truth. He’d have to invent mundane tales to put her at ease while telling Baxter the rest. 

“We’d all like to hear from you.” Anna said, though this was just a nicety and not to be taken seriously. “Not just Ms. Baxter. You’re living a dream.” 

Oh yes, spousal abuse was a dream to be envied. 

“I want to live vicariously through you!” Daisy gave him a cheeky grin. 

Oh no you don’t, Thomas thought mulishly. 

 

“Write to me about the fashions at least.” Daisy protested when Thomas didn’t smile back, “Like in the pictures! It’s always the same things in the monthly rags.” 

“I know absolutely nothing about fashion, but I’ll try.” Thomas said. He supposed he’d have to get a rag himself and just copy what he found in the text. 

Thomas was tired of this conversation. He was growing drained from social interaction after having been denied it for so many weeks. Even now, in the safety of Downton, Thomas could not say the truth of his shamed mated and bonding… the fact put a sour feeling in his stomach. 

Thomas took the lead as they ascended the stairs. Baxter was close on his heels as he rounded the second floor and made his way to the attics. Somehow, for reasons he could not explain, Thomas felt like he was being pulled to his old room by a chord attached to his bellybutton. He was dragged to the upper floors of the abbey, rounding the corner of the alpha hallway to head straight for his old room. 

He opened the door, and allowed it to swing open of its own accord with a soft but deep groan. The afternoon light was no longer impeded by the red curtains that had once hung in Thomas’ windows. His old quilt and coverlet were back on the original bed, as was his stolen armchair and it’s red throw. Perhaps the maids had thought to rectify the rooms in his absence. 

Baxter shut the door, so that the pair of them were sequestered safely in his old bedroom. 

Thomas felt detached from the scene. Like he was stepping into the past. So disgusted and unhappy with the present was he, that for a moment Thomas considered simply diving back into the early years of his Downton legacy and pretending like the future couldn’t happen. Like Lawrence Gray didn’t exist. 

Like he was still just a footman or a valet, perhaps on his afternoon off and in his day suit. 

“… Thomas.” Baxter said. 

Mrs. Hughes was no longer around to demand they hold to a standard of decency. 

He turned, and fled to her like a child to its mother, grabbing her about the neck as they collided. His pack was squished uncomfortably between the two of him, till he let the strap sag from his shoulder so that the whole thing could fall to the floor at their feet. The terrible emotional storm within him rose and swelled up, forcing him to give way or break. He sagged against her collar, wetting it with frustration as she grabbed at his hair and back with pinching fingers. It was like she was trying to pull him inside of her. Like she thought to keep him safe there, the pair of them never parted. 

“It’s alright.” Baxter beseeched. But it wasn’t, and it never would be so long as Gray kept a lock on Thomas’ freedom, “Everything’s alright now. You’re shaking all over-“ She pulled back to look at his temple, where the cut and bruise were now an ugly molten brown and yellow. Despite not being terribly cold, Thomas was surprised to find that he was shaking. He was unsure if it was from rage or fear. 

“He’s a monster.” Thomas looked at her, and found Baxter just as petrified as he. “He’s an absolute monster. I couldn’t get free from him- he kept throwin’ me about!” When had the conversation slipped back to that horrid night? Baxter touched his cut with gentle fingers, careful not to disturb the butterfly bandage keeping the edges sealed. “He’s insane! He’s absolutely insane! I had to make a run for it- I had to- I can’t go back there!” And suddenly he was back to babbling, begging even as he grabbed Baxter by the forearms and shook her in his desperation, “Please, Phyllis you have to help me! Please!” 

“One thing at a time!” She beseeched, “Slow down, breath.” 

Thomas did so, but found that it didn’t help him much. He still felt on the verge of a mental collapse. 

“Did you give Dr. Clarkson the cocaine?” Baxter asked. 

“I did.” Thomas said, “He tossed it-“ 

“And you’re not pregnant.” 

“No, thank god.” Thomas suffered a shaky sigh, unable to fathom what he’d do if the pennyroyal solution hadn’t worked. 

“Good… that’s good!” Baxter praised him, cupping his damp cheeks in her hands. He was pale and clammy, if only be comparison to her fiery hot fingers. “We can fix this. We can make this better.” 

“I can’t go back to him.” Thomas said again, more resolute than ever, “I… I had to get my things out-“ And at this, he bent over to pick up his leather pack from the floor. It contained his most precious belongings, including a picture of Jimmy Kent, his war medals, and an old pair of Lady Sybil’s earrings. 

He passed then entire thing to her. She took it with an uncertain expression. 

“Just… in case.” Thomas whispered, unsure of what else to say. How did one convey the inevitable when even they didn’t want to acknowledge it? “In case… something happens. Will you keep these with you?” 

“Nothing will happen.” Baxter said, forcibly. She seemed to be considering bending the universe to her will just to make it so. “We’re going to speak to his Lordship, right now, and he’ll help you to rectify the situation. He’s a good man and he cares about your wellbeing.” 

Thomas didn’t know if the latter was true, but he was willing to throw caution to the wind if it got him anywhere. 

“…If he can’t-“ Thomas shuddered, “I need to run and hide. I’m going to… I’m going to try and leave the country-“ Though he didn’t have a god damn clue where he would go. Maybe India? That was far enough, right? 

God, he didn’t even know anymore. He had a terrible feeling that even on the other side of the world, Gray would come looking for him. 

“One thing at a time, Thomas.” Baxter was gentle with his ever present anxiety. “We’ll talk to his Lordship right now, and say nothing else to the future. You’re jumping to conclusions, and that won’t help you at all.” 

But Thomas didn’t think anything else would help him either. It seemed like he was up the creek without a paddle. Like the tide would suck him under any day now. 

His bottom lip quivered violently; Baxter surged forward once again to wrap him in her arms. 

“Shh…” She murmured into his bruised temple.   
He clutched at her back with his fingers. 

 

When his senses had finally been regained, Thomas consented to go to the library with Baxter leading the way. It was a mercy that they didn’t run into any other servants on the way. His red and swollen eyes would leave little to the imagination. 

As they hit the second landing, and entered into the main hall, Thomas scrubbed furiously at his eyes to try and clean his face. His heart was beginning to hammer in his chest as the situation came down to the wire. If Lord Grantham was able to help him, he would be safe. If Lord Grantham abandoned him… he would have to make a run for it tonight. He’d be sleeping in the woods until he could find a safe house and from there…? Who could say. 

The library door was slightly ajar. Thomas entered first to find Lord Grantham taking tea by himself, with Tiaa sleeping on the couch at his side. He seemed to be in a pleasant mood, reading the paper; he was wearing that ridiculous blue tie that Bates always seemed keen to put him in. Carson was at the serving station, keeping watchful guard beside a set of Wedgwood china that steamed in the cool autumn air. A crackling fire was going in the hearth, but the library was so expansive in size that it rarely seemed to do any good. The sight of Carson so stoic and calm filled Thomas with another round of nostalgic pangs that hit him deep in the gut. Despite Mr. Wallace’s obvious kindness towards Thomas, he could not deny that he had missed Carson’s grumblings terribly. 

Both Carson and Lord Grantham looked up at the sound of someone entering the library. When they saw it was Thomas and Baxter, both were pleasantly surprised. 

“Thomas!” Lord Grantham rose up from the couch at once, setting his paper down nearly atop Tiaa so that its thin pages furled slightly from her huffing breathes. “We heard you’d arrived but-“ Lord Grantham paused, gesturing at his suit and state, “I’m sorry to say it, you look terrible. What happened to your head? And why are you wearing a suit? Does Lord Gray know about this?” 

But that was the problem, wasn’t it. 

“…M’lord…” Thomas looked over his shoulder at Baxter who was giving him a furtive expression of endearment. He looked back at Lord Grantham and found him perplexed. Carson had remained rigid in his stance but his eyes were beginning to widen as if slowly realizing Thomas was about to do something very improper. 

But the time for proper had passed. Thomas’ very life was on the line, whether Mr. Carson knew it or not. 

“M’lord you have to help me!” Thomas blurted out, prostrating himself before Lord Grantham who immediately took a step back, alarmed at the sight of Thomas crumbling. 

“Gray’s crazy!” Thomas began, all but rambling as he tried to get all his words out before Lord Grantham or Carson could cut him off, “He’s completely crazy! He’s hooked on cocaine and he uses it all the time, gobs of the stuff!” 

Lord Grantham went white. 

“Ask Dr. Clarkson if you don’t believe me, I just went to the hospital and gave him a whole pound of it, I swear!” Thomas beseeched, “When Gray uses drugs, he turns into a wild animal, he beats me, he tears me apart, he does it for sport- he has no pity in his heart!” Thomas’ voice broke. He pulled back his hair so that Lord Grantham could see the full indent of the bruise and cut at his temple. 

Carson winced at the sight. 

“He threw a vase at my face!” Thomas blurted out, “He did it when he was high on drugs! He threw me about the room like I was a rag doll! I beg of you, I’m pleading with you, please _please_ you have to help me!” 

Lord Grantham was speechless.   
At his lack of resounding and immediate support, Thomas crumpled into ugly tears. He was so afraid of being rejected by Lord Grantham that he’d already made it up in his mind that that would be the inevitable outcome. 

“Please, in god’s name, if there’s any kindness in your- in your-“ But he couldn’t make up his mind whether to say ‘in your heart’ or ‘in your heart for me’. He was too afraid at hearing a ‘no’ for the latter. Disturbed at his crumbling courage, Baxter put a hand on his shoulder to show her unspoken support in the matter. 

It was her touch alone that spurred him onward. He couldn’t even bear to look at Carson now, certain that he would be infuriated by Thomas’ lack of decorum towards an Earl. He doubted that Carson would be sympathetic towards him, in any sense of the word. He never had been when Thomas had been employed at the abbey, why should that change now? 

“Gray’s completely mad.” Thomas continued on, no longer shouting but speaking in a shaking voice. He wiped hurriedly at his cheeks; his tears felt hot against his clammy skin. “He doesn’t love me. The only thing he loves is power and we he thinks it’s being denied to him he goes off like a bomb. He threw everything he could reach at me. Clocks, lamps, books, paperweights, vases, anything at all. The whole lot of them are mad, the whole damn family. The mother, the sister- the entire downstairs hates the family they serve. The Dowager doesn’t care, not even a nit. She just lets Gray run ram-shod over us all. He shoved a servant down the stairs- a little footman named Benedict. He’d never hurt a fly, he’s just like William Mason was, an’ Gray kicked him like an animal down a set of stairs-“ 

“Thomas, your babbling-“ Lord Grantham beseeched, trying to get Thomas to speak slower. It didn’t work. 

“I’m telling you, if you can’t help me— if you won’t help me— then I’m running away to India.” Thomas said. Lord Grantham flustered, unsure of what to say. “If I stay with him, he’ll kill me. He doesn’t need a reason. He doesn’t want a reason. He just wants to watch the world burn and I’m his perfect matchstick. I thought Gray could give me freedom, that’s why I agreed to mate him-“ 

“Freedom?” Lord Grantham scoffed at the notion, “You mean to say you didn’t love him? Not even a little bit?” 

“Not even remotely.” Thomas agreed. 

“Thomas….” Lord Grantham sagged, exhausted by their conversation. “That was… a very foolish thing to do. I fear what’s been done can’t be undone. He’s mated with you-“ 

“I’m not pregnant.” Thomas said. “I made sure of it-“ 

Lord Grantham fell silent, growing gray at the implications of Thomas’ words. Thomas tried his best to look remorseful on some level but he doubted that it would matter in the end. This was a difficult matter, and no one but an expectant mother in a dire situation would be able to understand. Somethings the greatest mercy you could show a child was to protect them from the horrors of existence. Children deserved to be loved and safe, cared for in every sense of the word. If that could not be given to them, if their life from day one would be a world full of pain and violence… was it really better that they be born into it? Thomas was not convinced. 

“…He’d kill any child I bore him.” Thomas murmured, not meeting either man’s eyes. “Nothing is sacred to him. Not me, not our bond… not any form of kindness. How can I willingly bear a child when I know it will die at the hands of its deranged father?” He shook his head, morose. 

Lord Grantham fell back onto the sofa, jostling Tiaa from her nap. He drug a hand over his ashen face, silent for a moment as Thomas’ words sank in. Even Mr. Carson was slack at his post, looking from Lord Grantham to Thomas as if wondering if the world around him had gone totally mad. 

“… I…” Lord Grantham mulled over his words, unsure of where to begin, “I fear that this situation has escalated beyond my sole control. But I shall do what I can to dissolve your fears when Lord Gray arrives.” 

“Arrives?” Thomas asked, fearful of that word and all the awful promise it held, “Lord Grantham, I can’t face him. I can’t be anywhere near him. He’s mad. I need to seek refuge somewhere; I’m willing to sleep in the words if that’s what it takes.” 

“But he called not ten minutes ago from the station!” Lord Grantham protested, confused, “He said that you’d gone ahead to visit the doctor but that he was coming to pick you up!” 

A sense of icy fear slid into Thomas’ heart, numbing his mind with panic.   
Gray had called from the station.   
Gray was in Downton. 

Gray knew he was here. How? Who had told him? How far off was he? 

“…He didn’t know I was coming here.” Thomas whispered, grave.   
Lord Grantham didn’t know what to say. 

Immediately, Thomas ran to the library window, looking out of it to scan the long gravel driveway. At the far end, he saw a flash of silver as a Chrysler Imperial pulled into the entrance. 

“Oh Jesus-!” Thomas blurted out, panic leaping into his heart as he stumbled back from the window, “He’s here-!” 

“There’s no need to be alarmed!” Lord Grantham said at once. Carson abandoned his tea tray to stare out the library window, noting the car pulling up through the gravel, “We’ll talk with him calmly and-“ 

“Calmly?!” Thomas shrieked, whirling around to point savagely at the cut on his forehead, “Does this look like a man who can be persuaded by calm to you?!” 

“I’ll speak to him, alpha to alpha.” Lord Grantham sounded sure but Thomas wasn’t convinced. He was ready to leap out the window and make a run for the woods. 

Emboldened, Thomas fiddled with the window latch and let the panes slid open so that a cool chill whipped through the library. 

“To hell with this-“ Thomas scathed. “I won’t sit here and be a willing participant in my own murder. I’m getting out of here-!” 

“You are not climbing through the window!” Carson said angrily, shutting the glass before Thomas could climb out and re-latching the panes. He took Thomas by the arm, as if deciding the pair of them would have to leap together before Thomas could plunge to his death. “His Lordship will speak with your alpha, and we’ll put this whole situation to rest. Come to your senses and remember yourself. Lord Gray will hardly attack you in our presence.” 

“D’you want to put your money on that?” Thomas demanded. “Because you’ll be a poor man before it’s all said and done-!” 

Mr. Carson’s sour retort was cut off by Moseley, who entered the library only to do a double take at the sight of Mr. Carson holding Thomas by the upper arm and Lord Grantham looking ready to faint. 

“…Mr. Carson, Lord Gray is at the door.” Mr. Moseley said. “Shall I show him in?” 

Thomas wheeled about and made for the window again. Carson held him back with a firm and steady grip. 

“Fetch him promptly, and take Ms. Baxter downstairs.” Mr. Carson ordered. 

“Mr. Carson, I should stay here and support Thomas.” Baxter beseeched. 

“As I say- fetch him quickly!” Mr. Carson snapped. Mr. Moseley back out at once. “Keeping an Earl waiting at the door, what a topsy turvy world we’ve come to—“ 

“Let me go!” Thomas begged. “I’m telling you, he’ll kill me! He’s completely mad-!” 

“He will not kill you.”Mr. Carson was just growing more agitated. “I will not let him and neither will his Lordship!” 

But Thomas didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He hid in Mr. Carson’s shadow, Baxter at his side, feeling like he was stocking up ammo and shields for a German onslaught. The trenches had been less tense than this, and he’d been shot at for god’s sake! 

_A soldier you can predict_ , Thomas thought, _An abuser, you cannot_. 

“I’ll be alright.” Baxter whispered to Thomas, as Lord Grantham rose off the couch and tugged gently at the bottom of his vest to straighten the creases that had appeared in his slouch. Tiaa yawned obscenely, rolling over onto her stomach completely unaware of horrors about to unfold in her once happy home. 

The door to the library opened.   
Gray stepped through, wearing his blue suit and sterling cufflinks. He leaned gently upon his ivory cane, having decided to carry it with him instead of abandon it at the door. Despite having been caught out, Thomas was amazed to see that Gray appeared to be in pleasant spirits and was even smiling as he allowed Moseley to see him into the library. Moseley collected the now cold tea tray from the table, stiff in the back and shoulders at the obvious tension thickening the room. He looked to Baxter, trying to get an answer out of her, but Baxter couldn’t spare him a glance. She was too busy standing in front of Thomas, protecting him from Gray’s pearlescent smile and calm demeanor. 

Why was he so relaxed? Shouldn’t he be furious? 

“Ah!” Lord Gray’s dark eyes lit up at the sight of Thomas, slightly out of view behind Carson’s bulk, “There you are!” 

Thomas wilted, sensing imminent danger. Lord Grantham was likewise unconvinced. 

“Goodness, what a suit you’re wearing!” Lord Gray seemed oddly appreciative, “That’s a Woolcox, I think?” He glanced at Lord Grantham, “Probably one of your hand me downs. Quite cheeky of you to show off those long legs when they’re only for me.” 

Thomas was disgusted at Gray’s vulgar incentives. He wilted underneath the man’s hot stare. 

“Come now…” Lord Gray extended a hand, “Don’t be shy. I’ve traveled a long way to see you.” 

“Lincolnshire isn’t particularly far.” Lord Grantham challenged. 

“No, but Derbys is.” Lord Gray corrected. “I would have stayed there in my board meeting if I hadn’t gotten a telegram from my dear sister telling me that my omega had run away! And here, I find him, safe and sound. I’m a regular bloodhound, aren’t I darling?” 

Thomas could sense the acid growing in Gray’s voice. Lord Grantham would be blindsided, and so would Carson. Thomas doubted either of them had seen violence up close and personal before. 

“I went to the doctor- didn’t you tell me to make an appointment?” Thomas snapped. 

“Oh…!” Lord Gray touched his forehead as if suddenly remembering some long forgot task he had to do, “Oh, I’m so sorry little peach, I didn’t realize- I should have remembered… you’re rather stupid aren’t you. You can’t be trusted with these menial tasks.” 

At Gray’s sharp words, Lord Grantham was taken aback. Even Carson stiffened. 

“When I say you need to make a doctor’s appointment, you make them with my doctor.” Lord Gray pointed to his own chest, fingers curled like the claws of his beloved birds, “Not some country quack-“ 

“He’s not a quack!” Thomas said, defensive of a man who had saved him so many other times before. 

“He’s a quack if I say he’s a quack, and I won’t have him touching my pregnant omega!” Gray barked. “Now get over here-!” 

He stormed forward, and before Carson could tell him to stay back or remember himself, Gray reached in between him and Baxter to grab Thomas around the wrist and pull him away, hard. Thomas struggled, feeling Baxter grab him about the chest to try and reel him back in until Lord Gray balked at her impertinence and slapped her hard across the face. 

Baxter gasped, clutching her swollen lips.   
Furious at the sound and sight of his dearest friend in pain. Thomas roared and threw back a hand to clock Gray hard in the chin. It staggered the man, giving Thomas a chance to escape. Suddenly it was Thomas protecting Baxter and not the other way around, making sure she was safely hidden in his shadow. 

Lord Gray was stunned, slack jawed at the realization he’d just been punched by his own omega. Lord Grantham took another step back, internally shaken at the sudden change of events. 

“Don’t you put your hands on her!” Thomas 

Thomas couldn’t find it within him to feel regret or remorse. 

“I’m not pregnant, and I thank god for it.” Thomas continued on, incensed. “I’d rather die than carry your bastards-!” 

Lord Gray stared at him, eyes wide and yet unseeing. The monster within the man was about to rear its head, but Thomas was a masochist at heart and knew no other way but to forge onward. He would only get one shot at this, he was certain. He would have to make it for all his worth. 

“You’re a monster!” Thomas snarled, “You’re an absolute monster! You’re insane-! Even when you’re sober, you’re insane, and I won’t have anything more to do with you. D’you hear?” Thomas doubted Gray would get it on the first try so he just kept pressing, “We’re done! We’re absolutely done!” 

In the silence that fell after Thomas’ words, Gray didn’t seem to know what to say or where to begin. Instead of being outraged or violent, he just looked politely puzzled and it scared Thomas even more. Baxter was still clutching at her swollen mouth behind him, shocked that she’d been hit. 

“…What are you talking about?” Gray finally began, almost on the verge of humor at Thomas’ supposed antics, “You are my mated omega. The only way we’ll ever be done is in death—“ 

“Were you so high that you don’t remember throwing me around like a rag doll?” Thomas snapped, “What, did you conveniently forget you threw a vase at my head? And a marble clock?!” 

Gray just laughed outright, as if feeling relief, “Oh…Oh!” ran a hand through his inky black hair, pushing back several disobedient strands, “Oh darling, I didn’t do that because I was high. I did that because you were getting on my nerves. You know, you really are the most annoying creature to ever live-“ 

“Oh you think I’m annoying now?” Thomas sneered, “Wait till you realize what I’ve in store for you!” 

Gray just scoffed, but Thomas forged on right ahead. 

“I took your cocaine.” Thomas spat.   
The smile dropped right off Gray’s face, to be replaced only by sudden blank shock that boded terrible things for their relationship. Thomas didn’t care. He was ready to set off a bomb if it got him away from Gray any quicker. 

“I took the whole lot of it, and got rid of it. It’s all gone now, Gray… every last precious-“ 

But he never got to finish his sentence. 

Furious at Thomas’ disobedience, at his sheer nerve and theft, Gray reared back his hand and cracked Thomas hard across the face with his ivory cane. The blow was worse than a fist, more solid and real than flesh could ever be, stinging Thomas’ right eye and causing a ringing sensation to burst into his ears as he collapsed to the ground clutching his head. Unable to quit, Gray delivered a second blow, even as Carson tried to grab the cane to make him stop. It caught Thomas on the other temple, right at his cut, and caused the entire thing to burst so that blood suddenly poured down the left side of his face. He fell to the carpet, clutching his head and moaning at the throbbing and ringing that suddenly rendered him blind. 

He was struck again- and again-! But suddenly there were hands upon him, pulling him back, as an enormous creature was wrestled amid his hazy vision. Carson-! Carson was holding Gray back, grabbing him at the cane and forcing him to relinquish his grip lest the ivory be shattered in twain. Gray was loathe to let it go, and so Carson had to hold the man back with bodily force like a human slate shield. 

Lord Grantham was beseeching Gray, trying for order: “Control yourself man!” 

“Get off me!” Gray spat, finally managing to wrestle free of Carson though he could seldom get to Thomas with both him and Baxter now solidly in the way. Baxter held him from behind, pressing her handkerchief to Thomas’ bleeding temple so that he wouldn’t ruin his shirt collar. 

“You…!” Gray fumed at Thomas, his dark eyes full of a horrible fire. Here was the violence Thomas knew, here finally for all to see! “You heartless little guttersnipe!” 

But Thomas could barely understand Gray’s insults, his brain still foggy from the double handed hit. 

“I knew you’d try to test my patience, but boy you really know how to take it over the top, don’t you?!” Gray foamed, “You think that just because you’re my omega you get a say in how I live my life-?!” 

“I hope it kills you!” Thomas shrieked from the floor, “I hope you die like the animal that you are-!” 

Gray raised his cane again. Carson tried in vain to grab it, but Gray brought it down like an axe so that Thomas had to shove Baxter away lest she be struck too. He came crashing down right at his shoulder, and Thomas felt his collar bone fracture. He screamed in agony clutching at his throbbing collar with bone hands as the cracked bone turned the skin above it a horrible purple. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes at the sheer force of the pain. He hadn’t felt such an awful pain like this since July-! 

Baxter reached out again, desperate to comfort him. Gray shoved Carson off, keeping the butler at bay with his cane pointed out like a saber. Lord Grantham threw up his hands, desperate to make the violence stop. On the couch, Tiaa was cowering, terrified of the screaming and the violence. She’d urinated herself, frightened to death. 

“Stop this!” Lord Grantham shouted. “Stop this or I shall call the police!” 

“Go on-!” Gray snarled, not at Lord Grantham but at Baxter whom he pointed the cane at with all the authority of a shotgun, “Go on, I dare you… try to touch him!” 

“Stay where you are!” Thomas got out through gritted teeth, seizing breath after breath as he held onto his collarbone. “He’s the devil servants, he’s no pity in his heart-!” 

“Do you have any sense of decency or compassion?!” Lord Grantham demanded, furious, “He’s your omega! Your mate! He’ll even be the mother of your children one day! Where is your sense of honor? Your supposed integrity that you swore to me was as dear to you as your title? You could have killed him just now! What if you’d hit his head instead? What if you’d cracked his skull?” 

Carson had both his hands held out, keeping Thomas behind him even as he cowered on the floor. Baxter was torn, one hand held out, fingers trembling courageously, one hand clutched to her chest, frightened of Gray. 

Gray seemed to grow aware of himself, glaring at both Lord Grantham and Carson who were staring at him like he was a beast. He took an enormous haughty sniff, smoothing back his hair again, and tepidly setting his cane upon the floor though he still gripped it with white knuckles. 

“…Get up.” Gray snapped at Thomas. “I didn’t hit you that hard.” 

But jesus, he truly had. Thomas still could not hold back the tears, eyes pinched shut as he held onto his cracked collarbone with bone hands to try and keep the throbbing down. 

“I will not go back with you.” Thomas hissed. “Our union is at an end.” 

Gary ground his teeth, rolling his eyes at Thomas’ belligerent demands. He strode forward again with those long powerful legs, completely bypassing Carson’s rotund belly to grab Thomas by one of his elbows and yank him onto his feet. Thomas cried out in pain, stumbling woozily as he still continued to clutch at the knot forming atop his collarbone. 

“Let go of him!” Lord Grantham demanded, “Can’t you see you’re hurting him? Look at him— he’s obviously in pain!” 

“I hate to deprive you all of a good jaunt, but no one gets a say in how I treat my little peach.” Gray snapped. “If I want to hold him, I’ll hold him. If I need to strike him, I’ll strike him. Omega’s are like children. You have to show them who has the upper hand or they’re run ram-shod over you. 

“I’m not your little peach!” Thomas spat, furious, “I’m not your omega-!” 

“Oh really?!” Gray had reached the end of his patience. He let go of Thomas’ elbow, only to grab him again at the nape of his neck so that he could squeeze him powerfully. It was the fabled grip, the bane of any omegas existence, and suddenly Thomas’ pain addled brain was swamped over by a foggy white. He went slack, as limp as a doll in Gray’s awful grip, allowing the man to shake him about as Gray thundered in his ear, “D’you want to tell me you’re not my omega when I’m gripping the shite out of you?!” 

“Let him go!” Lord Grantham ordered. He was incensed, an unusual fire burning in his blue eyes at Gray’s lack of pity or decency. Bizarrely enough, as if sensing that he’d made his point, Gray did in fact let Thomas go. Thomas crumpled at Gray’s feet, squatting there like a child as he took deep sagging breathes and tried to clear his head. He was numb, floating in a sub-space as the grip slowly let go of his mind. 

“Now look here,” Lord Grantham’s teeth were gritted with suppressed rage. His good breeding was clashing against indignant anger. “As alphas we are called by a higher power to protect our broods. I was skeptical from the start that you could truly care for him, and now I see my suspicions have been confirmed!” 

“I don’t give a shit if you have suspicions.” Gray sneered, “You’re not his alpha and you never will be. I’m in charge of him, and if I say that he’s taken care of them he’s bloody well taken care of!” His vulgar words jarred everyone in the room. Cursing was uncommon within the confines of the abbey. 

“Do you think it so wise to beat him this way?” Lord Grantham challenged, trying for intelligence instead of honor, “Do you truly think you’ll gave love or loyalty through fear or pain?” 

“I don’t need love or loyalty.” Gray corrected. “I don’t need anything. I’m his alpha and that’s more than enough. If I tell him to come, he’ll come… in whatever way I desire.” Once again, his vulgarity was making Carson go an uncomfortable shade of green. 

“You’re a monster.” Thomas shuddered from the floor, finally able to get his head back in order. Gray tisked, irritated at Thomas’ constant revolt, and grabbed him up again to grip him a second time. It staggered Thomas, making him choke on his tongue as he gasped for air. The white fuzz that overtook his brain almost deafened him to Lord Grantham’s angry retort. 

“Let him go!” Lord Grantham ordered again, “For god’s sake, he’s done nothing to warrant a grip like that! You’ll hurt him!” 

“He can take it!” Gray goaded. “He’s born to take it. And he’ll take more, god willing.” 

Baxter let out a feeble noise, like a rabbit that had been trodden upon, and reached out a hand as if to clasp Thomas’ own in comfort. 

“Stay where you are!” Gray barked.   
Carson stepped in front of Baxter, allowing her to hide in his shadow lest she be slapped again. It was almost like a standoff, with Thomas the unwilling hostage to a criminal’s fervent demands. 

Gray’s cold eyes slid from Carson, who was clearly torn between disgust and a desperate desire to restore order, to Lord Grantham… who was just plain furious. 

Tiaa whimpered on the couch, burying her head beneath several thick pillows to hide from the scene. Her whine was awful and weak upon the air, only serving to make her master angrier. 

“I knew you were trouble.” Gray said. Lord Grantham was slightly taken aback at this, “I knew from the minute I met you. You want him, don’t you?” 

Lord Grantham struggled for an adequate response, mouth opening and closing though no words come out. 

Something hot jumped in Thomas’ stomach at the thought that Lord Grantham might possibly want him. He didn’t exactly have feelings of love for him either, but Thomas was willing to jump ship to avoid going down with Gray. Sheesh, at least Lord Grantham wouldn’t abuse him so viciously! 

“I knew it. Even MacNaire, thick as he was, knew it too. Admit it!” Gray barked, “You want him!” 

“My affairs are none of your concern!” Lord Grantham finally managed to summon a retort. His cheeks were colored a deep red, furious at Gray’s implications. Thomas had never heard Lord Grantham speak about his romantic affairs in public. Even Lady Grantham had kept a tight lip, her culture and breed commanding her to hold to decency in the public eye. 

“Well there’s a mercy anyhow.” Gray taunted, “But I don’t allow bottom feeders to nip at my shares.” He pulled Thomas close to his chest, so that they were back to front. He wrapped an arm about Thomas’ chest, keeping him close with his cane to bar the way. 

“Now listen very closely…divine Thomas.” Gray was right in his ear, hot breath curling the fine hairs at the nape of Thomas’ neck. 

Thomas swallowed, face wet and shining as he continued to clutch at his wounded collarbone. He looked, petrified, from Carson (who was powerless), to Baxter (who was just as scared as he), to Lord Grantham (who seemed to have fully realized the terrible consequences at stake). Each of them were held hostage by Gray, just like he was. 

“If I ever- _ever_ \- get wind that you’re talking to this lot… talking to anyone but me… he mouthed the words directly into Thomas’ ear, “I will kill you.” and though the next words were discernible only to Thomas, they made his blood run cold. “Disobedience like today’s demands a firm hand. Don’t think for a minute I won’t take my alpha cock and push it in every hole you have… fill you with my seed. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t pregnant now. I’ll make you give birth to as many children as I can stuff inside your miserable, gaping hole.” 

Thomas shuddered, eyes wide. He could feel Grays’ left hand squeezing at his waist, iron fingers pushing at his soft flesh to keep a firm and commanding grip. 

Thomas’ bottom lip trembled wildly. The tears that leaked from him now were no longer tears of pain. 

“Poor little peach.” Gray tutted, “I think you forgot your role in this union. Your allegiance is to me now. But it’s alright- I know how small and useless your brain is. I forgive you.“ and in a mock show of love he placed a gentle kiss upon Thomas’ temple. His skin stung at Thomas’ jarred cut. 

“But the next time you dare to talk to him-“ Gray let go of his hip to point vindictively at Lord Grantham who bristled. “I won’t. I’ll destroy you… rape you… beat you… eat you alive. Is that clear, my omega?” 

He leaned back, getting a good look at Thomas’ face. Thomas could not bear to meet his eyes, could not look to his left or right lest he fall into a state of mental collapse. Gray’s threats were far from empty; he should have broken Carson’s grip and run for the woods, consequences be damned. Now he was stuck in Gray’s deathly embrace, with no where to run that wouldn’t lead him to ruin in the end. Even Lord Grantham seemed paralyzed, unsure of how to challenge Gray when legally he had the power. He was Thomas’ alpha. If he wanted to kill him… that was his own affair. He was powerless in the eyes of the law, and society. Nothing could save him now, unless Gray somehow took mercy on him. 

Somehow, Thomas couldn’t see that happening. 

_What have I done?_ he wondered. _God in heaven, what have I done?_

“I said, is that clear?” Gray snapped, his tone more forceful than before.   
Unsure of what else to do, Thomas nodded slowly like a dumb animal. A ringing sensation was still buzzing in his ears. 

“Good.” Gray sounded satisfied, almost returned to a state of normal calm. As if to show his supposedly decent intentions, Gray leaned forward and kissed Thomas softly upon the cheek. Thomas flinched. 

“I’m glad we had this talk.” Gray said, sounding pleasant and calm, “I think it cleared the air on a few pressing subjects, don’t you?” Thomas didn’t know what else to do but nod, “Then let’s go home. We have quite a night ahead of us, you and I.” 

He didn’t dare want to think on what that meant. 

Gray took him by the elbow and began to pull him towards the door of the library. But even as he took his third step, Lord Grantham cut him off with a vicious threat. 

“If you think I won’t challenge you, if you think I’ll just let this go, you’re delusional on a scale close to madness.” Lord Grantham warned. “I’ll enlist every measure of the law to gain him back, and when I do, I’ll take your family to court for emotional distress to my property.” 

But Gray just laughed as if this were all some comical joke. 

“You know what, do whatever you like.” He decided, “But if I grow displeased, I’ll mark you that my omega will be the first to know my irritations.” 

Pinned, Lord Grantham clamped his mouth shut. His eyes narrowed; it seemed he was considering every angle he could take. Thomas just prayed he’d think of some outlet soon. Anything to save him from Gray. 

Gray took another step towards the library door, reaching out with a hand still holding his cane so that he could open its enormous wrought handle. 

Baxter attempted to dart forward; Mr. Carson held her back at the last second. 

“Control yourself!” He warned her. She did not listen. 

“Please, Lord Gray!” She cried out; his name got his attention, Gray looked around skeptically, “I beg of you- Thomas isn’t right for you! Take another omega, M’lord, any omega that you want, just let him go!” 

“You forget your place!” Lord Gray snarled. Baxter wilted like a flower underneath intense heat, shriveling in his case till she was almost cowering. “You’re a worthless commoner! A servant! A washed up omega that could never find a mate! I’ll do as I please, for any number of reasons that I choose! If it so happens that Thomas is the bounty? Well then all the better for me!” 

And with that, he drug Thomas out. 

 

Thomas’ screams of protest could be heard bouncing off the walls of the main hall, growing more and more distant until they were drowned out by the thick stone of the abbey entirely. In its place, the tiny whimpers of Tiaa, cowering underneath an enormous couch pillow, were the only things that could be heard. 

~*~

 

For the rest of the day and well into the night, Robert couldn’t find it within him to speak or eat. 

He declined supper, instead taking a whiskey by himself in the library with no one but Tiaa for company. She was petrified in the wake of Gray, whimpering and hiding instead of playing with the children or trotting after the servants. His couch would have to be cleaned extensively as well, which only served to be Robert in an even more sour mood. 

Cora, of course, was beside herself when Robert told her the whole proceedings. The state of Thomas’ affairs was the gossip of the hour, with everyone from the hall boy to Mary now in full knowledge of what was surely occurring within Belton House. Though Thomas might not have had the most flowering of reputations while residing in Downton’s attic, no one had wished him ill. This horrible turn of events, in light of July, just served to make Thomas’ situation that much more dire. Carson felt defeated, with Baxter having to retire early after crying herself into a state. Cora was more than willing to share Anna when dressing for dinner, but she’d fretted and fussed over Baxter until Anna had had to relent and bring Baxter up a cup of tea. Apparently Gray had split her lip when he’d slapped her. 

Robert couldn’t stop seeing Thomas’ face, so bloody and warped beneath Gray’s devilish abuse. How he’d pleaded and begged for Robert to do something- anything- and how Gray had seen right through his posh defense. 

The bastard. 

Now Robert sat on the phone with Murray, nursing his whiskey three fingers full, unsure of what else to do as he gently stroked Tiaa’s head in his lap. Every now and then she would fidget in her sleep, still slightly nervous. For some reason, having Gray petrify his dog had been just as infuriating as Gray slapping his servant and striking down his… 

Well… that was rather the crux of the thing, wasn’t it. His what? 

_“It’s done and bound, M’lord.”_ Murray said apologetically, _“You signed the papers for Thomas’ bonding yourself. And besides, any true damages ought to be paid to Thomas’ father, not to you.”_

The laws of bonding were ridiculous and ancient, striking back to a time when omega had been equated to cattle. Even now, it was impossible to fully explain the depth of omega laws without diverting into either religion or class cultures. Upper class omega were slightly more respected and free than lower class omega, but even then upper class omega were more likely to be bound to alphas who wouldn’t be kind. How many alphas had Robert met in his life, that had been cruel and unforgiving? His father most of all… 

Thomas, as a lower class male omega, had almost no rights. He didn’t have the right to vote, nor the right to property, but when he’d mated with Gray he’d taken a step into the upper class so that now he technically could inherit although it would be up to his alpha’s discretion. After watching the way that fiend Gray had treated him today, Robert was loath to belief that Thomas would ever be treated as anything more than a breeding slave. 

The thought made his blood go cold, to imagine Thomas bound to a bed and left helpless against the world. 

“Then perhaps I should call him.” Robert said, wondering if Thomas’ father might be just as incensed to learn his omega son was being treated like a whore. God only knows, if Robert had ever seen Sybil treated that way he would have lost his mind in rage. 

_“I already attempted to, M’lord, when Gray paid the original mating dowry. He’s dead, I’m afraid… I don’t believe Thomas knows.”_

“No.” Another avenue shut off to them, and damn it all. 

_“And he doesn’t have a guardian alpha.”_ Murray continued on; to be fair, such concepts were usually for the upper class. Sybil’s guardian alpha had been Lord Merton, after all. It would have been his job to ensure Sybil’s mating was to a proper and decent alpha if anything had happened to Robert. 

But that was all in the past now.   
Though it broke his heart to admit it…. 

“No.” 

_“Then there’s nothing to be done, unless Gray breaks the bond which, gathering what you’ve told me tonight, seems to be out of the question.”_

Robert was once again privy to a flashback, in which Gray had gripped Thomas mercilessly. Robert had only used a grip on Cora once; she’d been in heat and desperate for him, acting wild as she’d tried to climb atop him. He’d almost lost control of the situation until he’d gripped her, and commanded her to relax. He’d felt her melt beneath his touch like butter, moans turning into sighs as her sweet pink mouth had dripped with the most delicious of protests. Even now, the memory of that night stirred within him a dark recoil of his senses, commanding his cock to respond. 

_“M’lord? Are you there?”_ It seemed he’d been silent for too long. Robert resettled himself upon the couch, trying to find some relief. 

“Yes, forgive me Murray. I’m maudlin tonight.” Robert swished his whiskey carefully about its glass, allowing it to breath and honey in flavor. 

_“Forgive my impertinence M’lord… I don’t suppose you wanted him for yourself?”_

It was a valid question. 

At first, Robert had been apprehensive to collect a brood. His father had had a brood, taking several omegas though he’d only had his mother live at Downton. The other women would come and go, mostly staying in summer cottages or traveling abroad to Europe. His father had never been particularly kind to any of them, least of all his mother. Robert could remember being small and hearing his mother crying late into the night. As he’d grown older, she’d cried less and less. It had frightened him, when one night he’d realized she wasn’t crying anymore. That she’d simply grown used to the abuse. 

The thought of Thomas turning into his mother was simply unbearable. Though Robert had been initially pensive, now he was starting to consider the merits of a brood. It would offer more support to the children; Marigold, George, and Sybbie were both dashed without Thomas and wistful for his return. In their youth, when their romance had been young, Cora had once confided in Robert that so long as she was consulted she wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of a brood. Why not now, when things were growing slightly stale? The idea of Thomas as his omega put an incredible heat into his loins, making him feel young and whole again. Fifty two he might be, but old he was not. Why not enjoy himself? Partake in the pleasures of life again? Thomas would pepper up his existence, bring a youthful sweetness back into his days. Robert’s first love would always be Cora, but Robert felt certain that he could grow to care for Thomas to. Heaven only knows, if Thomas was Robert’s omega he certainly wouldn’t have to worry about being tossed about like an animal. He’d be cared for, protected… shown the pleasures of being at an alpha’s command. 

“I confess, I’ve thought about it more and more as of late.” Robert finally said, “The idea is highly appealing to me.” 

_“You could push for a claim challenge, M’lord. It would have to go through the Brigade, but it could work, particularly if Gray truly does have a drug habit.”_

Robert sat up a little straighter upon the couch, his mind sparking with ideas. The more he contemplated it, the more he saw that it was the only rational thing to do. He couldn’t just allow Thomas to stay with Gray when Gray was clearly abusing him. Robert needed to get Thomas out of harms way. It was only right. He’d challenge Gray’s claim, bring Thomas home, and set himself up with a brood. Cora might be slightly perplexed but she’d come around… Robert was certain. 

Yes, yes this truly was the most sensible thing he could do. The most honorable, too. 

“Let’s start the paperwork.” Robert commanded, “We’ll use Clarkson’s findings as evidence to Gray’s habit. Where else should we look for ties?” 

_“If Thomas was right in suggesting that the staff of Belton dislike Gray, perhaps we could covertly inquire into their structure. The butler or the housekeeper, perhaps.”_

“Yes….Yes!” The more Robert thought about it, the more excited he became, “How long would it take to know the results?” 

_“I could push you forward, using your status as a member of the peerage. That ought to help our reply speed.”_

“Thank you, Murray.” Robert suddenly felt relieved, to know that there might very well be an avenue they could pursue. If there was one thing Robert detested, it was feeling helpless in a volatile situation. “I’m quite grateful to you.” 

_“I’m happy to help M’lord.”_ Murray sounded quite eager to get off the phone. The late hour must be putting him off. 

“I’ll be in touch.” Robert promised, “Goodnight,” And with that he hung up the telephone, thinking as he gently stroked Tiaa’s head. 

It was too early to say if this new avenue would come to anything, but Robert was freshly inspired and suddenly feeling like a pathway had been cleared before him. If he had to march up to Dover Castle in person to get Alden MacNaire’s attention, he would. Anything to help Thomas out of this horrid situation. 

His cock was still throbbing in his pants. Wary of touching himself lest a servant see, Robert shifted his leg so that he could relieve some of the building pressure. The thought of Thomas with him here, now, on his knees in this very library… pleasuring him. 

Christ. 

Thomas would kneel between Robert’s legs, his head in Robert’s lap. He’d be gentle and sweet… kissing, petting, invoking such feelings within Robert that he’d be a fool to refuse or deny. 

_“Alpha.”_ he’d whisper… And Robert wouldn’t deny him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any comments or concerns, please do not hesitate to let me know. Remember, we have only three dark chapters left, then things improve.


	14. Monsters and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' situation takes a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This is a trigger warning to note that there will be rape, drug abuse, forced drug usage, domestic violence, and emotional war.** If this bothers you, please be aware that it is included. 
> 
> Two dresses will be linked at the bottom of this chapter. They are Thomas' dress and Daisy's dress respectively.

_Litigo 29:32: “The omega conceived and bore a son and named him Reuben, for she said, “Because the Supreme Alpha has seen my affliction; surely now my alpha will love me.”_

 

When Thomas was forcibly returned back to Belton House that night, everything turned into a nightmare. 

He was drug back to the boudoir, where Gray locked the doors and proceeded to beat him senseless. There was no escape, in a bolted room with no weapons to his aid. His suit had been torn from his body, ripped into several pieces till he was nude and shivering in the cold. He’d been flung from one wall to the next, surely breaking bones and tearing muscles. Gray had been relentless, furious, without mercy or sense of self as he demanded Wallace to bring out chains from the attics so that Thomas might be bound to his bed. Wallace had been pale, asking Gray to come to his senses, but Gray would not be swayed and Thomas could receive no comfort without angering Gray further. So it was that Wallace was forced to bind Thomas to the bed, and could not bring him aid. 

Chained like an animal, Thomas had withstood the full force of Gray's beatings till his face was swollen and his extremities felt numb. His collarbone was rightly shattered by this point. His head felt swollen, like he was suffering from a severe concussion. His left foot, having been torn at Dover Castle by a fox trap, was re-injured from Gray’s exacerbated attacks. Worst of all, Gray seemed to have done terrible damage to Thomas’ stomach. He could feel the muscles pulling and straining, bruising in the pale moonlight as Gray hit him again and again in his barren womb. 

By the time that Thomas’ screams faded from the walls of Belton House, it was morning and Gray was finally out of steam. 

 

Time slipped out of meaning at that point. Thomas was unsure what day it was; if hours had passed or even weeks. When he did drift back into consciousness, it was to Gray spoon feeding him gruel and tea. Thomas could barely work his jaw, weak and bloodied. He might have starved on that bed, had his salvation not come in the bizarre form of a quack doctor. 

Thomas was woken from a dazed sleep by the sounds of voices at the peripheral of his existence. He couldn’t make sense of them, save that they seemed to be drawing closer so that the tone was growing louder and louder. Thomas tried to draw breath only to find that his lungs ached. His wrists and ankles were chafed from being strained against his bindings. There was something wet between his legs. The acrid smell made him think it was urine. He was naked and exposed, spread eagled upon his soiled bed. 

“Ah… there he is." Came an unknown voice, “The little dove.” 

Thomas opened his bruised eyes, blurry from strain, and saw two figures by his bedside. One was Gray and the other was a man he did not know. Both men were looking on him as if he were somehow angelic, despite the fact he was covered in day old urine and bruised beyond recognition. 

The other man seemed to be a doctor; at least, he was carrying a doctor’s bag. Instead of feeling relieved at the sight of him, however, Thomas just felt more afraid. Why would Gray bring a doctor here, when he was clearly intent on killing Thomas? 

“Quite a placid thing," Gray was saying, as if terribly fond of Thomas despite the fact that he'd beaten him to a pulp. “Such a sweet omega, but he is a little stupid bless him." 

"Oh heavens-" The doctor turned on Thomas’ bedside light, looking down at him agog, “Is this what you did?” He looked at Gray, disturbed, "Bit above and beyond the call of duty, old chap." 

“I tell you, if you don’t keep a handle on him, he'll act up.” 

Thomas’ brain was fuzzy. He couldn't figure out what was going on anymore. 

He hurt all over. He just wanted it to stop.   
Anything..anything to make it stop. 

“Hello poppet..." The doctor's pudgy face loomed over his vision. He was a middle-aged man with a thick blonde mustache. “How are you?” 

“…He…hel..p.” Thomas couldn't even form the word. “Hel…me…” 

“I most certainly will.” The man said, “I’m Doctor Cowell, I’m your alpha's doctor. I’ve been told you were a bit of a cheeky beggar and took away your alpha's cocaine tablets? That was a very silly thing to do, now wasn’t it?” 

Gray’s doctor… the one who had given Gray the cocaine in the first place.   
This man would not help him; this man would hurt him. 

Dr. Cowell did not take offense to Thomas’ silence, instead looking down at Thomas’ bruised stomach to carefully place his hand underneath Thomas' sternum. Thomas let out the tiniest groan of pain at the slight pressure. 

“Bit of pain, eh?" Dr. Cowell sat his bag upon the edge of Thomas' bed, opening the clasps to dig around inside its dark confines. “I can fix that.” 

“What…” Thomas’ words were sluggish; his vision was cast into a dizzy spell, “What are you…doin’…” Dr. Cowell pulled out a fine syringe, loading it from a stoppered bottle. Warning bells were going off in Thomas’ head, though he could scarcely make sense of them in his beleaguered state. 

“Your alpha wants you to become pregnant." Dr. Cowell said, “You need to go into heat. I’m going to give you a supplement that'll have you in a pip!” He smiled at Thomas, in that false sort of way all doctors seemed to excel at. Thomas watched, bound and helpless as Dr. Cowell took a flannel from his bag and wet it with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He carefully cleaned a patch on Thomas’ inner left thigh, wiping away dried urine till the skin was smooth and clear. 

“Won't that be nice, eh?” Gray was stroking his hair, “Just like we talked about?” 

They hadn’t talked about anything. Gray had beaten him senseless and Thomas had screamed his throat raw. 

“…You..." Thomas watched Dr. Cowell lower the needle to his inner thigh, “You... gave ‘im the cocaine…” 

“Well of course I did!" Dr. Cowell didn’t seem flustered. He was still smiling in that absent way, “Your alpha has always had a great deal of mouth pain. The cocaine helps him. It's hardly recreational.” 

The man wasn't a doctor. He was a drug dealer, helping an addict to score a fix. 

“I tried to tell him, but the little dove thought I was some kind of drug addict." Gray said. Dr. Cowell chuckled. 

“Such a silly thing you are.” He spoke with a flattering tone as if ‘silly’ were a compliment, “It's a prescribed drug. Your alpha is hardly going out of his way. Bit of a pinch?" And suddenly there was a hot burning sensation deep in Thomas’ thigh. Thomas tried to cry out but his voice was clogged. What came out in the end was a thin, weak scream. The heat flooded through his muscle, shooting up into his stomach, making him cramp so that Thomas suddenly though he might suffer from a bout of explosive diarrhea. No such horrors occurred, but Thomas felt tears leak out the corners of his bruised and swollen eyes as he gasped up at the ceiling. He flexed his wrists, only to find that two of the fingers on his left hand seemed to be bent awkwardly as if broken. 

“I’m going to give you a bit of a boost, dove." Dr. Cowell said, “To help with the pain." 

He was filling up another syringe… a longer needle with a heavier gauge. 

“What…" Thomas moaned. “What is that…?” His voice quaked with fear. Was it cocaine? 

“Shh now, don’t be silly." Dr. Cowell held the syringe up to light, thumping the glass lightly to discard bubbles. “It's just a bit of morphine-" 

“Don’t…” Thomas didn’t want morphine, even if in all reality he desperately needed it. He didn't want Dr. Cowell giving him drugs when Gray had clearly gotten hooked on cocaine. What if he was next? What if he’d be the one begging for morphine and acting like a wild animal? 

But Thomas couldn’t fight, couldn’t hide, and Dr. Cowell used a heavy rubber band to tie a tourniquet at Thomas’ elbow. The vein throbbed wildly; Thomas head spun. 

Dr. Cowell was quiet as he lined up the needle. 

“Another little pinch.” He said. Thomas felt it, and groaned. 

“Count to six." Dr. Cowell ordered, as he slowly injected Thomas with morphine. 

But Thomas didn’t have the mental capacity at that moment to count to six. All he could do was hang the hell on as the world suddenly went spinning wildly out of control. A golden feeling washed him over, flooding him from head to toe, and for just the tiniest second Thomas realized that morphine was a beautiful wonderful thing. 

All his pain, all his fears, all his aches and bruises seemed to vanish so that he was suddenly floating on a peaceful cloud of pearlescent pink. It did not matter that he was naked, covered in urine, held captive by an abusive monster. Nothing mattered… nothing… nothing at all….

_Oh……_

 

The world drifted about him, spinning lazily. The stars twirled. Lights turned into tiny explosions, contained in their colors like tiny little bombs. They bounced off one another, never moving but shifting as Thomas rolled his head. The air felt sweet on his mouth… fizzy. He was drinking a soda, his thirst quenched by sugar and bubbles. 

_“Mumma…”_

Thomas rolled his head to the left, seeing a small child at his bedside. A little girl with black hair and dark eyes. She blinked owlishly at him, her hand a pink star upon his bruised hand. 

_“Thomas… Thomas wake up…”_ Thomas rolled his head upon his pillow again, stars twirling beautifully in his vision. There, above him, floating like he were underwater, was Edward Courtenay. His eyes were no longer clouded with mustard gas. They were piercingly blue, like he was staring into the depths of the universe instead of another human being. _“Thomas, come back to us.”_ Edward urged, reaching out with a ghostly pale hand to touch Thomas’ cheek. 

No. He did not want to. 

There was a kulning resounding deep into his soul, waking him up to the incredible depths of the soul and mind. He’d never been so high before, so utterly free of the world below. He felt as if he were flying, touching the sun, wrapping himself up in the warmth of a blazing fire as a dark figure loomed closer in his vision. 

There was no fear. Only …. incredible…. warmth…. 

The vision solidified. A handsome alpha with dark curly hair. He looked so powerfully familiar that Thomas' soul quaked with love and reverence. He felt as if he were basking in the light of an angel. 

He knew instinctively that it was his alpha. That he was found and safe at last. 

“…Alpha…” Thomas whispered. His bruised lips could barely form words, “Help me…. Please…” 

_“I'm coming.”_ his alpha said. Thomas sank into every word, wrapping the golden tones of his alpha’s voice about him like a shield. _“I’m coming for you. Hold out for me… and I’ll hand you the weapon.”_

Thomas felt like… those words… they held incredible power. Like even the tone alone could sustain him through the harsh darkness of the howling wilderness that threatened to surround him. 

“…Alpha…” The word was honey on Thomas’ cracked lips. 

His alpha leaned down, and suddenly Thomas was surrounded, smothered by love, covered by his alpha. There was a deep rocking sensation within his core. A heat that was growing tighter. Thomas reached out with numb hands to hold his alpha about the shoulders, hearing a soft singing in his ears.... another kulning. 

 

They were one. Mating. Joining in the souls, and wrapping about one another like two spiders carving webs with silk and sweat. 

Thomas had never known such joys, such orgasmic heights. The love that was bursting from him was beginning to squeeze at him, making him feel utterly alive. He held on tighter to his alpha, panting ruggedly against his dark curls as the sensation at his core just grew tighter and tighter…. till they could not move. Till they were one. 

“Tell me…" Thomas whispered in his alpha’s ear, vision clouded over by tears and the beautiful swirling of stars above their heads. They were floating adrift in space, lost to the world and the pains it held. They were safe, hiding with one another. "Tell me your name… If you love me, tell me…” 

The sound of his alpha’s breathing, soft and heavy in his ears, was rocking him to sleep. 

Thomas felt lips take hold of his ear, tongue and teeth clicking. 

The stars… the beautiful beautiful stars… had he ever seen such stars before?   
_My god_ , Thomas wondered at the beauty of the universe, _I will never doubt the existence of God again_. 

His alpha took a deep breath, pushing their faces together. They merged. _“…My name is Robert…”_ his alpha whispered. 

 

 

 

 

Thomas sucked in a breath, suddenly and horribly awake. 

 

He was in a dark room, covered in what felt like glue. He was naked, cold, and ached from head to toe. A far off ticking could be heard, soft and dulled. It was nighttime. The moon was in the sky. Thomas felt like he was going to be sick, and rolled instinctively to the left though a crushing pain suddenly bloomed in his chest. He vomited over the side of the bed, relieved to find that he could reach. It shocked him to realize that his hands were no longer bound. He felt as if he was suffering from the flue, sweating feverishly and rolling with nausea as another wave of vomiting overtook him. 

All of this, the aching, the sweating, the vomiting, the waking up naked and covered in a strange sticky essence… all of it would have been fine with Thomas had it not been for the fact that he couldn’t remember a single solid fucking thing. 

His memory was an absolute blank. He could remember being at Downton. Could remember laying on a bed, and then everything was black. He didn't know how many days he’d lain in this bed. He didn’t know if he’d been here a week or a month. All he knew was that he was terrified and he desperately wanted someone to comfort him. 

His legs were still in chains. He could not get off the bed, but at least he was able to sit up and reach for the bell rope that lay just beyond his four poster curtains. He yanked it several times, knowing that it was bound to be late at night with very few staff up. He just kept yanking, again, and again, and again, petrified of being left alone in the dark. 

He sucked in one breath, then the other, and found his composure quickly crumpling as he looked down at his body. He was bruised all over, with his ankles swollen and dried blood between his legs. He realized now that he was covered in dried slick and semen, and felt sick to his stomach again. His collarbone ached fiercely, as did his left foot and his left hand. Thomas brought it up, shaky in the moonlight, only to find that two of his fingers were blackened and broken. 

He began to whimper, shivering in the cold. He looked about his room, seeing that several pieces of his furniture were in wreckage. His table and chairs were destroyed, broken into several pieces— _(Thomas could remember something about being flung across the room)_ — his clock was laying on the floor, broken into several pieces though it was somehow still ticking. 

_God, what happened to me?_ Thomas’ whimpers turned into soft wrecked sobs. His throat was too sore to cry loudly. He suddenly found himself, for the first time in years, wanting his mother. Thomas wrapped his bruised arms about his torso, trying to give himself some meager about of warmth, before leaning haggardly over the bed again to yank wildly at the pull rope. 

But less than a minute later, the east wing door to his bedroom opened, revealing both Mr. Wallace and Mrs. Gibson in their housecoats. Both looked pale and wary. 

Thomas begin to cry plaintively. 

“Good lord-“ Mr. Wallace whipped off his housecoat in an instant, throwing it around Thomas’ front to cover his nakedness. He had to step around several piles of fresh vomit on the floor.

“Doctor- I need- please-" Thomas couldn't get out one word without stumbling over the next. He wept openly, tears freezing upon his flushed cheeks as Mrs. Gibson pulled out her house keys to fumble wildly with one of the more miniature sliders that she used to unlock to Thomas’ ankles. The chains fell away easily, revealing both Thomas' ankles to be heavily bruised. 

“I'll go right now." Mrs. Gibson said at once, leaving her keys behind on the bed, “I'll wake Sarah and fetch the doctor-“ 

“Keep the noise down.” Mr. Wallace ordered. It seemed they were working under the eye of a sleeping dragon. Thomas wondered if Gray was close by. If he would interject and leave Thomas helpless again. 

"Please don’t leave me." Thomas whimpered, terrified of being alone. 

“Certainly not." Mr. Wallace adjusted his housecoat a little higher upon Thomas' front so that his shoulders were covered. 

“I don’t know where I am.” Thomas moaned, though in fact he could gather that he was in the boudoir of Belton House. "I don't know what happened to me-“ His voice was a weak pathetic whine. 

“It’s alright." Mr. Wallace murmured, patting Thomas tenderly upon the back with his spare hand as he held up his housecoat with the other. “It’s perfectly alright." 

 

When Mrs. Gibson returned, she was not alone. Sarah was with her, in a frayed greenhouse and looking just as frightened as Thomas felt. She grew gray when she saw Thomas in a hysterical state, working with Mrs. Gibson silently to strip Thomas bed of dirtied sheets and clean the floor. This was incredibly difficult to do with Thomas still sitting on the bed, and moving was almost out of the question. Thomas ended up having to lean heavily against Mr. Wallace as Mrs. Gibson yanked the bottom sheet of the bed out from under him. His body was so covered in disgusting fluids that Mr. Wallace held onto him and kept him aloft while Mrs. Gibson and Sarah re-sheeted the bed. 

“Fetch me a few wet flannels.” Mrs. Gibson ordered Sarah. Sarah dashed off for the bathroom without another word. Thomas leaned his head onto Mr. Wallace’s shoulder, slightly comforted by the clean smell of soap and sweat. 

Mrs. Gibson used the moment of quiet to wipe away at the vomit on the floor with the soiled bed linens. There would be no love lost in their ruin. 

“The doctor will be shortly.” Mrs. Gibson said, gathering all the soiled linens in a disgustingly soggy ball. They were yellow and brown with urine and vomit. “I told him to bring as much help as possible. He’s aware of the situation.” The sound of groaning pipes and splashing water could be heard faintly through the bathroom door.

Sarah had brought back several flannels, all of which were steaming in the cool night air. Mr. Wallace took them, clearly wanting to care for Thomas’ condition himself while Mrs. Gibson searched through Thomas’ bureau drawers for a nightgown to cover him. Sarah picked up broken furniture as best she could, mostly having to relocate piles of broken wood while Mr. Wallace bathed him tenderly with a flannel and Mrs. Gibson pulled a night dress over his head. 

“I hurt… all over…” Thomas moaned. 

“I know-“ Mrs. Gibson was not without sympathy, “I know.” 

“Lord Gray has kept you locked in your room for about a week now.” Mr. Wallace explained, carefully lowering Thomas back onto his bed with the help of Mrs. Gibson. “You’ve been in heat. He’s allowed no one near.” 

“We tried to bring you aid but he wouldn’t open the door.” Mrs. Gibson was faint at the sight of the bruises covering Thomas body, “Oh heaven above, how will we ever manage?” 

“One day at a time.” Was Mr. Wallace’s wise reply. 

Laying upon clean sheets, in a nightdress with his body freshly washed, Thomas felt ten miles from where he’d initially woken up. The pain in his body, however, was radiating from his core, making it difficult to breath. 

Thomas felt a wave of nausea role within him. 

“God…” Thomas whimpered, eyes closing briefly to try and dispel the nausea, “I think I’m gonna be sick again…” 

“Here.” Mrs. Gibson offered him a porcelain chamber pot from beneath his bed, and just in time too. Thomas vomited profusely into it, feeling like he was completely out of his mind as the world spun again. Mrs. Gibson cleaned the corners of his mouth with a wet flannel while Sarah fetched him a cup of water from the bathroom tap. 

“Get a pot of tea going, Sarah.” Mrs. Gibson ordered. “Bring up a loaf of bread too. We need to get something in his stomach.” 

Thomas found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, finally able to relax with Mr. Wallace and Mrs. Gibson watching over him. He drifted momentarily, only to re awaken as something cool was pressed against his parched lips. 

It was Mrs. Gibson, offering him a cup of tea. For whatever reason, she’d allowed it to cool instead of giving it to him hot. It was soothing to his throat, though it contained neither honey nor lemon. 

He closed his eyes, resting for a bit on the bed until he felt someone gently laying a cold flannel over his forehead. 

He opened his eyes. 

It was still night but time had clearly shifted because Sarah was gone only to be replaced by a portly man with graying hair and a simple black vest. He had on an Albert chain, with a pocket watch swinging openly as he talked rapidly to Mr. Wallace. Mrs. Gibson was squatted at Thomas’ side, leaning against his bed to carefully tend to his fever. 

“—Have to get his fluid count back up.” The stranger was saying, “His body is going to undergo extreme transformation by the end of it. The more we can do to aid him, the better.” 

“And the rest-?” 

“Several fractured bones, though none are broken thank god. I recommend extensive bedrest and calm.” 

“…Help me… “Thomas whimpered. 

The stranger looked around at once, eyes keen with interest. Mr. Wallace was somber, rubbing at his temple wearily; he must be desperately tired. 

“I think…” Thomas felt tears leak out of the corners of his swollen eyes again, “I think I’m dying…” 

“You’re not dying.” the portly man said, “My name is Dr. John Lumin… I’m going to be taking care of you while Dr. Cowell is on holiday.” 

The name sounded familiar to Thomas, but he couldn’t place a where or why. Only that he felt sick to his stomach again. 

“You’ve been given a morphine sedative for several days now.” Dr. Lumin explained, “I’m going to flush it from your system, and help get you through the worst of it. You’ll feel like you’re suffering from a flue for the first week, but you should even out.” 

Mrs. Gibson was petting his head, tenderly stroking back stray black hairs. 

“You’ve fractured several bones.” Dr. Lumin said. “Your collarbone, your left arm, two of the fingers on your left hand, your left leg and your left foot… You must have fallen on one side when you hit the table.” 

Had he hit a table? Thomas couldn’t remember. 

“You’re going to need to rest.” Dr. Lumin explained. “It will take a while for you to heal. I urge you not to push yourself or to strain your body…” He paused, “I stabilized your joints while you were sleeping. Try not to thrash too much with the bandages.” 

Thomas slowly rolled his eyes downward, noticing that his left arm and leg were now wrapped tightly in a splint. Two of his fingers on his left hand were likewise bound. 

“I performed a urine test while you were sleeping.” Dr. Lumin said. “The results are indicative of a pregnancy.” 

Thomas stared, unsure of what to make of that. Mrs. Gibson seemed close to tears, keeping a hand pressed tightly over her mouth so that she could hide her trembling. 

“…What?” Thomas asked. Dr. Lumin repeated himself. 

“You’re pregnant.” Dr. Lumin said. 

“You’re absolutely certain?” Mr. Wallace asked. 

“Positive.” Dr. Lumin said. 

“Oh Thomas…” Mrs. Gibson was about to cry, her brown eyes misting over. She had to use one of the many wet flannels at her disposal to clean her cheeks. 

“I’ll want him kept in bed, and calm.” Dr. Lumin said, “No more nonsense, no more violence. It’ll only exacerbate his condition.” “I’m going to speak with Dr. Cowell about having him put on vitamins and supplements. I should tell his Lordship—“ Dr. Lumin turned as if to make for the Regina bedroom, but was stopped short by Wallace. 

“He isn’t home.” Mr. Wallace said coldly. “I’ll tell telegram him in the morning.” 

Dr. Lumin was slightly surprised, but didn’t make to contradict Mr. Wallace. Instead he offered a business card to Mr. Wallace, who took it and pocketed it. 

“I’ll leave you with a few supplements to aid in his healing.” Dr. Lumin said. “I recommend a strong regiment of healthy eating, and rest. His collarbone is in a fragile condition.” 

“Of course.” Mr. Wallace agreed, “Whatever you suggest, we’ll do.” 

The pair of them walked out of the boudoir, so that only Mrs. Gibson was left. She rewetted Thomas’ flannel, and laid it back atop his forehead. It was cool and refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the ache in his chest. 

He was pregnant. How would he be able to fool Gray twice? Would Sarah’s pennyroyal oil be able to do the trick again, or would Thomas be forced to carry the fetus to term? 

Would he be enslaved, by a child grown from his own womb? 

The thought made him sick to his stomach.   
He closed his eyes, and let sleep overtake him again. 

 

Despite having been initially chained to his bed and forced through a heat, Thomas did not see Gray again for several days while he recovered. True to his word, Dr. Lumin had left Mrs. Gibson with several vitamins for Thomas to take, and with the help of Mrs. Price feeding him a protein rich diet, Thomas was soon feeling back to normal. Apparently there was some to-do in Derbys again, and Gray had gone to sort it out. He must have been underneath the impression that the servants would leave Thomas to his own devices, but the truth couldn’t be further from. The loyalty of Belton House was not to its masters, but to its mistreated servants, and so the group of them would rally together so that damage was thinly spread and not too difficult to deal with. The maids took care to help Thomas to bath and dress in clean nightgowns. Mrs. Gibson set his room to rights, buying him a new set of furniture. Mr. Wallace made sure that Thomas took his vitamins and Mrs. Price helped him to regain his strength. By the time the week was over Thomas was feeling like a new man… though he was still bruised and his collarbone hurt horribly. The one problem that came from such extensive care was that Sarah was unable to slip him pennyroyal oil to end his unwanted pregnancy. Too many people were watching now. Too many people would notice if something was awry. 

Thomas resolutely did not think about the fact that he was pregnant.   
He pretended it was all a terrible dream, and that he would wake up any day now to find it had all been some ludicrous fantasy brought on by the morphine. He had the oddest memory of stars and… a man. A beautiful man with dark curls and a voice like honey. 

But it had just been a dream. Morphine, and nothing more. 

A week after Thomas’ diagnosis, Thomas sat in bed reading the Yorkshire Post while eating breakfast from a tray. He was backed by several fluffy pillows, the curtains of his bed thrown wide back so that golden streams of sunlight could warm his bed. Sarah had stoked his fire only half an hour ago, resulting in a comfortable warmth creeping about his room. There wasn’t much to be found in the paper.. a bit about strikes up and coming, roads to be repaved, and a freakish death brought about by two boys playing a prank on a poor old woman: 

_“Bloomington County, Oct 20th— The death of Mrs. David Law, a well-known resident of Bloomington resulted last night from injuries received the night before when boys piled the porch at her home full of rubbish. She went to the front door to learn the cause and fell over a crate.”_

“Damn.” Thomas muttered underneath his breath before flipping the page, “So much for shoddy luck.” 

There was a gentle knock on his door. Thomas looked up, half expecting Sarah to come through the door with news of some sort. 

Instead, a horrible sinking feeling erupted in the pit of his stomach as his eastern door opened to reveal Gray in a gray wool suit with a bouquet of purple star asters. 

“Good morning, darling.” Gray said, “How are you feeling?” 

Thomas pretended not to notice Gray, his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage.   
He glanced down at his tray where a butter knife lay, slightly soiled from marjoram.   
With careful hands, Thomas gently plucked up the butter knife, and let it lay warming in his clenched palm. He continued to read the newspaper with one hand as Gray advanced on him, wearing a delighted smile and offering him the bouquet. 

Thomas did not make to accept it. His heart rate was beginning to pick up, unnerved at Gray’s bizarre infatuated behavior. 

Gray sat down beside Thomas at the head of the bed, laying the flowers by Thomas’ tray so that they would not be squashed amid the covers. 

“I should imagine you’re still a little tuckered out.” Gray said, by way of explaining Thomas’ silence. He leaned in, and Thomas bristled as Gray gently kissed his cheek. 

Thomas wondered if he was living in some kind of Lewis Carroll fantasy. 

“What are these for, M’lord.” Thomas kept his tone neutral, calm… the servant’s blank he’d so perfected over the years. He told himself that if Gray attempted to harm him, he would use the butter knife and stab the man through the heart. If he failed, and Gray still lived, Thomas would simply stab himself. Either way, this violence and hatred would come to an end. 

“For being difficult.” 

The word ‘difficult’ did not even begin to encompass what Gray was. The fact that Gray had tried to excuse his violent behavior underneath the term made Thomas’ blood boil. Petulant children were difficult. Puppies still untrained were difficult. Mr. Carson’s caterpillar eyebrows were difficult… by Gray was a violent rapist. Difficult would never be the umbrella term for his behavior. 

Lord Gray leaned in and gently peppered Thomas’ cheek with kisses. Thomas did not make to lower his newspaper or turn his head, merely waiting stiffly for the violence to begin as Gray tried to ‘butter him up’. 

“I know it’s hard to live with me.” Gray said, which was even a tenth of the term, “I’m an insensitive bastard, and I insult your intelligence,” 

_You also rape me_. Thomas thought bitterly. _And beat me within an inch of my life_. 

“But you must know I love you.” Gray said. Thomas did not respond, staring blankly at the newspaper before him. “I was just a little grumpy because I wanted you to be pregnant. And now that you are… our union is complete.” 

At this, Gray reached out and placed his hand timidly upon Thomas’ flat stomach. He stroked the flesh he found, as if he thought it divine in providence and containing the secrets of the universe. 

“My beautiful omega.” Gray whispered. 

Thomas completely ignored Gray, gently laying down his paper to take up his teacup which he sipped slowly and without a sound. He flipped the paper with one hand, careful to hold onto the butter knife with the other, and continued to read the back page which had several articles on sports. It seemed that the Leeds cricket team was doing relatively well this year. 

“You were insatiable, you know.” Gray continued on. Thomas could feel him fishing for something, probably a compliment, and kept quiet. “I couldn’t keep you off of me. That morphine helped didn’t it.” 

Thomas took another sip of tea, continuing to peruse the newspaper. He wanted to scream, but instead he spoke with a calm and level tone, “Dr. Lumin has requested that I abstain from morphine.” 

“Yes, I called him this morning.” Gray was back to beaming again. “No more drugs for you, my little junkie.”

Oh… so _he_ was the junkie in this relationship. Good to know. 

“No, nothing but good strong vitamins and plenty of rest.” Gray continued on. 

Thomas said nothing, turning the page of the newspaper to peruse the classifieds. Someone was trying to sell a roll top desk for seven pounds. 

“… I thought I could spoil you with a gift.” Gray said. His voice had dropped in volume. He was murmuring against Thomas’ ear. “Something brilliant just like you.” 

Gray reached into his blazer pocket, and pulled out a black velvet box. 

Thomas’ paper was politely pushed aside by Gray, so that the black velvet box could be at the center of his attention. 

Thomas didn’t want to look at the box, didn’t want to open it.   
It seemed he didn’t have a choice though, with the way that Gray kept pressing the velvet box to his stomach. 

Gray opened it up, revealing a diamond and pearl ring. The band of white gold was twirled, encapsulating both the stone and pearl in a gentle twirl. It was elegant and refined, the kind of jewelry he’d find on Lady Mary or Lady Edith’s hand. Instead, it was being offered for his own. 

“…A toi et moi.” Gray murmured, plucking the ring from its box so that it could glimmer in the morning light. He turned it this way and that, curious about it. 

“You and me.” Thomas said, translating the French. Gray smiled. 

“Eighteen caret white gold, a diamond and pearl bypass… sixty caret diamond, and a whole Akoya pearl.” Gray seemed to find great significance in all of this, though to Thomas it was just a ring. To emphasis his point, Gray leaned in so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Thomas before continuing on in a delicately soft voice, “You see, I’m the diamond. Born of pressure, polished to perfection by my breeding. You’re the pearl… hidden in the muck till you’re plucked free and carved into a beautiful round bump.” At this, Gray dropped his hand again and used the moment to stroke Thomas’ as of yet flat stomach. 

Thomas felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Do you like it?” Gray asked. Thomas could hear the tentative hope in his voice. 

“… Lord Gray, this is a fine gift—“ Thomas kept his voice flat, unwilling to show Gray even the tiniest amount of emotion. But that didn’t set right with Gray, not at all. He tittered, as if finding Thomas’ antics amusing. 

“Lord Gray?” Gray didn’t know what to make of the term, “Call me Laurie, darling.” He leaned in and gently kissed Thomas upon his bruised cheekbone. “You don’t have to be so formal,” He whispered in his ear, “I know we had a bit of a spat but all mates do. I know you want to go back to Downton and run amuck…” Gray let his hands play fine patterns upon Thomas’ stomach and the hem of his butterscotch flannel covers, “But that’s just not who we are anymore. You belong here with me, and I won’t have you running off again like a silly sot. We have to look to the baby now, and you’re safest here in your nest.” 

Gray relaxed against Thomas’ headboard, picking up Thomas’ left hand to slid the toi et moi ring into Thomas’ finger. He had to be careful not to damage either of Thomas’ bruised fingers, which were still incredibly sore to the touch and yellowed with bruises. The ring looked bizarre on Thomas’ hand, terribly out of place. He hated it, and wished he could take it off. 

“That Crawley, he wants you.” Gray spoke up after a minute of tense silence. He sounded darkly amused, but Thomas could sense the lingering threat beneath his words, “He wants to breed you… to knot you.” Thomas did not care for Gray’s lustful language. It painted an ugly picture of Lord Grantham, whom Thomas was certain was not lusting after him. It painted a spiteful and jealous picture of Gray, though at this point in their ugly relationship Thomas was certain Gray was capable of any number of vices. Typical that he should be so alarmed by good manners. 

Gray let his hand drape of Thomas’ stomach. He spoke into Thomas’ ear. “He wants to fill you up with his seed… but I’ll never let him.” He kissed Thomas’ temple repeatedly, the flesh of his thin lips playing at Thomas’ hairline, “He’s not worthy of your cunt. You’re much too beautiful, young, and vibrant for the likes of him. He’s old and feeble. I easily outmatch him. Don’t you agree…?” 

He did not. 

Lord Grantham was admittedly about twenty years older than Thomas. The summer had boded ill for his health as well, what with the ‘red dinner’ scarring everyone that had been in that fabled dining room for life. Compared to Gray, who was Thomas’ age and not suffering from an obvious stomach ailment, Lord Grantham was admittedly ‘older and feebler’. At the same time, however, it could not be said that Gray outmatched him. 

Lord Grantham was fair, mild mannered, and generous to his servants. He exemplified good breeding, and though he enjoyed a bit more alcohol than was good for him he’d never showed any type of crass habits such as a cocaine addiction. What was more, Thomas had never seen Lord Grantham raise his hand to anyone. Not to Lady Grantham when they’d had spats, not to Lady Sybil when she’d run off with Tom Branson… not even to that ludicrous Sarah Bunting when she’d outright insulted him over dinner. The only time Lord Grantham had ever let his anger show was when a sneaky art collector had tried to have his way with Lady Grantham behind Lord Grantham’s back. Lord Grantham had apparently socked the man in the neck if the scullery maids were to be believed. It painted a bizarre picture, but Thomas had heard of alphas doing much worse so who was to say. 

Gray fell horribly flat compared to Lord Grantham… and between the two of them, Thomas would easily pick Lord Grantham to be his alpha. 

“It doesn’t matter if I agree or not M’lord.” Thomas said, flatly. What did his opinions matter in this one sided union? 

Gray stroked his cheek with a curled finger, tucking it beneath his ear to play with a loose strand of Thomas’ hair. It had gotten so long that he was now comparable to Lady Mary. He hated it, and wished he could go in for a trim. 

“I don’t think so.” Gray said, in what was surely meant to be an endearing tone of voice, “I think it matters a great deal.” He tried to turn Thomas’ face, but Thomas dropped his gaze and refused to look Gray in the eye. He was already feeling nauseas enough as it was. 

“Won’t you look at me?” Gray asked. “Hmm?” 

No. He wouldn’t. 

Thomas pulled his chin away from Gray’s fingers, looking the opposite way so that he could take in the sunlight streaming in through his windows. He could see wispy clouds over the border, slightly orange in the mid-morning glow. 

“You’re angry at me.” Gray said. How very astute of him, “Why?”   
Oh- spoke too soon. Not astute at all. 

If Gray couldn’t imagine why Thomas was angry with him when Thomas was covered in bruises and having to recover in bed, then he was a fucking idiot. Maybe the cocaine had wrecked his brain worse than Thomas had though. 

“It doesn’t matter, M’lord.” Thomas said, for he knew that to speak openly of his frustrations would only result in a fight. It was terribly distressing to realize, but Thomas was so exhausted and sore that he couldn’t bear to think of another beating in store for him. He just wanted to rest and be alone. He was so tired of pain that he prayed he’d never feel a twinge again. Everything hurt, all the time. Even breathing and laying still were difficult. 

“I don’t want you to be angry at me.” Gray said. Thomas still refused to look at him. “Is it because we had a spat?” 

When Thomas still refused to speak. Gray reached out and rubbed Thomas’ back. Up and down, up and down his long fingers went. They warmed Thomas’ skin with their friction. 

“Don’t be put off.” Gray murmured, reproachful, “I knew we would fight.” 

“…We did not fight, M’lord.” Thomas whispered. Fighting denoted equal terms. An exchange. 

No, there had been on fight. Gray had beat the living hell out of Thomas. It had been one sided, vicious, and cruel. 

“Oh, don’t be like that…” Gray seemed to think Thomas was just being petulant, “I think you’re just grumpy because you’re pregnant.” 

“I’m not grumpy, M’lord.” 

“Then what are you, little peach?” 

But Thomas knew better than to dare start a fight with Gray, so he just kept looking the other way and refused to acknowledge the man’s touch, “I will not bait you to anger, M’lord.” 

“I’m not angry,” Gray said, “I promise.” And though his tone might have been warm and sympathetic to the ear, Thomas was not fooled. 

When Thomas did not make to explain his stance, or even turn his head, Gray carried on with more false warmth, “I promise you, cherub. I’m not angry. I’ll prove it to you: I’m planning a big dinner party for you. I’m going to invite my closest friends, and we’ll celebrate our glorious news. And I’m going to buy you a beautiful new dress to wear. I’ll even have Sarah bring you up some rags so you can find yourself some outfits you like. You can have anything you want- anything at all. Shoes, coats…. you pick it, it’s yours.” 

Thomas took a deep breath, feeling a slight stitch in his sore lungs.   
He was exhausted from this conversation. He wanted to sleep. He was losing his apathetic edge. 

“…and what if I wanted to buy a suit, M’lord.” Thomas’ voice shook a bit at the end. 

He could not deny that the memory of Gray ripping his favorite pinstripe suit from his body had scarred him deeply. He’d loved that suit, and had clung onto it all through his trials as an outed omega. The suit had survived his initial awakening, his change of status, his transference to Belton House… everything. The suit had been a bit like a shadow, a memory frozen in time that Thomas could pull out whenever he needed a moment. To lose it had been an ugly and damning thing. 

“Mmm.” Gray reached up with loving fingers and caressed Thomas’ cheek again, “No more suits, little peach.” He leaned in and wrapped an arm around Thomas’ back, holding him close side by side. Thomas half expected to hear death threats as Gray drew Thomas close, “Your legs are beautiful, and slender. I don’t want anyone to see them unless they’re wrapped around my waist.” 

Thomas had really loved that suit. 

Exhausted, crippled, and terribly frightened so far away from home. Thomas bowed his head. He felt his lip begin to quiver, then his eyes burn, and before he knew it he was barely holding back the tiniest of sobs. He didn’t know why Gray denying him a suit hurt as much as it did. You would figure after crushing physical abuse Thomas could take a little let-down in the clothing department. 

But Gray seemed to think Thomas was suffering from some kind of pregnancy-induced hormone displacement. He wrapped both arms around Thomas, pulling Thomas into his chest so that his head was suddenly cushioned against Gray’s neck. 

“Oh darling…” Gray sighed, stroking Thomas’ hair with feather light caresses as Thomas continued to snivel, “Don’t be upset. I’m right here. I won’t leave you.” 

But that was the whole point, wasn’t it. 

 

 

As soon as Thomas had calmed, Gray left him. Thomas was exhausted and slept for the rest of the morning until he was woken by Sarah bringing him up a lunch tray and several London magazines offering fashion ads for omegas. The male omega selection was pathetically slim, and Thomas despised the whole lot of it. In an attempt to rouse his spirits, Sarah offered to help Thomas go through the magazines so that the pair of them might scoff together. It was light hearted fun, momentarily brightening an ugly moment. 

Thomas decided that dresses were an absolute pain in the ass, and that the closest he would ever get to wearing pants again was to simply wear plain, slim fitted skirts that went down to the ankles. Sarah agreed, helping him to pick up the least feminine skirts that they could find along with several dress shirts that could be tucked in or paired with vests. There were even matching ties, though for whatever reason they were more slim in make than alpha equivalents. Thomas ending up buying several different skirts, each of them black or dark brown. Thomas likewise went above the call of duty and ordered a new pair of oxford flats, that really weren’t for omegas but he’d be damned if he spent the rest of his life in heels. 

Determined to put a dent in Gray’s credit, Thomas then went and made a separate order to a fashion company in London called ‘Blue Velvet’ that offered a gorgeous Sheba flapper dress. A swimming vision of bronze, magenta, and pale gold charmeuse in a deco design, Thomas decided that it would be an exquisite gift to one unsuspecting Chef’s Assistant. He placed the order with Sarah’s help, unable to reach the telephone from his bedside. Using Sarah as an impromptu secretary, Thomas ordered for the Sheba dress to be mailed directly to Downton courtesy of one Daisy Mason. 

And if the dress happened to be fifteen pounds? Well… that was just the icing on the cake now wasn’t it. 

 

The clothes arrived three days later, and Thomas found himself in a sea of tissue paper as Sarah went through each box to pull out his new skirts and tops. They were slightly pinched on arrival, which meant that Clements and Holmand had to lend a hand with re-stitching up the sides. Many of the frills and laces that adorned omegan clothing were likewise detracted, so that the end result was a non-assumptive two piece that could easily be played to a masculine edge. It was as good as Thomas was going to get, and he was grateful for it. 

He observed himself in the standing mirror, turning left and right to admire his figure in his new clothes. From the waist up he appeared normal with a dress shirt, green vest, and black tie; from the waist down, he wore a black skirt that hung to his ankles. The fabric was stiff, and warm to the touch. It was a little bizarre, but Thomas could learn to live with it. It didn’t possess frill or fluff, for which he was eternally grateful. Thomas determinedly avoided looking at his left hand, where Gray’s audacious ring still sat. He couldn’t risk taking it off, lest he offended Gray and earn another beating… but god how he detested the thing. One day, he promised himself, he would sell the ring and buy himself something he truly liked. 

Such as fifteen bottles of port wine. 

He walked with a stiff gate from the boudoir for the first time in over a week, careful not to strain his gait. Every step that he took seemed to ache in his hips and knees. His ankles popped, resettling after being abused; Thomas had to pause on the marble stairwell twice to roll his feet and flex his toes. 

As he reached the bottom, Thomas decided that he would take a walk around the grounds in an attempt to get some air. It would do him good, to have the sun on his face and fresh air in his lungs. Yet even as he made to slip out the front door, Thomas was halted by the sight of Gray speaking with Wallace in the entrance hall, clearly going over plans for his sordid party. He spotted Thomas at once, and grinned delightedly. 

“Ah!” Gray flung his arms wide, striding forward with clear intent to embrace and kiss Thomas. Thomas stiffened, not meeting Gray’s eyes as he leaned in, clasping Thomas’ forearms to carefully kiss him upon the lips. It was a dry peck, far from loving or warm. “Look at how beautiful my little peach is.” Gray rans his hands up and down Thomas’ arms. “What a pretty little outfit.” He admired, “You just hate to be in frills and lace don’t you? This is much more to your style.” 

Gray turned, addressing Wallace, “What do you think, Wallace?” 

Mr. Wallace wore a small smile. Unlike Gray, Thomas felt certain Wallace’s compassion was sincere. “Master Thomas is a radiant beauty, M’lord.” 

_Flatterer_ , Thomas thought. Still, he smiled. 

“I quite agree. My little peach-“ Gray paused, quirking his lips in a queer little smile, “I suppose that makes the baby a peach pit?” 

He chortled, but no one else laughed. Any remembrance of his new condition made Thomas feel nauseas. Wallace just seemed to be exhausted by Gray. 

“…I’m going to take a walk, M’lord.” Thomas said, pulling away from Gray to head for the door, “I wish to get some fresh air.” 

“Oh no it’s much too damp and cold for that,” Gray dismissed the notion at once, though his voice was light. Thomas froze mid-step, fearing another beat down lest he disobey. His eyes flashed to Wallace, whose thin lips were pursed. 

The pair of them stared at one another, waiting for Gray to go off. Instead, Gray continued to keep a lighter approach. 

“Why don’t we sit with on fenced porch with my mother and Anthea?” Gray offered, “They’re taking tea. That’ll give you the air you need without the chill.” 

All things considered, Thomas wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea. 

“Fine.” Thomas muttered, without warmth. He walked ahead of Gray, careful not to stride too fast lest he give offense, nor slow up enough to where Gray could catch up with him. It was a terrible thing, to constantly walk a thin line. It made him paranoid of every prospective move, to where he couldn’t even trust himself in the face of imminent danger. 

The fenced porch sat off the northern wing of the red drawing room, a small but cozy pavilion that was protected from the outer elements by cathedral window panes and waxed bamboo. There was always a slight chill in the air, resulting in both Lady Anthea and the Dowager Countess wearing shawls over their tea dresses. They were not alone; a young woman sat across from Lady Anthea sipping on a cup of tea. She had a hawk like appearance with dark brown hair curled into a bun and sharp eyes. For whatever reason, Gray slowed up upon spotting her and gave the woman a look of clear distaste. Perhaps the pair of them were unfriendly. 

Wallace was the last to join their group, stepping in to announce Gray’s arrival as well as to observe Christopher serving tea. Christopher was in a zen like state, fully swamped by the servant’s blank and unable to connect with his surroundings. 

It all seemed too much. Suddenly Thomas felt like sitting in the quiet and taking a nap again; anything to avoid Anthea whom he absolutely detested by this point. The ignorant bitch had ruined his life in the stride of one telegram, and for that he would never forgive her. Now he was pregnant with a rape baby, and chained by the ankle to a man who’d nearly killed him in the pursuit of knocking him up. Thomas didn’t know what he’d so done to offend her in the past, but it was now to the point where Thomas didn’t care. He just wanted her to suffer and if possible he wanted to be the one to cause the suffering. He wasn’t picky. 

Thomas pulled away, attempting to leave the fenced porch. Yet as he passed Gray, Gray caught him by the elbow so that Thomas had to stop. Gray leaned in, and Thomas bristled expecting violence. 

“I’m tired.” Thomas muttered under his breath, “I wish to rest, M’lord.” 

“You can sit on the fainting couch.” Gray offered, which to be fair was vacant and an excellent place for a light afternoon nap, “I’ll sit with you.” 

“I’d rather be alone, M’lord. I have a headache-“ 

“Yes, I’m sure you would.” Gray’s tone was growing cold, and it made a knot persist in Thomas’ stomach. “It would be rather convent for an awful accident to happen, wouldn’t it? All on your own with no one to help you or spot the trouble… but I’m catching onto you tricks, Thomas.” Gray paused, a sinister quality seeping into his voice even if only for a moment, “You see, I’m of the opinion that you were pregnant before… and that you did something awful. Something truly terrible to my baby.” 

Thomas stiffened, unwilling to give Gray even an inch of satisfaction on the subject. 

“Now, technically, for a crime like that I could truly ruin your life.” Gray said casually, keeping his voice down lest his mother or sister overhear, “I could have you dragged to Dover. Let the Brigade tear you apart. But I understand, Thomas. Truly I do. I’ve made terrible mistakes too.” 

Such as raping a spouse. 

“So why don’t you take tea with my family, and be a good omega… little peach.” Gray’s tone boded nothing but ill if Thomas disobey. 

_Just sit down and stay quiet_. Thomas decided. _Give him no reason to rise to anger. You’ll get your solitude soon enough_. 

The pair of them finally entered the fenced porch, with Thomas’ gate slow and stiff as he perched on the fainting couch like it were covered in nails. The Dowager Countess gave him an appraising look, while Lady Anthea just glared. Their guest was intrigued by Thomas, taking in the ring on his finger and the cold quality of his expression. Gray sat uncomfortably close to Thomas, relaxing into the spine of the couch. 

He waved for tea, and Christopher served him silently. 

“I see you’ve returned from Derby’s.” The Dowager said to her son. “Was your errand a success?” 

“It was indeed.” Gray was pleasant, “And I got a little present for my peach while I was out.” 

“Might I see?” The Dowager was pleasant, leaning slightly in her seat as Thomas carefully held out his left hand. She observed his ring, her fingers cold and clammy against his skin. Thomas noted that she was careful not to touch the obvious bruises on his skin, and for that he was oddly grateful. “How very pretty.” She praised. It was a blank compliment, and Thomas didn’t rise to it. 

He withdrew his hands, staring coldly at the opposite wall. 

“Why don’t you take some tea?” The Dowager offered, waving her hand so that Christopher silently gave Thomas a cup garnished with lemon and honey. Thomas took it, grateful for the warm brew on a cold august day. 

“…It’s been a while.” the guest spoke up, directing her statement to Gray who stiffened at her address. She was rather vivacious, in a pink dress with a modern flare. Perhaps she could end up being an ally. 

“Lady Canatsey.” Gray said nothing more, merely continuing to sip tea. 

Lady Canatsey set her teacup aside, “Anthea told me you’d taken another omega but I didn’t believe it. And a male omega to boot? I’ve never seen one before.” She admired Thomas, though Thomas did not acknowledge her attention and merely continued to take tea. 

“You should visit a zoo.” Gray said scathingly, “It’d be right up your alley if you like to gawk.” 

“Lawrence.” The Dowager said, “Don’t be crass.” 

“Forgive me mother, but I don’t enjoy my little peach being compared to an animal.” Gray didn’t seem to mind Thomas being compared to a fruit however. Or any other amount of unseemly things. 

“Oh, don’t be silly, Laurie.” Lady Canatsey scoffed, “That isn’t what I meant at all.” 

“You’ll have to forgive him, Ruth.” The Dowager said. “Thomas is pregnant, so Lawrence is a little sensitive where he’s concerned.” 

A sharp sound of china shifting cut across the calm facade of the fenced porch. Everyone looked up to see that Lady Anthea had nearly dropped her teacup, shocked at the Dowager’s statement. 

She was white in the face, gaping from her mother to her brother. 

“What?” Lady Anthea was clearly horrified. 

“I thought you knew.” The Dowager said. “I could have sworn that Clements was aware.” 

“Clements didn’t say anything to me—“ Lady Anthea seemed to be having trouble gaining adequate breath. Lady Canatsey was very confused, if not slightly amused to watch the family waffle before her. 

Thomas just kept sipping his tea, wishing he could chuck the cup and saucer at Lady Anthea’s face. 

“Wallace?” The Dowager asked. Mr. Wallace bowed his head at once. 

“I believe Ms. Clements didn’t wish to be impertinent, M’lady.” Mr. Wallace explained. 

“Ah, well that explains it.” The Dowager shrugged, returning to her tea. Lady Anthea was yet to touch her cup again, her complexion still unnervingly pale. “I confess that I wasn’t initially thrilled myself, but now that Thomas is pregnant I’m warming around to the idea.” She gave Thomas a smile that he supposed was meant to be friendly. “It’s been a long time since the sound of little feet graced the halls of Belton House.” 

“Is this your first baby?” Lady Canatsey asked. Thomas never got a chance to answer. 

“Of course it is.” Gray snapped. “I’m his alpha. Any of his children would be from me, and I’m hardly boasting a brood now am I?” 

“Don’t be touchy.” Lady Canatsey said, “Plenty of omegas have multiple alphas throughout their life. It’s not like you lot are immortal.” 

Gray’s hand tightened around his teacup. He would shatter the china if he wasn’t careful. 

Across the way, Lady Anthea wasn’t fairing much better. Her pale complexion wasn’t clearing up, and her hand was shaking on the rim of her teacup. She set the whole affair aside, causing an array of clattering as she rose to her feet and left the fenced porch without a word. 

Gray watched her go. He seemed quite tense. 

“Anthea-!” The Dowager called after her, annoyed. Lady Canatsey was taken aback. “Oh… Wallace, send Clements to look in on her.” she demanded, “I can’t handle any more of her antics.” 

“Right away, M’lady.” Wallace left at once, so that Christopher alone was serving tea. 

“So where did you meet Thomas?” Lady Canatsey asked. Once again, Thomas never got to get a word in. 

“He’s not a socialite, Ruth.” The Dowager Countess explained, “Thomas was once a servant at Downton Abbey in Grantham. Lawrence was doing business with Lord Grantham and met Thomas while he was still on staff.” 

“Hmm…” Lady Canatsey set down her teacup, pondering this news delicately, “You know, I think I might have passed by Downton Abbey once. I was in Grantham, and saw such a lovely view of a castle on a hill. Didn’t it have a little blue and red flag atop its spires?” 

Thomas nodded, sipping his tea. When he didn’t make to comment, the Dowager interjected. 

“Thomas is a bit shy.” The Dowager explained.   
This, of course, wasn’t exactly the full truth. 

“However did you two get along, Laurie?” Lady Canatsey teased, “You’re as bold as brass.” 

“We were destined for one another.” Gray growled, as if trying to force the facts to align in his favor by believing in them fervently enough. 

“Of course-“ The Dowager cut back in, trying to steer the conversation towards a more normal path, “I’ve informed all our family and friends. They’re delighted, I’ll have you know. Hopefully, it will be an alpha male but I certainly wouldn’t object to an alpha female.” 

“Then you don’t want an omega grandchild?” Lady Canatsey asked. 

“Heavens no.” The Dowager muttered, handing Christopher her empty teacup so that he could refill it, “Omegas are so tedious. Anthea nearly drove me out of my mind.” 

“Whatever my child will be, it will be perfect.” Gray interjected once again, irritable with his tea companions for being so flighty. Thomas didn’t give a damn what Gray thought about the hypothetical child. As far as Thomas was concerned, the fetus was just as much a prisoner as he was, and Gray was the jailor. The child would never know a loving father… and for that Thomas hated Gray ll the more. 

“Of course dear, of course…” the Dowager just waved him off. How   
How Thomas wished he could do the same. 

 

The sordid party was set for that night, with Thomas using the afternoon to nap and ready himself. He still was obviously bruised, though the swelling and the color had both gone down since last week. He spent the better part of three hours hiding downstairs and taking tea with the servants despite Gray’s demands that he never venture out of sight again. Thomas couldn’t stand to be away from the warmth and homey atmosphere of the basement, using his time downstairs to ‘recharge’ for his activities on the main floor. What was more, Gray was now watching his post like a hawk, so that Thomas was forced to use backward methods just to get his post in. Wallace sorted the post before Gray ever saw it, and told Gray that no mail had arrived for Thomas. He then had the hidden letters brought up with Thomas’ linens, hidden between towels and inside of pillowcases. Thomas would find a neat little stack tied with ribbon, hidden beneath a pillow sham or underneath his bedsheets when Gray was out of the room. It comforted him to know that he was not alone in his terrible misfortune; the thought of Downton Abbey made it easier to sleep at night and dream peaceful dreams. 

It shocked him, but Thomas got far more letters than he put out. Despite having not written to them, he received correspondence now from the Anna Bates, Daisy, Mrs. Patmore, the Carsons, Dr. Clarkson, and (strangest of all) Lord Grantham. He’d even gotten a letter from Lady Mary, which amazed him to no end that he was receiving sympathy from the family now. 

Of course, this was the first round of letters Thomas had received since he’d told the foreboding news of his unwanted pregnancy. He dreaded reading what his loved ones would have to say. 

Hiding in his boudoir as Gray got ready for the party, Thomas read by the fireside to soak up whatever heat he could from his dwindling hearth. Maybe it was just the parasite of a fetus now sucking up the nutrients inside his body, but Thomas found himself constantly feeling cold and unwell. Perhaps he was coming down with a flu. 

The first letter he opened was from Baxter, simply because he loved her the most. 

_“October 21st, 1926_

_My Dearest Thomas,_

_I was afraid of this, more than anything. I’ve told your news to the entirety of the Downstairs… the family know as well. Lord Grantham is very upset, and often shouts over the telephone late at night in the library. Bates has tried to help him calm down, but he is without patience and wants you home immediately. Everyone knows that your situation has become abusive and dangerous, even the maids and the hall boy. Mr. Carson tried to keep it secret for the sake of order but it got out. Everyone is very concerned for you, and is sending you letters to tell you that you are loved and missed. We are each of us battling with the concept that you are pregnant, and in danger. Part of us wants to rejoice. Part of us is afraid we will never see you again._

_My lip is fine. Thank you for asking. Mr. Moseley has taken all care of me, and Mr. Carson had Dr. Clarkson take a look at it. Just a bit bruised, nothing more. It’ll heal easily. My fears are entirely for you. I’m glad that a doctor saw you, but I’m so scared that you were given morphine. I told Dr. Clarkson, and he said he was going to write to you with advice. Please take it, whatever it is. You’re far away, and we can’t help you anymore. You’re just going to have to trust us._

_Please for gods sake, keep your head down and do not act up. Gray is extremely dangerous. Treat him like you would a bomb. Do nothing to unsettle him. He reminds me so intensely of Coyle that it makes me sick to my stomach. When Gray mentioned that I was washed up.. I suppose it got to me. I’m sorry, I’m being maudlin. Part of me is even jealous that you are pregnant. Can you imagine? How horrible does that make me in your eyes I wonder?_

_I have cried so many tears for you. I wonder if I will ever stop. I wish, more than anything, I could go back in time and stop all this from happening. That I had taken you, and fled with you to the woods surrounding the abbey. That I had not put my trust in Carson’s confidence or Lord Grantham’s honor. Neither could protect you in the end; I feel like I have failed you. I wonder if I will ever recover from this pain?_

_I love you, so very much._   
_Phyllis Baxter”_

 

So that was why he’d gotten so much correspondence. Everyone knew he was pregnant. 

It didn’t surprise Thomas to know that Lord Grantham was upset, particularly after the way Gray had waltzed about the place berating his servants and causing Tiaa to urinate in fear. It warmed Thomas to know that Lord Grantham wanted him home; if only he could return to Downton Abbey this very night, he was certain he’d be able to get Clarkson to perform an abortion. Maybe then his life would return to normal. Thomas doubted highly that the Downstairs staff was rejoicing in any sense of the word. What was there to rejoice about? 

It burned Thomas to know that Gray had made Baxter feel washed up. She was anything but, in his eyes, and he was terribly sympathetic to learn that she was jealous of his pregnancy. If only he could give this baby to her, and let her love it. Thomas knew she’d be a wonderful mother. It was heartbreaking that she’d been denied her wish for a family just because her alpha had been abusive trash. At least Coyle was in prison though… Thomas had a feeling Gray wouldn’t see the inside of a jail cell even if he murdered Thomas. 

Still. Thomas was glad that Baxter had thought to inform Dr. Clarkson of his little morphine expedition. Thomas decided to read his letter next. 

He tore open the letter, unfolding it to read rapidly: 

_“October 20th, 1926_  
_Downton Village Hospital_

_Mr. Thomas Barrow_ , 

_I have spoken with both Lord Grantham and Ms. Phyllis Baxter, and have been informed of your toxic situation. I am urging you to first and foremost be aware of the symptoms your body is displaying in regards to your morphine overdose. You may experience everything from a runny nose to insomnia, but I assure you that none of your symptoms should be fatal. I am sure, by now, you will have felt the changes. Anxiety and mood swings would give way to flu-like symptoms. You may also have felt your heart pounding, a sense of disorientation, and nausea. You may find that your anxiety and irritability, however, persist for several days after your physical symptoms have faded. Do not be frightened of this. Eventually, all will come to pass_. 

_While I can no longer aid you in your recovery, I urge you to follow several pieces of advice:_

_First, do not touch morphine ever again. If you are ever offered morphine for pain, deny it and seek another type of drug instead. If no other drug is available, only take morphine if you are certain you can handle it. Secondly, be constantly way of your hydration levels. Your body is underneath intense stress. I urge you to drink chamomile, ginger, or rose hips tea. Do not consume any type of alcohol and do not smoke. I realize this last task may be very difficult for you. Try to remember that you will be damaging both your health and your child’s health by indulging in your habits_. 

_In regards to your child, I recognize that you are in an incredibly stressful situation. Try to find a way to destress yourself every day. Many pregnant omegas take up a hobby, and use it as a relaxer. Do puzzles, read books, paint, watch birds, anything that allows you to feel calm. There is nothing more dangerous to pregnancy than panic and pain. Keep calm and remember that you are centered. Nap often, and abstain from greasy or overly salty foods_.

_I wish to apologize for my companion, Dr. Robert Kinsey. I feel that he might have made a fool of himself, last you saw him, and wish to impress upon you that he is usually a most professional and courteous man. I suppose he was slightly blindsided by you; I confess that he has asked to correspond with you. If you agree, I will give him your address. I think you would find him most engaging, particularly in your dangerous situation. Please let me know if you are agreeable_. 

_Sincerely_ ,   
_Dr. Richard Clarkson, M.D.”_

Thomas sighed, exhausted, and set the letter down in his lap. 

So that’s why he felt like shit; he was recovering from the morphine. Thank god it would eventually stop. 

Thomas felt spited, to know that Dr. Clarkson wanted him to have a healthy pregnancy. He supposed it was only natural; the man was a doctor, after all. But christ, Thomas didn’t want to be pregnant, so why shouldn’t he smoke and drink? Damn it all to hell, if there was ever a time to enjoy a cigarette it was now. 

As for taking up a hobby, what the hell was he going to do? Gray wouldn’t let him out of his sights. Thomas doubted that Gray would allow him to paint, or do puzzles. Of course, there was always the bird watching what with Gray owning an aviary. That might end up being his only choice… but he didn’t want a hobby. He wanted an abortion, and pronto. As for abstaining from greasy and overly salted foods, that knocked out Thomas’ favorite dish: salted cod cakes. That put him in a sour mood, sure enough. 

The last bit of Dr. Clarkson’s letter… well… that was a different story. 

In his awful predicament, Thomas had forgotten about the enigmatic Dr. Kinsey. Now with his memory jogged, Thomas felt an odd fluttering sensation in his stomach at the thought of corresponding with him. Dr. Kinsey had been so handsome and polite… such a wonderful spirit and clearly full of warmth. Thomas would like nothing more than to correspond with him, to learn what he had to say on a variety of subjects. He almost felt like flirting with the man, even though he was being horribly abused in the so-called name of ‘love’. Most of all, Thomas remembered Dr. Kinsey’s compliment about his suit. After Gray had torn up his suit… it made him feel warm and good to know that there were alphas who didn’t care about omegas wearing trousers. 

_May your future be full of suits_ , he’d said. 

Thomas decided on the spot that he would absolutely be giving his address to Dr. Kinsey. Unfortunately Dr. Kinsey’s business card had not survived the assault on Thomas’ suit… otherwise Thomas would have gladly skipped the middle man and simply written to Dr. Kinsey first hand instead. 

As Thomas stared at his neat stack of letters yet to be read, it occurred to him that in both letters he’d read Lord Grantham had been mentioned. Thomas knew from Baxter’s letter that Lord Grantham was furious over his situation, and deeply troubled that Thomas was pregnant. That he was on the phone with people, and even Bates could not calm him down. What was more, Lord Grantham had apparently gone to see Dr. Clarkson… but why? 

Thomas fished through his stack of letters, pulling out the letter from Lord Grantham, and decided to open it next. 

He did so carefully; the parchment was much more fine with an ivory coating and bearing the Grantham crest of a hunting dog against red and blue shielding: 

_“October 15th, 2016_  
_Downton Abbey_

_To Thomas Barrow,_

_I write to you to impress upon you a message of hope in these dire circumstances. I have attempted to call for you at Belton House, but have been rebuked. I have even come to your residence, but have not been allowed inside. I have been told that you are in a forced heat, and that Gray will allow none near you. I do not know when this letter will reach you, but when it does I wish for you to know that you are not alone._

_I have decided to fight for you. I have initiated contact with the Brigade. I will challenge Gray’s claim as your alpha, citing his violence and drug use. I will keep you alerted to the developments of this case as it progresses, but expect good news soon. Please know that my intentions towards you are honorable, and that I do believe I could be a much better suited alpha to you than Gray. Downton will always be your home. You have served its master for many years. This would not be so much different. If you are disturbed by these notions, I urge of you to express yourself plainly to me. Even if you are hesitant I believe we could come to a compromise._

_I understand that you are with child, which angers me greatly. I am deeply saddened to know that you are in Gray’s captivity but I urge you not to give up hope yet. This child does not have to be your end. If you are angered by this fate, know that there are avenues we can pursue. The child could be put up for adoption, easily. Know that you are not trapped, that many doors are open to you. When my campaign is successful, I could easily take you to Europe where you could stay in peace and solitude until the birth. A loving family would be grateful to receive the gift of a new life. You could return home to England, free of your time with the Gray family. If this is something you desire, I urge you to tell me._

_Do not give up hope, do not be afraid. I will make my claim known to the Brigade; my lawyer will be contacting you shortly._

_Affectionately,_   
_Robert Crawley, 11th Earl of Grantham”_

 

“Oh god…” Thomas whispered aloud, shocked at Lord Grantham’s decision to fight for Thomas’ claim. “Here we go again-“ 

But before he could dwell on the thought more, Thomas heard the sounds of someone approaching his eastern door. 

Determined not to lose his precious letters, Thomas leapt up from his seat and dashed over to the bed so that he could lift up the mattress and shove all the letters underneath. He then darted right back to his seat by the fire and crouched there panting. He steadied his breathing, controlling his facial muscles to a forced calm, and did not move when the eastern door opened to reveal Gray. 

He was not yet dressed for the party, but the hour was drawing close and Thomas knew from experience as a valet that Roland would have to attend to his master soon. Gray seemed surprised to find him in his bedroom, which was stupid since he’d clearly come looking for Thomas. 

“Ah, there you are.” Gray said, “I thought you were downstairs?” 

Thomas bristled, sensing that Gray was about to let him have it for going out of sight. 

“… I went down for tea, M’lord.” Thomas muttered, keeping his eyes on the fireplace. 

Gray ambled about his room, taking in his unused roll top desk and the way that his tables were now clear of objects that might be thrown like missiles. Thomas’ bedroom no longer looked lived in, but instead seemed to have been cleared out for a war. 

As Gray moved to stand behind Thomas’ chair, Thomas bristled in readying for impact. 

“If you’re going to hit me, hit me in the face.” Thomas blurted out.   
He didn’t know why he was giving warning. Wouldn’t it be better if Gray terminated the pregnancy through his own anger? 

“Why would I hit you?” Gray asked, amazed as if he’d never risen his hand to Thomas before. It made bile rise up in Thomas’ stomach. 

“If you’re going to hit me, hit me in the face.” He repeated, his tone now forced to a normal speed and dark with malicious intent. 

Gray reached out and lay his hand upon Thomas’ shoulder, stroking it lovingly. Thomas shuddered in spite of himself, staring without consequence into the fire. 

“You think I’m angry.” Gray deduced. A regular Sherlock Holmes. 

“Well, I went downstairs didn’t I.” Thomas muttered bitterly. “I suppose Lady Anthea told you I’d disobeyed your rules.” 

“She did.” 

Thomas said nothing, waiting endlessly for the violence to begin. 

Gray came around his chair, his hand slipping from Thomas’ shoulder as he squatted before Thomas to look up into his eyes. Thomas did not meet his gaze, never taking his eyes off the fireplace and more importantly the metal poker that lay next to it. If need be, he might be able to reach the poker in time and use it to beat Gray off. 

“Thomas, I’m not angry.” Gray said.   
Thomas did not believe him. 

 

“Anthea’s very jealous of you.” Gray explained, petting his kneecap with loving strokes of his long fingers. “She’s being petty and spiteful. But you’re more precious to me now than her. You’re more important. I won’t allow her jealousy to harm the life of our child.” 

Thomas said nothing, thinking of Lord Grantham’s letter. He hoped the man would be able to raise an argument with the Brigade soon. He felt like he was racing against the clock for Lord Grantham to save his life. How long could he survive here? 

“I’ve been thinking.” Gray reached up and laid his hands upon Thomas’ stomach, stroking the flesh tenderly. Thomas still refused to look at him, “I’m not happy with you sleeping so far away from me. Why don’t you and I sleep together in my bed instead?” 

“I’ve been ill at night, M’lord.” Thomas lied, determined not to sleep with the man if at all possible, “I would keep you awake, I wager.” 

“Mm.” Gray wasn’t put off, “Why don’t we sleep in your bed, then? I could always leave you if I wanted better rest.” 

Thomas said nothing. 

Lord Gray sighed, sensing Thomas’ bitter mood. “Thomas, about earlier today. I… I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed you were pregnant before. That you’d forcibly miscarried.” His tone might have been remorseful, but Thomas doubted he actually was. “I spoke with Dr. Cowell, and he told me that given how unsteady your cycle has been you probably didn’t conceive before because your body simply wasn’t ready… Please, don’t feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong by not getting pregnant it just wasn’t time.” 

Thomas closed his eyes, wishing that he could punch Gray repeatedly in the mouth until he could no longer hold soap. 

“You don’t like that woman.” Thomas said, trying to get Gray off the abysmal topic of his confusing cycles. “Ruth, whatever he name was.” 

“Ah.” Gray grumbled, “Yes, she’s a good friend of Anthea’s… and a bitch.” He paused, the bitterness evident in his tone, “Stay away from her, she’s a bad influence on omegas, and she’ll make you doubt your senses. I listened to her advice for too many years. I won’t have her troubling you, or claiming you’re some kind of… exotic viewing pleasure.” 

Thomas opened his eyes again, staring into the fire once more. It was getting quite low, perhaps he should ring for a maid and have new logs brought up. 

“But no matter-!” Gray continued on, squeezing Thomas’ stomach endearingly. “We’re going to have a very special dinner tonight. My best friend is coming up to dine with us, and he’s bringing his own omega. I’m very excited for you to meet him… he’s important to me, my closest confidant. I’ve known him from school, and we work together at the firm. Of course… that Ruth will be there too but you just ignore her.” 

Thomas said nothing.   
Gray continued to rub his stomach, his fingers making a rocking motion back and forth across the still flat plains of his naval. 

“…Thomas, I told you not to run off to Downton.” Gray said, “That hardly constitutes you just going downstairs to take tea. I’m not angry, I promise.” 

Thomas nodded, hoping that it would make Gray shut up.   
It didn’t work. 

“…Look at me.” Gray said.   
Thomas did so after a moment, eyes sliding in their sockets to glance at Gray. He found the man pained, worrying at his bottom lip as he gazed up adoringly into Thomas’ eyes. 

He reached up and gently touched Thomas’ lips and chin, concerned. 

“… I have an idea.” Gray said softly. “A little…gift from me to you.” 

“I don’t require a gift, M’lord.” Thomas said. Gray nodded, which was bizarre because it was rare that he ever genuinely listened to what Thomas said. 

“Spread your legs.” Gray instructed.   
Thomas paled. 

“…What are you doing?” Thomas asked, unsure. He clenched his legs together, frightened of what would come next. Gray just gave him a tiny smile of reassurance, and carefully scooted his knees apart so that his skirt was stretched tight. 

“Relax.” Gray murmured, “I want to… apologize for my bad behavior.”   
He took the hem of Thomas’ skirt in hand, and raised it up to slip his head underneath. 

Thomas’ heart was hammering away in his ribs, with his hands clenched tightly to the armrests of his chair. He was petrified, eyes clenched shut as he felt Gray moving further up his legs to where his garter belt met his knickers. 

Suddenly Gray was pushing his legs even further apart, grabbing at the meat of Thomas’ thighs with both hands so that he could keep Thomas spread as far apart as possible. 

Thomas gasped loudly, shocked when he felt a hot wet mouth enveloping his flaccid penis. 

As an omega, Thomas wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘well endowed’. It was far from uncommon, or so his family doctor had swore when Thomas had been fourteen. His penis would only ever be a couple of inches long, what with the lack of testosterone in his body. Thomas had never much cared, but now that Gray was between his legs he suddenly realized that Gray could use Thomas’ small size to his advantage. He took Thomas’ entire penis into his mouth with ease, tongue flicking at his slit till Thomas was hyper sensitive from the attention. 

Thomas gasped, clawing at the armrests, cheeks heating from embarrassment as he felt his penis begin to grow erect. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want Gray to touch him, but it seemed his body had other plans as a slight film of sweat began to pepper Thomas’ brow and throat. 

Thomas whimpered, trying his best to keep the offending noise locked in his throat. With his eyes pinched shut, all he could sense was Gray’s touch and tongue, both driving him to madness. 

He wanted to shout ‘stop!’. He wanted it to end! 

But Gray was drawing it out as long as possible, his fingers itching toward Thomas’ cleft which was still sore from his rape last week. Gray paused in sucking Thomas’ off, clearly wetting his fingers before jumping right back in enthusiastically to begin fingering Thomas in tandem. The burn itched, not particularly pleasurable, and Thomas whined loudly as Gray thumbed at his sore perineum. 

He flicked several times with his thumb and finger. Thomas cried out, his orgasm ripped brutally from his sore body. 

He trembled in his chair, eyes closed as he felt Gray withdrawing from beneath his skirts.   
His bottom lip quivered. He brought his hands up to his face to hide his tears. 

He hadn’t wanted that. He wanted to be brought to pleasure by Gray. At least when Gray was assaulting him, Thomas didn’t have to orgasm in order for Gray to reach his end. By forcing Thomas to endure, and to gain some type of pleasure, it felt to Thomas like Gray was validating his sexual assault. Like surely it couldn’t be sexual assault if Thomas’ traitorous body had enjoyed it. 

“Darling-!” Gray was laughing, surprised at Thomas’ sniveling. “Don’t cry-“ 

He’d risen, and pressed Thomas’ head to his torso so that he could comfortably lay his hands around Thomas’ shoulders. 

Thomas wished to god Gray would just go away. 

“Honestly-“ Gray’s tone softened as he stroked Thomas’ long hair. “Dr. Cowell told me you’d get emotional but I didn’t expect that. Come now-“ He dropped down again, forcing Thomas’ hands down from his face so that Thomas had no choice but to reveal the tears wetting his cheeks. It was so humiliating that Thomas felt a new wave of horror wash over him, making him cry louder. 

“Shush now…” Gray whispered, using his handkerchief to clean up Thomas’ salty tears. “Shush.” 

And when Thomas finally did regain control over his sobbing, Gray seemed pleased with himself. He took one of Thomas’ hands in both of his own, and kissed the knuckles reverently. 

“I know we’ve had a hard couple of weeks.” Gray whispered, “But I love you, and you love me, and we’re going to be alright.” 

_God kill me_ , Thomas prayed. _Kill me or kill him. I don’t care which_. 

It took him a few minutes to get his tears under control. When he finally did, Thomas took several deep breathes and resumed staring at the fireplace. He didn’t want to look at Gray now. He couldn’t bare to see the smugness on the man’s face. His fucking contentedness, thinking that Thomas was his adoring omega. 

“There.” Gray smiled, reaching up and touching Thomas’ chin again. He turned Thomas’ face, so that Thomas had to look at him or be damned. Gray was smiling pleasantly, his bangs a little skewed and his cheeks reddened from exertion. Thomas pursed his lips, trying to keep his face under control lest Gray see the anger and resentment in his eyes. 

“… Feel a little better?” Gray asked. 

Thomas knew he had no choice but to lie, and nodded shortly. 

“Good.” Gray rose up, dusting off his knees. “I’ve bought you a dress for the party tonight. Why don’t you go look in your wardrobe?” 

At least it would get him away from Gray. 

Exhausted, Thomas rose up from his chair as Gray reached out to ring the bell rope beside Thomas’ bed. He then stood behind Thomas, watching as Thomas opened his tall wardrobe to look inside. 

The dress was obvious to spot, simply because Thomas hadn’t put it there, and wouldn’t think to order it. It was peach silk, draped in diamonds and an art deco design. The sleeves were fluttering, with a plunging neckline and a massive square diamond at its naval. 

Christ, he already hated it. 

“I want you to have a maid.” Gray said from behind, “Sarah has expressed great interest. I’ve decided to promote her to an omega maid.” 

“Sarah is very kind, but I am not a member of the upper class.” Thomas said, “It would be improper for me to have a maid, M’lord.” 

“But you are.” Gray assured him, “You’re my mate, and I’m a member of the upper class… I’ve decided she’ll start tonight, and dress you for the party… and what a better initiation than this frock?” 

“…Lord Gray-“ Thomas wondered if there was any way he could convince the man to not let him wear it.

But Gray was at his neck, holding him about the waist to kiss him softly beneath his jaw. 

“Call me Laurie.” Gray muttered in between kisses. 

“…Would you be accommodating for me to wear a suit instead?” Thomas asked. “This dress is very fine, and I fear I would stain it.” 

“No.” Gray paused in his kisses, if only to whisper softly into Thomas’ ear. “I want you to wear this dress, because it reminds me of you. It’s peach… and the diamond in its center is the baby.” 

Thomas pursed his lips, shutting his wardrobe doors.   
Gray changed to the other side, kissing Thomas’ neck and jaw with the same enthusiasm. Yet he stopped when he noticed Thomas’ facial expression in the mirror. He frowned, taken aback. 

“You’re unhappy.” Gray said. Thomas did not make to deny it, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. 

Instead of acting violently, Gray held him lovingly about the waist, and pressed the sides of their faces together, “Is it that bad? I thought you’d like a little peach for my little peach.” 

“… It’s a beautiful dress, M’lord.” Thomas said, making no allusions to the other. 

“Then smile? For me?” Gray asked.   
But Thomas could not. 

Gray opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the conversation halted as a sharp knock came on the eastern boudoir door. It opened to reveal Sarah in a black dress that was nothing like the maids white frock. She looked hopeful, at least until she saw how miserable Thomas was. Thomas was loath to deny her a promotion, not when she’d clearly worked so hard for it, but at the same time it felt horribly presumptuous of him to take Sarah on as a maid. 

After all, he was nothing more than a servant. 

“Master Thomas…” Sarah curtsied, “Lord Gray said that I was to be your maid. I’ve come to dress you.” 

Thomas coughed, smoothing back his hair. He stepped away from Gray, grateful to have some sane company. 

“Congratulations are in order.” Thomas said, though he felt bitter to know they were at the expense of his conscience. “Though I hope you brought your tool kit. There seems to be some hardware involved with this frock.” 

 

Sarah was a good sport, taking care to hang up Thomas clothes before wrangling him into the dress. It was disgustingly good looking on Thomas, as if to spite him for hating it so. Sarah likewise was under the instructions of Gray to dress Thomas in diamonds, so that suddenly Thomas felt like was christened with stars from head to nape. Worst of all, he had to wear elbow length silk gloves, which made holding things or opening doors impossible. No wonder servants were always doing the work; the toffs couldn’t keep a grip! 

“Piece of shit, dress.” Thomas muttered bitterly as Sarah made sure it hung straight on his shoulders. “Wish I could set it on fire. Do I look too much like a ninny?” 

“Yep.” Sarah said with a grin. Thomas groaned. 

 

After he was dressed, and the hour had come for dining downstairs, Thomas was walked by Sarah who offered him a helping hand in his silver shoes. He hated the whole get up, feeling like he might trip any moment. Damn Gray and his ludicrous fantasies of putting Thomas in women’s clothing. There was no dignity in this. No dignity at all. 

As they reached the bottom of the marble stairs, Sarah adjusted his dress one last time and let him loose. Thomas sulked in his steps, walking laboriously towards the red drawing room where Wallace was no doubt holding court while Christopher and Benedict laid out the dining hall for their guests. As Thomas reached the door, he paused and listened at the crack. He could hear conversation on the other side, calm and refined. 

Thomas opened the door, only to have it taken from him by Wallace’s steadying hand. 

The drawing room was done up in lights and fashion, with several people clustered around its many couches and chairs. Gray was there, dressed in a fine dining jacket. He stood next to a slightly portly man with smoothed brown hair and a cigar in hand. At his side, perched on the couch with a cup of tea, with a young woman in a lilac dining down and lovely chestnut hair done up in curls. Ruth was there, redressed in a more formal gown for dinner with Lady Anthea who was bitter and waiting on the edge of the crowd. The Dowager was keeping an odd watch over the room, seemingly trying to be both pleasant and distant at the same time. 

“Ah-!” Gray strode forward with that maniacal smile of his, kissing Thomas sweetly on the cheek though Thomas bristled and did not smile. “Here he is. Isn’t he a gem?” 

“This must be the stunning Thomas Barrow.” The man with the cigar said. He extended his hand to Thomas at once, clasping it in that odd upper class handshake which barely involved any wrist moment. “How do you do. I’m Lord Hughe Brammish… your alpha’s business partner.” 

“This man is the reason that our firm thrashed Locksley and Sons this past month.” Gray praised, though Thomas didn’t have a fucking clue what Locksley and Sons was; frankly he didn’t even care. 

“And you are the reason why my partner has been most distracted at work.” Lord Brammish said. The two men chortled. Lord Brammish turned, gesturing to the beautiful young woman in purple on the couch. She smiled at Thomas, bright and keen. “See that enchanting vision in purple over there. That’s my omega, Lydia. Isn’t she divine?” 

“I’ve known better.” Gray teased. 

“Oh you.” Lord Brammish did not take offense, gesturing for Lydia to join their group. Lydia set down her tea, rising up from the couch at once so that she could be at Lord Brammish’s side. She smiled at Thomas endearingly, offering him her hand. He accepted it with that weird half-shake again. 

“This is Thomas Barrow.” Lord Brammish said. 

“How do you do.” She said. Thomas was slightly appeased by her pleasant demeanor. She, at least, did not seem to have ulterior motives, “I’ve just heard your smashing news from the Dowager Countess. Congratulations! Your first baby.” 

“What can I say, we’ve been busy bees.” Gray teased. Lydia gave a soft laugh, but the Lady Anthea overheard and didn’t seem nearly as pleased with his crass humor. 

“Laurie can’t go one night without being an insult to his lineage.” Lady Anthea said to Ruth, just a tad too loudly to go unheard. “Then again he’s an insult even without talking.” 

Gray stiffened, something hot flashing in his eyes. 

“Crickey.” Lord Brammish muttered; Lydia was taken aback, “You weren’t kidding when you said she was hot.” 

Gray’s hand stiffened around Thomas’ waist, his nails painfully beginning to dig into the flesh beneath his dress. Determined to go one night without getting the living shit kicked out of him, Thomas leaned in and tried to settle Gray’s nerves. 

“Don’t let her spoil your night, M’lord.” Thomas offered. He did nothing for Gray’s sake, this move was entirely selfish in nature… of course, the Brammish’s would have no way of knowing that. “Your friends are here… so focus on them instead. If she wants to be unpleasant then that’s her own affair.” 

In a bizarre move, Gray seemed very touched on Thomas’ words. He leaned in, and gently pressed a kiss to Thomas’ forehead just beneath where his diamond tiara sat. 

“Thank you.” Gray whispered against his skin. “You’re the perfect omega.” 

Thomas said nothing, keeping his eyes on the floor until his skin cooled and he could trust his facial expressions again. 

 

They did not linger in the red drawing room for long, with their party a small one and the courses ready for consumption. The Dowager lead the way into the dining hall, being the most senior in rank, followed afterward by Gray, Lord Brammish, Lady Anthea, Ruth, and so on. Thomas and Lydia brought up the rear, neither of them being first class through birth. As everyone took their seats around the table, Thomas acted on sudden instinct to take out the Dowager’s chair so that she could sit. When he realized when he’d done, he froze up in hot embarrassment. The Dowager was staring at him, slightly scandalized, while Christopher seemed to look slightly put out as if to say ‘hey that was my job’. Wallace covered up Thomas’ error, taking the chair from him so that the Dowager could sit without Thomas aid. 

Everyone sat in descending rank with Lydia the last to reach her chair. At the far end of the table, Thomas felt like an idiot and flushed irritably as Lady Anthea smirked at his blunder. 

Gray was quick to smooth over the incident though, as Christopher and Benedict walked counter clockwise around the table to serve out the first course of a simple French soup. The only reason that Thomas knew how to eat with the multiple utensils at his disposal was because he’d watched the Crawley family do it for years. He carefully held his spoon, afraid his might flinch and let it fall. 

This was less of a meal and more of a war zone. 

“My little peach.” Gray joked, “He was a footman, you know.” He told Lord Brammish across the table, “For how many years, darling-?” He looked to Thomas. 

“Sixteen, M’lord.” Thomas said, before taking another sip of soup. It was rather creamy although it was also light. Thomas didn’t particularly care for it. He supposed it might be good if you were ill and needed to eat without taking in a heavy meal. 

“Sixteen years.” Gray praised.   
Everyone tittered at the table, though Lady Anthea was still brooding. Thomas caught Christopher’s eye, noting the tiny smile that lingered there. He felt comforted to know that both Christopher and Wallace were here to help him through this meal. Perhaps he could sneak downstairs tonight and take a true meal at their table. He didn’t feel like he would be able to consume much at this rate. 

“I suppose the night will be full of antics from you.” Lady Anthea drawled. 

Thomas did not acknowledge her, careful not to spill the soup in his spoon. 

“Don’t be bothered by little Annie, darling.” Gray spoke in a condescending voice, “She’s just angry because someone broke her broomstick.” 

Lady Anthea’s nostrils flared. 

“Lawrence.” the Dowager Countess was not having it, “If you could hold yourself in until the entrees are served… you’re soon to be a father, what kind of example will you be showing your child by speaking out at every quip your sister makes?” 

At this the Dowager glared at Lady Anthea, “And you will hold your tongue when speaking to the alpha of this house.” 

Lady Anthea’s face turned the color of a queer sour apple green. Across from her, Ruth watched everything fascinated. 

“…I’m amazed you didn’t try to serve us too.” Lady Anthea just couldn’t seem to keep it in, her tone growing more bitter by the second. Lord Brammish and his omega Lydia were both silent, clearly not wanting to rise her to anger. 

“A little difficult to do from a sitting position, I fear.” Thomas growled. His patience for the Gray family was wearing dangerously thin, particularly with the way Gray was gripping his hand underneath the table. 

“And you haven’t spilt a drop on your pretty little dress yet.” Lady Anthea’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “I’m quite impressed.” 

“If you think this is the cheeks, wait till you see what I can do with a fork and a knife.” Thomas said. 

_I will filet you_ , he thought viciously. Lady Anthea seemed to get the gist, bright pink spots developing on her high cheekbones. 

“My omega is quite witty.” Gray praised, grateful for Thomas stumping Anthea, “I find it incredibly refreshing, don’t you Hughe?” 

“I’ll say.” Lord Brammish chortled, taking over conversation as best he could. “And you say you were a footman for sixteen years? Where if I might ask?” 

“To Lord Grantham of Downton Abbey.” Thomas said. Lord Brammish made a noise of slight surprise. 

“I believe I know him!” Lord Brammish was keen, “An excellent cricketer, and a lover of dogs. You must have played for his team against the village?” 

“Extensively.” Thomas said, thinking fondly back to those moments when he’d been running around in his cricket whites without a care in the world. 

“I didn’t realize commoners played cricket.” Lady Anthea was back at the plate again, ready for a swing. Thomas rolled his eyes. 

“Or take tea.” He added with a sneer, “I dare say you’re quite ignorant on several subjects, I’d try to remedy that if I were you.” 

“Says the man only fluent in one language.” 

“Due.” Thomas corrected in a flash, “Je suis parle Francais.” 

But Lady Anthea just scoffed, “Sei uno sciocco.” 

Thomas had no idea what she’d just said, but he had a feeling it wasn’t friendly. 

Lydia was shocked at the rapidly dissolving conversation, abandoning her soup to try and take up the helm. 

“I’m so delighted for your pregnancy, Thomas.” Lydia said. Thomas was amazed to find her genuine. It made his stomach flutter, “I’m pregnant too actually. I suppose the pair of us will have to keep each other company by the end of it. It feels like I never see my alpha when they’re on the hunt for new property.” 

“Mm.” Thomas didn’t know what to say to that, though he gave Lydia a tiny smile for her kindness. 

“But then again, I shouldn’t complain.” Lydia said, “After all, they’ve overtaken Locksley and Sons in Derby’s. London will surely be their next stop.” 

“That’s my girl.” Lord Brammish teased her, “Always looking ahead. She pushes me worse than my father.” He laughed at this. 

Their first course was taken up, to be replaced by a turtle soufflé. Thomas had seen this dish served before at Downton, but wasn’t too keen to eat it. Turtle meat was new to him, and he had a feeling his stomach wouldn’t take kindly to it. While everyone began to eat, Thomas was the only one that refrained. 

He glanced up at Wallace, unsure; Wallace gave him an understanding smile, and came around to collect his plate. 

“Come now, don’t be shy.” Lady Anthea’s malicious grin was back, “I’ve heard you commoners can eat like barn animals.” 

“We refrain from acting like them though, so that’s a mercy.” Thomas snapped. Lady Anthea flushed again, pausing amid her soufflé. 

“Tell me, Thomas-“ Lady Anthea ground out, “Why is it that you weren’t taken up until you were thirty six years old?” 

“You’re thirty six?” Lydia was amazed, “My goodness, I thought you were in your early twenties.” 

“I suppose I age well.” Thomas decided not to reply to Lady Anthea’s retort, “My mother was the same way.” Even in her forties, she hadn’t had a single gray hair. 

“My older sister is only five years older than me, and she looks like she’s forty.” Lydia tittered, “Though you’re also much more fashionable than she is.” 

“I don’t know about that.” It wasn’t like he’d picked out this fucking travesty of a dress now was it. 

“Hardly much fashion to be found in the uniform of a footman.” Lady Anthea just seemed to be talking to herself at this point. Ruth was entranced by her private meltdown, “I suppose you only had two pairs of clothes for most of your life. What did you do if both of them got dirty? Go around in stains?” No one was answering her. She huffed, “Though I suppose it wouldn’t really show on black now would it.” 

“It’s better to be clean on the inside than on the outside.” Gray snapped. Lady Anthea just kept steamrolling, clearly unable to stop herself. 

“Speaking of clean, I know it must have been quite a shock for you to take a proper bath. You know, Ruth, commoners don’t take proper baths unless they’re forced to. They think it causes illness.” 

Ruth was flabbergasted, “Anthea…” she murmured reproachfully, “Don’t overdo it.”   
Ruth’s advice would be wasted. 

“I bet you stained the tub.” Lady Anthea said. 

“You know what I admire most in you?” Thomas spoke up, finally decided to let it all hang out. Lady Anthea froze mid bite of her soufflé, wary. 

“I shudder to think.” She snapped. 

“Your courage.” Thomas said. 

_Yes_ , he thought scathingly, _destroy her_. 

“…How so.” Lady Anthea sat down her fork, ready for the retaliation. 

“Well,” Thomas huffed, taking a sip of water. “I can’t imagine what life would be like if I had never done anything for myself. Dressing, eating, bathing, even going into town. All of it was done for you by some servant. I just can’t imagine how terrifying it must be, to realize that should anything ever befall your estate you would be completely unprepared for real life.” 

Thomas felt an alarming wave of nausea roll through him, and took another sip of water. He coughed, carrying on. “It must be disturbing, to know you’re nothing without your money, but here you are smiling away. Like you’re not in danger of falling into a chasm at the slightest breath of financial misfortune. That takes courage. Brava to you.” 

Lady Anthea looked ready to set him on fire. Thomas didn’t even bat an eyelash, taking a long sip of water. The pair of them glared at one another, a heat taking over the room. 

“Careful with that one, Laurie.” Lord Brammish tried to lighten the mood. “He’s got a bit of a mouth on him.” 

The next course was passed around. It was a mixture of cold asparagus and finely sliced onions. Thomas’ nausea made him feel unable to eat, and so he shook his head again. Wallace was dismayed, pausing by Thomas’ chair to stoop down low as he refilled Thomas’ water. 

“Are you well, Master Thomas?” Wallace whispered in his ear. 

“I feel sick.” Thomas admitted. “I think I’m going to turn in early.” 

“That might be best.” Wallace advised. “Lady Anthea has forgotten herself.” 

He took up Thomas’ plate, and continued on his patrol. Gray glanced at him, rubbing his thigh beneath the table. 

“Are you well, darling?” Gray murmured softly. 

“No.” Thomas refused to indulge in long conversation. “I can’t stomach this food.” 

Gray squeezed his thigh. Thomas took another sip of water. 

“I love Thomas’ mouth.” Gray said. When the Dowager went white, Gray quickly explained. “I find him to be genuine and honest. It’s quite refreshing compared to the stale repetitive nature of my raising.” 

“The pair of you ought to come to our estate.” Lord Brammish offered. “We could make a day of it-“ 

“Oh yes, that would be so lovely!” Lydia agreed. 

“We’ll have to see what Dr. Cowell says.” Gray warned, though he was smiling which was something at least. 

“Oh I’m sure you must be run off your feet.” Lydia said, “Everyone must be so excited with your news!” 

“Yes, do tell us about all the glowing parties your servant friends are throwing for you.” Lady Anthea said obnoxiously. 

Gray just ignored her. “Well we haven’t told anyone outside the family yet.” He explained. But this was a lie. Thomas had told many people via the post. Everyone at Downton new, and if Lord Grantham was successful the Brigade would know soon as well. 

“I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the town.” Lydia praised, “A pregnant male omega! It’s almost unheard of.” 

“Of course, it’ll be a little difficult to fit into a footman uniform when you’re the size of a house.” Lady Anthea scathed. Across the table from her, Ruth nearly choked on her cold asparagus. “What are you going to do when he gets fat, Laurie? Take up yet another omega?” 

Gray’s patience snapped. 

He slammed his fist onto the dining room table, causing everyone’s dishes and glasses to jump. A horrible swelling silence fell, as Lydia retracted herself from her food and Lord Brammish locked eyes with his business partner. Everyone was waiting for Gray to explode, to lose his temper and start flinging dishes. 

But Thomas felt sorry for Lydia, who’d done nothing but be a polite guest. He was determine to calm Gray down if he could. 

Going against his yearnings, Thomas reached out and took up Gray’s hand in his own. It was the first time that he’d touched him affectionately in public, and Gray was obviously shocked. Thomas stroked the clammy skin, feeling Gray’s pulse jumping in his wrist. 

“Tell me how you defeated Locksley and Sons.” Thomas distracted Gray, “Did you outwit them in five minutes, or did you grill them until they begged for mercy?” 

Gray was slowly relaxing, his pulse calming. Lord Brammish was the one to answer the question, instead. 

“A bit of both, actually.” Lord Brammish said, “Lawrence did the outwitting in five minutes. I did the grueling muscling. Lawrence is by far the more articulate and intelligent of the pair of us. I tend to drag it out for the sake of sympathy.” 

He toasted Gray with his wine glass. Gray finally reciprocated, and took a long drink. Thomas slowly slipped his hand back from Gray’s, returning to his water to try and combat his nausea. 

“The idiots were running their practice like some kind of charity. They’re accounts were all over the place.” Gray snapped. His anger was obvious, like an under current running through his voice. “They were easy to outwit. I’ve only been in charge for a few weeks, and I’ve already double production at half the cost.” 

“…Well brava to you.” Thomas tried not to sound sarcastic. He supposed it worked. Gray smiled at him gently, though Thomas merely focused on his water. Wallace had to refill his glass again. 

Lady Anthea was moody, picking at her pickled asparagus. “My brother thinks that he’s terribly clever. Probably why he picked an omega that was so stupid-” 

Thomas felt a stab of horrible nausea run through him, and knew instantly that he was about to throw up. He jerked out of his chair, stumbling around the table and barely making it out the door in time before diving to the left and vomiting profusely into one of the large vases that framed the door to the dining hall. 

He crashed to his knees, his stomach rolling as he purged himself again and again. 

There were hands upon his shoulders, holding him as he heaved. Thomas could tell from the smell of port wine that it was Gray. 

“M’lord-“ Wallace was there as well, offering a tea towel so that Thomas could cover his sweating face, “Perhaps Master Thomas should lay down.” 

“Fetch Sarah.” Gray snapped. “And ring for Dr. Cowell.” 

 

Thomas was lead upstairs by Sarah as soon as Wallace brought her back, and found her a sympathetic ear as she helped him to wash his face and lay down atop his bed. She put him in a mint housecoat, bringing him a simple broth and some biscuits as Mrs. Prices’ insistence. The cook was apparently felt quite guilty for Thomas’ upset dinner, judging that in his pregnancy French cuisine was clearly not in his repertoire. Dr. Cowell likewise popped by, clearly on call should Gray need him for anything, and offered Thomas a bit of morphine. 

Thomas shot him down so fast, it was a miracle his scathing words didn’t physically wound the man. 

Thomas had no idea of what became of the rest of the party. He lay in bed for a few hours, simply allowing his stomach to relax. Mrs. Price had included a ginger tea, and a sliced apple with his soup and biscuits. Thomas dunked both the biscuits and apple into his tea, munching on them slowly as his stomach finally settled. 

Christ, that stupid Anthea. Had it been her antagonizing attack to send him overboard or the food? Or god forbid… had it been the fetus that was supposedly growing inside of him now? Thomas still didn’t want to believe he was pregnant. 

When Thomas heard the sounds of Gray returning to his room, he half expected Gray to look in on him. Gray did no such thing, though Thomas could hear violent movements behind the door. Cursing, stumbling… it unnerved him. 

Thomas got up from bed, careful not to make too much noise as he pressed his ear to the door of Lawrence’s bedroom. 

He heard Gray let out something that sounded close to a sob. 

Thomas reached up, almost making to knock against the wood. But then he thought better of it and pulled away. 

He turned, letting out a tiny sigh.   
The door burst open, banging against the wall. 

Thomas cried out, nearly caught on the door as he stumbled backward. Gray was disheveled and wild, eyes completely dilated so that there was only a thin ring of white around his pupils. He was seething, huffing breath after breath, with his clothes half off and white powder underneath his nostrils. 

“You-!” Gray shrieked, grabbing Thomas by the neck and slamming him into the wall. Thomas screamed, thrashing wildly to try and escape Gray’s awful grip. “You bitch! How could you embarrass me like that?!” Gray shook him wildly by the neck, “How?! How could you do this to me?! When I loved you more than any other?!” 

“Stop-!” Thomas coughed out, “Let me go-!” He wheezed beneath Gray’s iron fingers, trying to pry them off of his neck. 

“Did you ever once consider my feelings?!” Gray was emotionally out of control, close to tears even in his rage, “Did you ever once think about my needs?! Your’e an omega, it’s what you’re supposed to fucking do!” 

“You bastard-!” Thomas choked out. His hands floundered wildly against the wall, but in sudden mercy the tips of Thomas’ fingers caught the metal handle of the poker. 

Fuck it. 

Thomas reared back, grabbing the poker and using it to crack Gray hard around the head. Gray yowled in pain, clutching his bleeding hairline. He grabbed at the poker, the pair of them struggling, only to have Gray seize it fully and brandish it like a sword. Thomas ran for his life. 

He made it to the eastern door, only to feel air whip over his shoulder and hear the sound of splintering wood. He looked about, amazed to find that Gray had tried to club him over the head. He’d missed, and hit the wall instead. The sharp tip of the poker had torn a chunk through the wall. If it had hit Thomas, it would have surely killed him. 

Gray seized, and then vomited. The carpet was sprayed with a mixture of bile and blood.   
He was out of his mind. 

 

“Jesus Christ-!” Thomas blurted out, fleeing the room. 

He ran down the eastern hall skidding around the corner to burst out onto the marble staircase. He then tore back into the library, almost making a full circle with Gray hot on his heels as he ran for the ante-library and the servant’s stairwell. He made it just a fraction of a second before Gray could, darting down the stairs so that he was taking the steps two at a time. He whirled around the corners, hearing Gray huffing and puffing behind him, cursing. He vomited twice more as they went through level after level, with Thomas gaining ground as Gray had to stop to gain his footing. As they hit the basement floor, Thomas burst from the stairwell to run screaming into the servant’s hall where the entire staff was sitting down to their own supper. 

“Help me!” Thomas screamed, hiding behind Wallace who leapt up from his chair at the head of the table to brandish his arms wide like a shield. Gray tore into the servant’s hall, bile upon the front of his dress shirt and his poker still in hand. 

The table erupted into chaos. 

Mrs. Gibson jerked from her seat to grab all three day maids and push them to the far back corner of the hall away from Gray. The girls were hysterical, crying out in fright as they tried to hide behind one another like cornered mice. Benedict was just as frightened, too young to know what to do in the face of danger. Christopher was a man of a different breed, getting up to grab the parring knife that had been sticking to a rump roast and brandish it at Gray. Roland was just the same, grabbing both Clements and Holmand from their chairs to shove them into the back corner with the maids. Sarah was the only one to act independently, coming around Wallace to hold Thomas by the arms. The pair of them cowered together, reading to get hit as a pair as Gray lifted the poker above his head once more. He tried to bring it down over Wallace’s head even as Wallace tried to keep the peace in the din. 

Roland grabbed the poker at last minute, the pair of them struggling wildly for dominance. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Wallace thundered. Thomas had never heard him so mad before! “Lord Gray, remember yourself, sir!” 

“You little wretch!” Gray howled at Thomas, “I’ll kill you for this-!” 

“Damn you to hell!” Thomas screamed at Gray. 

“Lord Gray!” Wallace just kept trying for order while Roland played a dangerous game of tug of war. “I urge you to refrain from violence against your own pregnant omega! Are you a man or an animal?!” 

“You ruined me!” Gray was beyond reason at this point, foaming at the mouth, “You ruined me in front of my oldest friend!” 

“You stupid pig!” Thomas was ready to shoot Gray in the head. “I was trying to keep your bitch of a sister on a leash! If I ruined you what did she do?! She’s the one who made a scene at dinner! Why are you angry at me- for puking in that shitty little vase by the door?! I’ll puke right on your lap next time then! See if I ever try to defend you again!” 

Roland finally managed to grab the poker away, mostly because Gray had staggered and stopped struggling. Able to take control of the situation, Roland tossed the poker right over the table to Christopher who caught it with a free hand to point both the poker and the knife at Gray. Roland both hands on Gray’s chest, keeping his back from Wallace who was still hiding Sarah and Thomas in his wake. 

An eerie silence had fallen as Gray sucked in one wild breath after another.   
Everyone was waiting for the next explosion. 

“… You…” Gray’s face was slack with confusion. He was dazed from the struggle. “You what…?” 

“Oh what’s the point.” Thomas snarled at the rest of the room, “He’s so coked out of his mind he can’t understand us.” 

“Should we call a doctor?” Benedict asked, his voice shaking with fright. 

“No.” Several people snapped back. Benedict was cowed, and hid behind Mrs. Gibson whose lips were pressed into a thin white line. 

“…Thomas?” 

It was the way Gray said it, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. His pupils were slowly beginning to constrict, his skin growing sweaty and pale. He seemed fragile somehow, less of a tyrant and more of a toddler as he blinked stupidly at the scene before him. 

Thomas watched as Gray did a double take, and then another, frightened of what he saw.   
Had he been hallucinating? 

Thomas cautiously stepped out from behind Wallace, who was still holding his arms out like a shield. 

“Master Thomas-“ Wallace hissed, “Don’t get any closer-“ 

“Do you know where you are?” Thomas demanded. “Do you know who I am?” 

In response, Gray suddenly seized as if suffering from a fit and vomited. 

A chorus of hisses rose up from the servants at the sight of orange bile staining the floor and the front of Gray’s dress shirt. Roland groaned, massaging his temple bitterly. After all, he was going to have to be the one to clean it all up. 

Gray began to bleed profusely from the nose. His eyes watered, dangerously close to tears. He was stricken, more frightened now than Thomas had ever seen him before. He was a million miles away from the cool composed man who had introduced himself to Thomas in the library of Downton Abbey. 

The true Lawrence Gray was a terrified little boy, struggling with a handgun loading cocaine bullets. 

“I…” Gray shuddered, “I thought… I thought you were….” 

The blood trailing from Gray’s nose began to drip from his chin, plopping sickeningly in the bile on the floor. 

_“How could you embarrass me like that?!”_ Gray had demanded. _“You ruined me!”_

“…Anthea?” Thomas supplied. Gray nodded, numb from the fall out of his cocaine usage and violent rant. 

His bottom lip quivered wildly.   
Gray burst into savage tears, pathetic huffs of sobs raking his tall frame. He brought a hand to his face, trying to hide his distress as he wobbled on his feet. 

He stumbled, and fell right into Thomas. But instead of hitting him or taking Thomas to the floor, Gray hid his face in Thomas’ neck and cried like a babe seeking its mother. 

Shocked, Thomas brought his hands up to grab Gray by the arms. 

The servants were in silence, shell shocked from the fall out of the fight. Thomas glanced at Wallace, finding the butler disturbed. The pair of them looked to one another for an answer, neither of them truly finding one, and so Gray continued to cry into Thomas’ neck until Mrs. Gibson shakily took charge and ordered Benedict to fetch a mop. 

 

 

They had to be cautious with Gray after that. 

Benedict mopped up the vomit while Roland, Thomas, and Wallace took Gray back upstairs. The poker was sequestered away, kept downstairs in case Gray went on another wild binge and tried to kill Thomas again. It didn’t seem likely though; the man was as limp as a wet noodle. As soon as they got Gray upstairs, Roland put him to rights while Thomas changed out of his dirtied housecoat. Wallace fumed at the state of the boudoir wall, hands smoothing over the damaged surface that would surely cost as least ten pounds to repair. He then went about scouring Gray’s room for anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon, taking away everything from a letter opener to two vases that framed Gray’s ornate mantlepiece. 

Thomas was so bitter, he had to take a walk in the moonlight. He paced the halls, trying to blow off steam, but it did him no good. His mind kept going in a violent reel, taking him from one awful moment to the next. The beatings, the realization of his pregnancy, the disturbing lack of violence, the forced oral sex, the stupid dress, the horrific dinner, the cataclysmic results of Gray’s cocaine usage and now this. 

Thomas, in the upper hall of a house he didn’t want to be in, waiting for a man he didn’t love to come down from a cocaine high that wasn’t his responsibility. 

And to think, all this might have been avoided if one stupid little girl hadn’t sent one stupid little telegram. 

Furious, red hazing over his vision and common sense, Thomas stalked the hallway to the door of Anthea’s bedroom. 

He entered without knocking. 

Inside, he found Clements brushing Anthea’s long dark brown hair. It had a natural curl to it when it wasn’t bound up at the top of her head. Clements was clearly shaken, the tips of her fingers trembling. Anthea was rubbing lotion on her hands; she paused when she spotted Thomas in her doorway. 

“…Clements,” Thomas addressed her maid, “Would you mind if you gave Lady Anthea and I a moment alone?” 

Clements didn’t know what to do. She looked from Thomas to her mistress, but only moved when Anthea finally waved her off with an irritable flick of the wrist. 

Clements left without a word. As she passed Thomas in the doorway, their eyes locked. 

Get me out of here, she seemed to be saying.   
Thomas shut the door after he retreating back. 

Anthea said nothing for a moment, off put. Her room was made up of the stereotypical classics that upper class women lavished upon. Creams, pale blues, and soft yellows. Blue seemed to dominate the room though, from the ornate overhang that framed her large bed to the sitting couch at its feet. Her high windows gave a beautiful view of the south east lawn. A blue Persian rug underneath their feet held everything in place. 

It was a quiet room. A room for softest reflection. 

Thomas walked about the perimeter of Anthea’s room, noting that she had a rather large collection of Wedgewood figurines. Fine omegas with petite waists and beautiful dresses posed upon benches or held their skirts up as they passed over flowers and grass. One in particular wore a red cloak about her neck, and looked mockingly like Anthea with her dark brown hair. 

Thomas plucked it up, looking underneath at its base to see that a penciled note had been put to ceramic: _“To Annie, love Laurie… 1920”_

Probably a birthday gift. 

“A bit late for a stroll.” Anthea drawled from her bureau. “Does Lawrence know that you’re out of your cage-“ 

Thomas whipped around, raised the figurine high above his head, and threw it with all the strength and skill he could muster. It sailed across the room and shattered right next to Anthea’s head, causing her to cry out and fling her arms up over her face. 

At the silence that followed, Anthea seemed to go into shock. Her hands and arms trembled. She gaped at Thomas, shocked. Thomas, for his part, did not even flinch. 

“…Oops.” Thomas said calmly. 

Anthea rose up from her perch at once, making a bee line for her bell rope. 

Thomas beat her to it, grabbing her about the upper arm and shoving her hard towards her bed so that she bounced against the mattress. She rolled over it, crouching away from Thomas on the other side so that the mattress was her impromptu shield. She was shaking full out, now, her breath coming in terrified little pants. 

“Stay away from me-!” She bleated, “Or— or I’ll scream—!” 

“Go on.” Thomas wasn’t afraid, “Scream. I scream all the time in this house and no one comes running. It won’t be any different for you.” 

Anthea paled, gaping for a lack of words. Thomas lifted his foot, deliberately crushing the heel of his shoe against what remained of the figurine. It crunched into fine white powder beneath his foot, leaving nothing but a hand with two of its finger missing. Thomas curled his fist, feeling the warm band of Gray’s ring and the fractured bones of his fingers colliding. 

Anthea seemed to scared to move, to speak… to do anything in her defense.   
Good. Now she knew what he’d felt like for weeks. 

“You stupid, stupid girl.” Thomas hissed, shaking his head in severe disdain, “I was so close to getting away from your brother but you had to get one up on me, didn’t you. When I’d never done a damn thing against you.” 

“You don’t understand-“ Anthea tried to defend herself. Thomas wouldn’t let her. 

“I don’t want to understand.” Thomas snapped. “I want to set this fucking house on fire and watch you three burn to death!” 

Anthea was speechless again, cowering against the wall. Thomas hadn’t felt this powerful since William had been in the house, an idiot he could easily push around. 

“…You had the opportunity to let me walk away free.” Thomas said, “But you decided you’d rather play with me. We make the monsters we deserve, Anthea. I’m your monster.” 

She shook her head, opening her mouth. No words came out. 

“See… since you’re ignorant, I’ll walk you through the process.” As he spoke Thomas walked around the perimeter of Anthea’s bed. He felt no sympathy for her. None at all. She was cowering against the wall, trying to get away from him despite her lack of obedience in her legs. 

“You fight with your brother, he gets high on cocaine.” Thomas rounded the corner of the bed, “He gets high, he beats me. He beats me… he kills the baby that he thinks is his right. He kills that right?” Thomas paused directly before Anthea, tilting his head slightly to the side, “What happens next?” 

“He….” Anthea tried to dissuade Thomas, “He would never take it that far-“ 

Thomas snapped. 

He grabbed Anthea by the collar of her periwinkle housecoat, and slammed her hard into the wall so that her head bounced against the wood. She let out a little cry of shock and pain; Thomas was deaf to her protests, his knuckles white against her collarbone. 

She quaked beneath his touch, afraid to bait him to anger when he could so easily kill her. 

“…I have lost… everything… to your shitty little family.” Thomas whispered. His eyes bore into her own, trying to find something inside of her brown pools that he could take. Anything to make them even. “My home, my freedom, my family… my life.” He swallowed, his throat thick with emotion, “So I swear to you now, on the head of the child in my belly… the child that will probably die before the age of two… Everything Gray does to me?” He seethed, “Everything he does to me, I’m going to come back and do to you.” 

And just to prove his point, he surged his hands to her throat, grabbing her in a choke hold just as Gray had done to him earlier that evening. Unluckily for Anthea there was no poker to help her out. She coughed, struggling desperately against his hold. Her hands pawed weakly at his wrists, trying to break free. 

“Like tonight. He slammed me up against a wall and choked me.” Thomas explained.  
He flexed his fingers, cutting off Anthea’s windpipe. 

Then, before any damage could be done, he let her go and she fell with a crash to the ground. She cowered at his feet, hands at her throat which would surely be bruised come morning. 

She was terrified of him. It was obvious.   
It felt good to be in charge again… good to be the one giving the pain instead of the one taking it. 

“…This is your only warning, Anthea.” Thomas whispered, a finger in the impudent girl’s face. “Everything he does to me, I will come back and do to you. Don’t make your grave any deeper than it already is.” 

He stepped away, heading for the door.   
He paused when he heard Anthea call out to him with a choked little whimper from the floor. 

“W-why?” She blubbered, “Why are you doing this to me?” 

Thomas felt the words come easily to mind. He’d said them before many times at Downton, “Because I feel like it.”   
They burned like acid upon his tongue. 

 

 

 

Thomas returned to his room after that, finding it slightly easier to sit and think. 

He knew it was violent and wrong to attack Anthea. She’d deserved it, after haranguing him over dinner and sending Gray the telegram that had resulted in his rape and imprisonment. She’d deserved much worse… but still it was wrong of him to attack her. He knew it implicitly, and it burned him to know that he’d lost his self control for the first time in years. The last time he’d popped like that, he’d sent a damning letter to the police… that letter had resulted eventually in Anna being arrested. 

He’d never forgiven himself for that. 

At his bureau, Thomas fingered the fine stationary waiting to be filled. 

He thought of Baxter, with her bruised lip and her wilted confidence.   
He thought of Dr. Clarkson, still so concerned for Thomas when technically Thomas could no longer be his patient.   
He thought of Lord Grantham, determined to keep him safe… to fight for him. 

Thomas suddenly found himself slammed with a terrible sensation of loneliness. 

Look what he’d turned into… a monster. He’d been around a monster for so long he’d forgotten his self control; that didn’t bode well for his future mental state. 

His throat clenched painfully tight at the thought of Downton… of its arches and doorways… of its warm servant’s quarters and cramped attics. 

Thomas thought of his bedroom. Of his red curtains and his stolen armchair. He thought of Mr. Carson decanting wine and Mrs. Hughes sorting linens for the maids.   
He thought of Daisy in the kitchen. Of Bates in the boot room. 

Of Lord Grantham in the library, reading the paper with Tiaa on his lap. 

Thomas rubbed his face with a long drawn out sigh, pulling forth a sheet of stationary to ready his pen. 

He wrote quickly. He had much to say. 

 

_“October 28th, 1926_   
_Belton House_

_To His Lordship, Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham:_

_I have received your correspondence after a week of despondence and apologize for the delay in reply. I am no longer in heat. I appreciate your kindness but fear that even your brave deeds will not be enough to reach me. You have decided to fight for me, but I cannot foresee the outcome of this battle being pleasant. Gray is violent, and will no doubt have his revenge on me if he feels displeasure from anyone else. In particular, his fights with his sister have become so violent that I have in the past sought refuge in the attic with the servants. Now, I am unable to find time away from him. All I can do is pray that I am strong enough to take what he dishes out._

_You say that your intentions are honorable, and I do believe you. In all my time that I have known you, you have always been an honorable man. But I do not think that you and I are well suited, and I worry that you seek me as an omega simply because you long to do what is right in the eyes of justice. I do not wish any man to suffer for my sake, particularly you. The only way you would be better suited to me, in my eyes, is that you would surely be gentlemanly in your actions and not abuse me so. I am hesitant. I gladly proclaim it for honesty’s sake._

_I do not want the child. If it were possible, I would gladly have it given to a family in need. I don't see why this should be a terrible event all the way around. Perhaps someone, somewhere, will find some good in it. Maybe in that outcome, this horrible nightmare will not be in vain. If your campaign were successful, where would we go? How would we hide from Gray? Even when I did return to England... I think he will haunt me forever._

_Sincerely,_   
_Thomas Barrow”_

 

There was a strange creaking sound, a long drawn out squeak.   
Thomas looked over his shoulder to find Gray in the doorway of his room. 

Instead of being a violent and fitful creature, with cocaine up his nose and bile on his lips, Gray looked like a frightened child. He was in a nightgown, his black hair spilling over his shoulders, and there were obvious tear tracks upon his face. 

Thomas carefully took his correspondence and flipped it upside down so that Gray wouldn’t be able to see what it said. He turned around fully in his seat, watching Gray carefully for any sudden moves. 

“I don’t…” Gray whimpered, his voice pathetically small, “I don’t know where I am.” 

“You’ve taken a great deal of cocaine.” Thomas said. It was no wonder that Gray was off his chump. 

“I’m scared.” Gray admitted.   
Thomas felt the oddest stab of pity for the man… damn his soft heart. 

He rose, bitter, and fetched a pitcher of water from his dresser. He poured a cup for Gray, and offered it. 

“Have some water.” Was all Thomas could think to say. Gray accepted his cup of water with shaking hands and drank sloppily. He began to blubber, whimpering as he sat down on one of Thomas’ yellow armchairs. He nearly dropped half-drained cup of water. shaking like a leaf in a cold winter wind. 

Thomas watched him, unsure of what to do. 

And then… something remarkable happened:   
“I know you hate me,” Gray cried plaintively. “And I know I deserve it. I’m evil and foul and I’ve done horrible things to you. But… but I… I swear it’s not who I am-!” Gray looked up at him, his dark eyes shining with tears that slowly dripped down his pale cheeks. Thomas had never seen him look so genuine, so open and aware of himself. There was no mask in this act. No ulterior motive. In the withdrawal of cocaine, Gray had forgotten that Thomas was the enemy. The inferior. 

“I swear it!" He sobbed, “The birds- the birds are who I am. I swear it Thomas. I love you, I do. I love you and I love my birds.” 

And it was the fact that he brought up the aviary that Thomas chose to believe him… for Gray adored his birds without any care for consequence.   
Everyone knew that. Even Thomas. 

Thomas opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say.   
But his heart spoke without consulting his mind: “Why did you hit me?” He asked, softly, “Why did you treat me like dirt if you love me?” 

“Because…” Gray sniveled, “I was scared you were going to leave me for Robert Crawley…an’ I know… I know you probably should.” He whimpered. 

Thomas closed his eyes.   
They were burning, and it made him hateful. 

He swallowed around the knot in his throat “You raped me.” Thomas whispered. “You nearly killed me last week.” 

“…. I know…” Gray began to cry again, burying his head in his hands, “God I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry- I’m so _sorry.”_

He sobbed with abandon. 

 

“I…I’m so sorry.” Gray’s voice was thick now. He looked up at Thomas again, an absolute wreck. “I won’t… I swear I won’t do it again. Please…” He whimpered, his eyes round as coins. “Please give me a second chance. Please.” 

When Thomas did not immediately make to forgive him, Gray broke down and reached out to grab at Thomas’ stomach. He crushed his face to Thomas’ belly, howling against his housecoat. 

Thomas reached out and held Gray against him.   
He didn’t know what else to do. 

“…You’re going to make yourself sick.” Thomas finally said, “You should go to bed.” 

“I can’t sleep.” Gray admitted, “I’m so scared to close my eyes. My father- my father’s coming to get me.” 

But Gray’s father was dead. 

“Your father is dead.” Thomas reminded him softly. 

Gray said nothing else, still shaking with his face hidden in Thomas’ stomach. 

Thomas didn’t know what had come over him to make him say such things, to make him show sympathy to Gray when earlier that night the man had nearly killed him with a poker. Thomas supposed it boiled down to the fact that Gray had finally acknowledged he’d been raped. That Gray had apologized and clearly meant it. There was nothing so damning, so freeing to the victim as the empathetic response of their attacker. That moment when the man with the knife finally acknowledged he’d caused a stabbing victim pain, and became human again. That moment when the monster vanished. And everything that had seemed so horrible vanished with it. What did it leave, but the simple equation of ‘I’m sorry, forgive me’… and the decision to do so or not. 

Thomas looked down at Gray. 

The father of his unborn child. His supposed mate. His alpha. 

“… Let me get washed up.” Thomas said, softly, “You can… sleep in my bed tonight.” 

Gray let out the tiniest breath, his hands clenching into Thomas’ housecoat, “Thank you.” He whispered. Thomas could barely hear him. 

“…I can’t forgive you for what you did.” Thomas admittedly, emotion making his voice warble. “but if you promise to never do it again… if you promise to never hit me again… I’ll…” He’ll what? “I’ll…try.” 

It was all he could do. It wasn’t much but it was genuine. 

Gray nodded. 

Thomas pulled away, and Gray let him go. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, the cold water shocking him slightly. 

He stared at his reflection, wondering at the man he saw in the mirror. He didn’t recognize him anymore. He was living in the shell of a stranger. 

When Thomas left the bathroom, he found Gray already in his bed. He was curled up on his side, seemingly asleep, with his black hair fanning out over the pillow. 

Thomas silently shut off the light from his bathroom. He pulled the bell rope next to his bed, and walked about to fetch his finished letter from his bureau. He quietly sealed it in an envelope, and scrawled the address across its front. When he finished he went out into the eastern hallway and stood there in the dark until Wallace walked around the corner. 

He handed Wallace the letter. Wallace accepted it at once. 

“I’ll have it taken care of.” Wallace assured him, sliding Thomas’ letter into his inside pocket. 

Thomas once again found his mouth acting beyond the reason of his mind, “Mr. Wallace, can I ask you a personal question?” 

Mr. Wallace was never the one to be cruel or distant, “If you care to, Master Thomas.” 

“If…” He couldn’t surmise the right words, “If Lord Gray apologized to me. Cried and told me he was sorry… honestly was contrite… told me he wouldn’t hurt me again and that he loved me… that he was so scared he needed to sleep in my bed just for the sake of being close to me, would you believe him? Would you think me a fool if I believed him?” 

Mr. Wallace pondered the question for a moment in silence.   
When he answered, it eased the ache in Thomas’ chest a bit. 

“Lord Gray has lived a very difficult life despite his privilege.” Mr. Wallace admitted. If he showed true humility and promised to change… I might just believe him.” 

Thomas nodded, unsure if this solved any problems. “Goodnight, Wallace.” 

When he was on his own, Thomas moved back to the boudoir. 

Gray… Lawrence… was still asleep in his bed.   
Thomas shut the door, sealing them both in quiet and dark. 

He disrobed, letting his house-robe fall over the back of his chair. He walked around the bed, and carefully got into the other side. The covers were slightly cool at first, but quickly warmed up as Thomas relaxed against his pillow. 

For a moment, he was still and thought himself awake and alone. Then, he felt fingers reaching out and tucking into his nightgown, pulling him closer. 

Thomas rolled his head to the left and found Lawrence watching him with one eye open. There were still tears in his eyes. 

Thomas had been treated so wrong for so long that he felt untouchable at times. But here Lawrence was, holding him like a lifeline over a black and churning ocean. Thomas didn’t know if this was what it meant to be an omega… to be treated like shit then praised for not running away… but he suddenly realized that in Lawrence’s peculiar way he was just as damaged and alone as Thomas was. 

That he was terrified of being alone, and Thomas knew the feeling. 

Thomas allowed Lawrence to fall into his side, to press his head over Thomas’ chest and fall asleep there. With his arms around Lawrence, Thomas stared up at draping canopy over his bed and wondered at his future. If he would stay here with Lawrence or if Lord Grantham would be able to save him. Lawrence had admitted himself only a moment ago that he knew Thomas probably ought to leave. 

Maybe he’d let him. Maybe he wouldn’t. Thomas just didn’t know anymore.   
He closed his eyes, and didn’t fall asleep. 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Two days later, in a warm and cozy kitchen far detached from the dark and quiet world of Thomas Barrow’s nightmares, Daisy Mason stirred a pot of garlic sauce while Mrs. Patmore beat a stiff turkey breast repeatedly to soften it. 

Andy watched from across the kitchen island, nursing a cup of tea and biscuits. Baxter was at his side, somber and quiet as she fingered a newly penned letter from Thomas telling of more grief and sorrow. 

“Every time I think about that poor thing, away from my food, I just can’t stand it.” Mrs. Patmore snapped, taking out her anger on the turkey beneath her mallet. “God only knows what that cook has him eating. Turtle soup- honestly! Who gives a pregnant omega turtle soup?” 

“Maybe she was trying to give him extra nutrients?” Daisy offered up, though in truth she too thought it a silly idea. She ought to have given Thomas a chicken soup. Everyone loved chicken soup. 

“Extra nutrients! As if!” Mrs. Patmore barked, “The people they let into kitchens now a days, it’s a miracle the country still stands. What that boy needs is hearty English food. None of this French foolishness.” 

“I thought you liked French cuisine.” Andy said. Mrs. Patmore waved him off with her meat hammer, wary. 

“Not for a pregnant omega.” She warned. “And certainly not a pregnant male omega.” 

“I just can’t believe it.” Baxter whispered, heart broken. “I just … I just keep hoping this is a bad dream and I’ll wake up.” 

“Well, Lord Grantham’s going to fight for him.” Andy said. “So that’s something to hope for, isn’t it.” But just then Carson called for Andy out in the hall so Andy had to leave Baxter to her macabre thoughts. 

Alone with Daisy and Mrs. Patmore, Baxter wasn’t so sure. 

“I don’t know what to think.” Baxter whispered. “Should I be happy or sad? You’re an alpha-“ she added to Mrs. Patmore, “You tell me.” 

Mrs. Patmore sighed, sitting down her meat hammer. She did not look impressed. 

“Ms. Baxter-“ Mrs. Patmore was hardly as cross as usual, “Just because I’m an alpha and your omega doesn’t mean I can tell you what to do, or how to feel. That’s for you to decide. You and no other.” 

“Is it?” Baxter whispered, listless. “That’s not how I’ve found the world to be. How Thomas has found the world to be-“ 

“Ms. Baxter, for every alpha that hurts, there’s an alpha that heals.” Mrs. Patmore spoke with pride. “Lord Grantham is going to save Thomas, just you wait and see. Soon enough, he’ll be back here, and Lord Grantham will mark him, and all this nonsense will come to pass.” 

“What about the baby, though?” Daisy asked. “How will he have the baby if Lord Grantham takes him away from his alpha?” 

“That’s for his lordship to worry over, and not you.” Mrs. Patmore said. Daisy accepted her word as good as gold, glad to not have that particular shadow hanging over her. Baxter closed her eyes, as if wishing to go to sleep while sitting in her chair. 

Andy returned, bearing a large package. It was with great intrigue that instead of taking the package upstairs he laid it on the kitchen island amid the many bowls holding lemon juice, mayonnaise, and chopped chives. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore both stared at the white waxy box, unsure what to make of it. 

“What’s that?” Mrs. Patmore asked. 

“I was about to ask Daisy the same thing.” Andy said, “It’s address to her.” 

Daisy blinked, confusedly, and wiped her hands upon her apron before setting her mixing bowl aside so that it couldn’t be knocked off the counter. She walked around the island, standing next to Andy as she peered down over the box which sure enough was addressed to her. Odd… when she hadn’t ordered anything. 

“But I didn’t order anything.” Daisy said. 

“It’s got your name on the package.” Andy shrugged. 

Daisy peered at the return address, seeing that it was meant for a shop called Blue Velvet in Lincolnshire. Daisy had never heard of such a shop, and certainly hadn’t been to Lincolnshire. 

“Blue Velvet.” Daisy wondered, “I’ve never heard of it.” 

Baxter got up from her chair with a sigh, coming around the group to join Daisy at her other shoulder. 

“I know of it.” Baxter said. “It’s a fancy shop for upper class omegas.” 

“Perhaps its a mistake, and it’s meant for her ladyship?” Mrs. Patmore offered. 

“She hasn’t ordered anything either.” Baxter said, “And I never ordered anything for Daisy either.” 

“Well…” Mrs. Patmore gestured eagerly, “Don’t keep us all in suspense Daisy! Open the thing!” 

Daisy did so at once, feeling like a child at Christmas as Baxter and Andy helped her tear off all the outer wrapping paper. Inside, the box was revealed to be a lovely blue (perhaps a trademark to its shop’s name). Daisy lifted the lid to see yet another sea of blue tissue paper. Atop it all was a creamy white card penned with elegant blue ink. Daisy plucked it up. 

_“You asked me to write to you about fashion, This is better.”_ Daisy read the card aloud, _“TB”_

She looked about at her companions, wide eyed. “It’s from Thomas! It must be-! But… what could it mean?” 

Mrs. Patmore was smiling, amazed. “I think it means you’re about to have a very pleasant afternoon.” 

Daisy’s heart was pounding in her breast as she yanked away sheets of blue tissue paper. 

When the last fold fell away, everyone gasped. 

“Blimey!” Andy cried aloud. 

“Is that a dress?!” Mrs. Patmore demanded, shocked. She dropped her meat tenderizer, momentarily forgetting her turkey. 

Baxter reached out and lifted it up, the professional at handling fine dresses. The whole lot of them gaped at the beaded gown, so fine in magenta and pale gold that it could easily have been for Lady Mary’s wardrobe. 

“Wow!” Andy was gay, laughing hysterically at Daisy’s amazing turn of luck, “Thomas must have remembered you asking for a dress-“ 

“Where on earth would she where that to, though?!” Mrs. Patmore couldn’t wrap her head around it, “It’s fit for Lady Mary!” 

Baxter was smiling; it was the first time she had done so in days. 

“Thomas…” She whispered his name, lonely for him. 

But in all the hubbub everyone had forgotten about Daisy, who was staring up at her new frock with wide eyes. They’d been so eager to talk over each other that they hadn’t looked to her as her face grew paler. 

Of course, when she keeled over backwards and fainted, everyone looked about. 

“DAISY!” Andy and Mrs. Patmore shouted in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any comments or concerns, please do not hesitate to comment. 
> 
> Here is the link to the dresses if you'd like to see it: http://dementian.tumblr.com/post/154357114813/the-two-dresses-that-are-mentioned-in-the-latest


	15. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belton House reveals its darkest secret... and adds a new one to the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warnings abound: This chapter is going to be heavily upsetting. If you would rather not be spoiled in regards to triggers, that's fine. The usual abuse and such will be occurring. However, two other triggers will appear. If you feel that you need to check, click to see the comments at the bottom. If you don't feel that you need to check, read on.**
> 
> I would also like to state that I absolutely love birds, and have owned a bird extensively. You will see that reflected in this chapter. All facts and viewings come from living with a bird and having to deal with them....   
> It was a cockatiel, not a peregrine falcon... but still.

The morning after Lawrence’s bizarre meltdown, Thomas decided to visit the aviary. 

It was a cool, windy sort of morning. The threat of early snow was not far behind. The sky had that blazing white quality so often associated with the sun desperately trying to break through, but the weather remained stubbornly overcast as Thomas ascended the steep grassy slope at the edge of Belton Estate where a white washed dome made the only insult to the skyline. The aviary was tall, lined with iron fences to keep in its charges and stave off predators. The smell of dander and feathers was heavy in the air as Thomas entered the enclosure. Dung was often kept to fertilize the estate lawns, though the floors of the aviary were scrubbed meticulously everyday by the groundskeepers. Lawrence had a whole team of men dedicated to the care of his birds, headed up by a Mr. Locksley who seemed to be in charge of all veterinary care as well as the aviary staff. For whatever reason, the man looked shockingly like William Mason’s father, though he had more color in his beard and hair and spoke with a Scottish accent.

A couple of the birds were mostly for show and tell; a pair of white faced barn owls peered mulishly back at Thomas from the far corner of their cages. A baby kestrel still learning to take flight was making obnoxiously sharp cheeps as it keened for food from its trainer. Thomas’ destination was the far back corner of the aviary, where a very particular pen was kept in immaculate condition at all times. Champion, Lawrence’s prized peregrine falcon was what you might call a ‘golden boy’. Despite being an animal and therefore lacking higher thought power, Champion seemed to implicitly know that everyone was there for him. That he was the king of the roost. He was proud upon his washed perch, clicking his hooked beak and grinding his chomps with succinct pleasure. 

Thomas immediately wanted to try Champion out, despite having never attempting falconry before in his life. Mr. Locksley was amused. 

Wearing a thick red leather glove all the way up to the elbow of his right arm, Thomas glowed with pride as Champion sat patiently on his wrist and preened at his feathers. His cream breast was speckled with thin bands of dark brown, which he constantly pulled at to keep his feathers clean of parasites and smoothed down. Thomas noticed there was a notch near the tip of Champion’s upper beak which looked capable of slitting skin if pressed. This was hardly a bird for children. 

“Easy now,” Mr. Locksley warned as Thomas admired Champion upon his wrist. Thomas turned the bird this way and that, eager to look at his beautiful plumage up close. Who’d have thought he’d ever hold a falcon on his wrist! 

“Gorgeous.” Thomas praised, “Absolutely gorgeous.” 

Champion clicked his beak in agreement. In a moment of calm his cheek feathers seemed to swell and expand, making his face look much more soft and fluffy than it surely was. 

Mr. Locksely offered Thomas a small kibble treat, which Thomas happily gave over to Champion who snapped it up at once. Feeling brave, Thomas reached out and gently stroked his plumage. He was incredibly soft, and Thomas flushed with pride as Champion ground his beak again in clear contentment.

“He’s so soft.” Thomas wondered, “I never imagined a bird would feel like this.” 

“Champion is a bird of class, Master Thomas.” Mr. Locksley agreed. “Your alpha has raised him from a chick.” 

“I want to take him out.” Thomas said. “I want to falcon with him. Can I?” 

“Well-“ Mr. Locksley waffled about, the same way any servant would when the desperately wanted to tell their master ‘no’ but couldn’t summon the courage, “Champion is a rather tricky bird. Perhaps you might like to start out with a more simple specimen. What about a nice kestrel perhaps?” 

But it was more than just a need for a thrill. Lawrence had let slip a rather odd phrase last night, that who he truly was was a man of the birds. In particular, this bird, which had always been the apple of his eye as far as Thomas could tell. Lawrence had probably never meant to confide in Thomas so much. After all that Thomas had lost to Lawrence’s devious attacks and malicious plotting, Thomas wanted to gain something back. He wanted to see for himself if Lawrence was really as human as he claimed. The best way to do that, he reasoned, was to fly Lawrence’s bird…. The bird that was at the center of his twisted heart. 

“No.” Thomas said. Locksley was crestfallen, “I want to try out this bird. Could you please set us up on a mock hunt?” 

“Certainly, Master Thomas.” Locksley didn’t look happy about it though. “Come with me.” 

 

The pair of them walked together back out onto the grassy hills, heading north to where the land slowly began to dip and give way to Italian gardens. The woods outlying the estates constantly had to be kept in check as briars and weedy trees tried to creep onto manicured lawns. Champion was eager at the chomp, his tail swiveling left and right as he looked about to take in his surroundings. Thrush and chest high hay grass swayed to and fro, hiding all sorts of varmint for Champion to feast on. The bird seemed to know it too. He had a keen look in his eye, swiveling his head about on his neck in a bizarre fashion that made Thomas slightly dizzy. 

“Ah-“ Mr. Locksley patted feverishly at his breast and trouser pockets. He seemed to have forgotten something, “I’ve forgotten his bell tether. I’ll run back and get it now.” Mr. Locksley reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden whistle, which he handed over to Thomas. “Should he fly away, whistle twice. He’ll come straight back.” 

A bit of fear leapt in Thomas’ chest. “Wait!” Thomas cried out at the man’s retreating back. Mr. Locksley looked around, “He won’t actually fly away will he?” 

“Well he is a bird, Master Thomas.” Mr. Locksley said in good humor. Thomas felt taken for a mug, and cursed himself internally as Champion continued to swivel excitedly on his wrist. Soon it was just the pair of them, alone in the weeds and the woods.

“No flying.” Thomas commanded Champion. “No flying, you naughty thing.” 

As if to spite Thomas, Champion let out a high pitched cheap which could surely be heard from the coastline. Thomas winced at the loud volume. 

“No!” Thomas said, a little more forcefully. Champion looked taken aback, “You stay right here, you hear me?” He reached out and stroked Champion’s breast again. The bird clicked his beak, appeased. “Stay here… right here… stay right here with me.” 

There was a sudden rustle in the bushes. Thomas saw Champion swivel his head, and quite suddenly his vision was consumed by wings as Champion leapt into flight and dive-bombed through the crisp winter air. Within the span of a second, he was gone, and Thomas went into full panic mode at the thought of the clubbing he’d received if he lost Lawrence’s most prized possession. 

“Champion!” Thomas screamed, cupping his hands to his mouth until he remembered that the bird would respond to the whistle Locksley had given him. Thomas blasted it twice, fingers trembling on the bleached wood as, for a moment, nothing but the soft swaying of grass replied to him. 

Then there was a short sharp shriek, and Champion was back. He appeared almost like magic, popping out of the long grass with a dead vole clutched in his powerful beak. He landed on Thomas’ wrist, his vicious claws pinching despite the protective leather casing on his hand. Champion bent over, tail wobbling in the air as he transferred the vole from beak to claws if only to start ripping the poor thing to ribbon. He gobbled up his meal greedily, painting his yellow beak red with blood. 

Thomas grimaced. His stomach was already queasy with pregnancy. 

“Well done Champion.” Thomas’ voice was bleak at the sight of Champion snapping off the vole’s head to eat it in one shot. “And you’re going to eat it right in front of me. Thank you.” 

Thomas wondered if birds could understand sarcasm. 

But before Champion could finish his meal, a strange whistle filled the air. It was high pitched, human, something Thomas might akin to a trained dog call. Champion’s head shot up, his pupils dilating as he swiveled his head left and right. 

The whistle sounded again.

Champion took off at once, flapping high into the air and diving out of sight. His unfinished vole fell to the ground, no longer clutched in his claws. 

Thomas blasted his whistle twice, once again. This time, however, Champion did not return his call. Starting to get nervous, Thomas tried to blast the whistle louder. He achieved nothing but a slight ringing sensation in his ears. 

“Oh god-“ Thomas began to panic, thinking Champion well and truly gone. He ran from the meadow, trailing after the general direction Champion had gone flying in as he continued to blast his whistle and call out Champion’s name. 

“Champion!” Thomas bellowed, panting. He felt like he was going to be sick, but didn’t want to slow up lest it cost him Lawrence’s prized bird. He couldn’t imagine the hell that would be brought down on his head if this went belly up. “Champion!!” 

Oh why hadn’t he gone with a stupid kestrel? 

But as Thomas came to the top of the hill, gasping for air with bile hitting the back of his throat, he stopped short at the sight of Champion perched on the arm of a familiar man. 

It seemed Lawrence had come outside, perhaps wanting some fresh air. It wasn’t surprising that he’d headed to the aviary, seeing as Champion was his sole hobby. Thomas let out a low breath of relief, grateful that the bird hadn’t been lost. Lawrence had no trouble holding Champion on his wrist despite the lack of protective leather. Thomas wondered how he could stand it- the pressure of Champion’s claws had been immense to him, and he’d not felt it on his bare skin. 

Lawrence looked up, gray faced but slightly amused to see Thomas wearing a falconry glove. 

“I thought I lost it-“ Thomas grimaced as another wave of bile hit his throat. He swallowed, wishing he had a cup of tea or a glass of water he could drink. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

He belched, and felt better. Perhaps it was just a false alarm. 

“You shouldn’t be running about.” Lawrence might have meant to chastise him, but his voice was unnaturally weak and small. It was like he’d shrunk a foot since the other night, losing his steel backbone to suddenly be petulant and clingy. Thomas wondered if their ugly relationship was about to enter another ridiculous phase with Lawrence hanging off his skirts. 

“I wouldn’t have been running if your bird had stayed on my hand.” Thomas belched again, swallowing the taste of acid in his mouth. 

“That was my fault.” Lawrence said, sheepish, “Champion heard me calling.” 

“So it was you whistling.” 

“Mm.” 

Thomas watched as Lawrence stroked Champion’s breast. Unlike with Thomas, Champion had an obvious camaraderie with his master. He trilled, biting tenderly at Lawrence’s outstretched finger. Lawrence could touch Champion’s face, scratching his fluffy cheek feathers till the bird had closed his eyes and was seemingly asleep. 

“I wanted to talk to you about last night.” Lawrence said. 

Thomas said nothing, waiting to hear what Lawrence would say. Lawrence on the other hand seemed incapable of speaking, as if suddenly embarrassed.

Champion was swiveling his head again, judging a suspicious clump of grass at the foot of the hill. The area was strewn with boulders, allowing wildflowers and weeds to grow up through the cracks. 

“Away to me.” Lawrence said calmly. Champion took off at once, and soared down the hill towards the high grass. He vanished after a second, swallowed up by the softly swaying grass. 

“What did he spot?” Thomas wondered. 

“We shall soon see.” Lawrence said. For a solid minute, the pair of them stood in silence waiting for the other to speak. After a moment when it became apparent Thomas was not going to talk, Lawrence said, “You must think me a fool for the other night.” 

But Champion was back, shooting up into the air with something obviously larger than a vole clutched in his beak. It was shrieking wildly, kicking out, and Thomas’ heart stabbed with sympathy when he realized it was a rabbit. Champion landed on Lawrence’s outstretched arm, shaking the rabbit wildly to try and snap its fragile neck. He transferred it to his claws, where it lay wriggling, and dove for its neck.

“No!” Thomas chastised, reaching out to try and take the rabbit from Champion. Instead of letting his prey go, Champion snapped his beak and inadvertently bit Thomas upon the ring finger. Thomas gasped in sudden searing pain, his hand shooting back to his breast where it cradled it. It suddenly hit him that Champion’s beak and claws could easily tear through human flesh as well as a varmint’s. 

Lawrence was quick to the jump, snagging Champion’s beak between two of his curled fingers so that Champion could not bite or snap. He was clearly punishing the bird, shaking him delicately by the beak so that Champion pulled away after a moment and sneezed twice.

“You know better.” Lawrence chastised. Champion looked slightly cowed, but only for a minute before he resumed tearing into the rabbit. It was now dead, its neck snapped, and Thomas felt acid rise up in his stomach once again. He looked away, disgusted. 

“I know it must seem obscene.” Lawrence said, “But Champion has to eat too. He can’t live on grass.” 

Thomas did not reply. Lawrence looked cowed again, and focused instead on Champion who continued to eat with gusto. They were approached by Mr. Locksley, who had a bell tether in his hand and waved to them both in greeting. 

“M’lord-!” Locksley showed the tether, but Lawrence waved him off. 

“No need.” Lawrence said, “He’s already had his fill. He won’t want to hunt anymore.” 

Mr. Locksley looked like he wanted to converse with Lawrence, perhaps about Champion’s habits or diet, but Lawrence refused to meet the man’s eye and Mr. Locksley had to concede defeat. He tipped his hat and walked back the same way he’d come, perhaps deciding that if anyone knew how to keep a handle on Champion, it was Lawrence. 

Lawrence turned to Thomas, noting his slightly green complexion. When Thomas finally regained his senses, he found Lawrence watching him cautiously.   
“Do you want to hold him?” Lawrence offered. He extended his arm, with Champion upon it. 

Thomas took him wordlessly, now more wary of Champion’s razor sharp beak. Thomas saw slight beads of blood on Lawrence’s wrist where Champion had been resting; it must have hurt horribly to hold him. 

“Good boy,” Lawrence didn’t let the pain show, stroking Champion’s head till Champion was nuzzling into his palm, “Very good boy.” He paused, glancing at Thomas again, “I suppose you want to talk about the other night?” 

“It won’t change anything, M’lord.” Thomas did not want to talk about anything with Lawrence. Their relationship was so horribly complicated by this point that it gave Thomas a headache just to be in the same room with him. 

“I just…” Lawrence was at a loss for what to say, “I feel like I’ve ruined things between us. Have I?” He asked. 

Thomas did not answer, instead glaring coldly out across the lawn. Indeed, Lawrence Gray had solidly ruined things for them. 

“Does it matter?” Thomas snapped, starting to lose his patience, “What use would it do to talk about things being ruined. It’s not like I can leave.”   
Lawrence winced, “Do you want to leave?” 

Thomas said nothing but his silence still spoke in leaps and bounds. Lawrence bowed his head, looking away across the lawn 

“I guess I can’t really blame you. Not with the way Anthea’s been treating you.” Lawrence spoke so softly that Thomas could barely hear him above the wind whipping atop the hill. Champion was back to swiveling his head again, perhaps spotting another vole. He didn’t dive away; maybe he really was content now. 

Thomas found it mildly amusing that Lawrence thought he wanted to leave because of Anthea. 

Mildly.

“That’s my fault too, you know.” Lawrence added, looking wistful as if longing for the past, “She hates me.” 

“I thought it was me she hated.” Thomas grumbled. 

“She’s jealous of you. She hates me.” Lawrence corrected. “And it’s all my fault.” 

Champion seemed to realize that his master was forlorn. He hopped from Thomas’ arm back over to Lawrence’s, clearly much more content to perch on his master’s arm, and chirped. He leaned in, and began to toy with Lawrence’s long green ribbon that held his hair back, pulling at it till the entire ribbon fell away. Champion held it in his mouth like a dog might hold a stick; Lawrence’s ink black hair spilled in waves over his shoulders and back. He didn’t seem to mind though, smiling gently at Champion who was now grinding on the ribbon. 

Champion transferred the ribbon to his claws and began to eat at Lawrence’s hair. 

“Why does Anthea hate you.” Thomas asked, simply because the silence between them was growing painfully long. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that we were close in our youths?” Lawrence asked, glancing at Thomas, “That we were like each other’s shadows? I was the moon and she was the sun. Belton was our universe. But as we got older, society demanded different roles for the pair of us. I couldn’t spend time with her. I couldn’t be who she needed me to be. I guess she never forgave me for that.” 

Thomas thought of Lady Mary and Lady Edith, who could claim the same. It was odd, because Lady Mary had never specifically filled a role for Lady Edith, but the animosity had just grown into a monster between them over the years. When Matthew had been alive, he’d been quick to urge Lady Edith to remember Lady Mary’s good side. Lady Edith had sworn it didn’t exist. Thomas wondered if her opinion had changed after the summer. She was set to marry Lord Pelham soon, after all. 

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” 

“Heavily.” 

Thomas looked out across the wind swept hills, marveling at how the grass seemed to ripple like a beautiful green wave. The grass was beginning to turn brown now, a mirage of dulled colors. “Why don’t you just talk to her?” 

“It’s like you said.” Lawrence was the one to be bitter now, “What good would it do? It wouldn’t change anything.” 

But that wasn’t the way to go about things. It was one thing to remark that the Thomas and Lawrence were bound in an awful situation. Anthea and Lawrence were siblings. It wasn’t like they were in love with one another, or mated. Conversation might make great strides, if it weren’t for the fact that talking to Lawrence was often like talking to a brick wall. 

“You have a way of steamrolling people, M’lord.” Thomas said, “Acknowledge her feelings. You might be surprised at the ground cover if you stopped trying to be in charge.” 

For a moment Lawrence said nothing, watching Thomas carefully. His eyes were full of an emotion that Thomas couldn’t name. He doubted that Lawrence had ever held true affection for him before, and he refused to believe that the man did now. 

“Thomas, I know you can never forgive me for the way I’ve behaved.” Lawrence paused, “But I beg of you to give me another chance.” 

No. He would not be giving Lawrence anything. 

“Do you think you could do that for me? For our baby?” 

But that was a low blow as far as Thomas was concerned. Thomas didn’t want this baby. He didn’t want to have a relationship with Lawrence. Asking Thomas to give Lawrence more leg room because of the baby was like asking a burn victim to light a match for the sake of keeping someone else warm. 

Thomas took off his leather glove, and handed it over to Lawrence, who took it wordlessly. 

He walked off down the hill, glad to be on his own again. 

Lawrence did not make to call out to him, or follow after. 

 

 

Lawrence was loath to return to work when Thomas was now pregnant, but business could not function without his presence. It seemed that Lord Brammish, while being the muscle for their business, could not dance around laws and orders like Lawrence could. This did not surprise Thomas, given that he’d been taken in by Lawrence’s fiendish tongue before. God only knows how ruthless he could be from a business perspective 

When Lawrence returned to work, Thomas found himself with far too much time on his hands. Now that he was pregnant, he was constantly feeling ill or in need of fresh air. It resulted in him taking long walks around the Belton estates, wandering aimlessly as snow began to fall on and off. It was almost November now. Soon snow would be constant and Thomas wouldn’t be able to wander far without freezing. 

He tried desperately not to think about the fact that he was pregnant. Whenever he dwelled on it for too long it resulted into him spinning out with panic. He didn’t want to imagine the way he’d look by the end of it, as big as a house with a little alien draining him of strength and nutrients. As for the end result… well… Thomas prayed they’d given him morphine and a caesarian section. There was no way he could go through with the process naturally. 

One quiet October afternoon, Thomas sat by himself on the outskirts of Belton Estate, hiding beneath a weeping elm tree that was now a beautiful jeweled yellow with winter fast approaching. Every so often the wind would blow, causing leaves to shower down upon Thomas. Thomas spun a leaf by its stem, closing his eyes and relaxing to the sound of wind through the trees- 

“Master Thomas.” 

He opened his eyes, surprised to see Mr. Wallace approaching him. It was rare that Wallace would bother him when he was one his own. The entire staff had adopted a hands-off policy to allow him the solitude that he craved. 

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Mr. Wallace said, “But you have a visitor waiting for you in the salon.” 

“I do?” Thomas was surprised, but he hadn’t been expecting any guests. Certainly no one had called ahead to warn him they were stopping by. 

“A Lord Grantham of Downton Abbey wishes to speak with you,” Wallace said. 

Thomas’ heart skipped a beat. 

At the drop of a pin, Thomas’ heart soared at the idea that he might be leaving Belton House. Perhaps Lord Grantham had come to take him away! Mindless of the soreness in his stomach or how nausea was creeping up on him, Thomas pelted back to the main house with Wallace trailing behind him at a snail’s pace. Christopher let him through the front door, taking his coat, and Thomas had to pause to heave several breathes while his stomach rolled angrily. He yanked open the salon door, eager to see a whole host of people to come to take him away. 

Instead, all he saw was Lord Grantham, dressed in a tweed suit with that blue tie he was so fond of. Instead of looking pleased to see Thomas, he looked disturbed. 

“God in heaven,” Was the first words he spoke, “Did he do this to you?” 

Thomas suddenly realized that his condition must look deplorable to Lord Grantham. His skin was still mottled with bruises both brown and yellow, his fingers were still wrapped in splints though he carried Lawrence’s toi et moi ring now. 

He must look a sight. 

“You seem surprised, M’lord.” Thomas said, for what more could be said by this point. It wasn’t like Lawrence’s abusive nature was hidden from Lord Grantham after his atrocious behavior in the Downton library weeks past. 

“I’ve been told that Lord Gray is not at home.” Lord Grantham was clearly here to make a point of some kind. He had that determined expression, the kind that men wore when they were on a mission, “Is there a place that we might speak in private.” 

This was a loaded question in large houses that boasted many servants, but it just so happened that in Belton House there was one place one could go if they wished to be alone. 

“As it so turns out… yes.” Thomas said, “Though you will need your coat, M’lord.” 

 

He took Lord Grantham to the outskirts of Belton estates, where the aviary sat waiting upon the hill. The pair of them did not speak as they walked, Lord Grantham seemingly very concerned with the idea of being overheard. When they reached the aviary, they found it mercifully empty save for Mr. Locksley who abandoned ship when Thomas gave him a pointed look. Lord Grantham was taken aback at the multitude of birds that Lawrence kept, rather captivated by the barn owls who were sleeping with their heads beneath their wings. 

“Gray owns all these birds.” Thomas said, snaking around to the back corner where Champion’s pen sat. Champion was in the middle of a grooming session, pulling at each feather in his left wing till the edges were crisp and smooth. “This one is his favorite. Champion… a peregrine falcon, M’lord.” 

At the sound of his name, Champion perked up and chirped. Thomas rewarded him with a treat; a pellet comprised of congealed blood and rabbit meat that Champion gobbled up greedily. Lord Grantham was slightly disturbed. 

“He bit me the other day.” Thomas said, showing Lord Grantham the sore spot on his finger. 

Lord Grantham did not make to take his hand or touch him inappropriately as Lawrence might have done. Instead he observed the wound with concern and gave Thomas a tiny if weary smile. 

“I never cared for birds.” Lord Grantham said. 

“Dogs are your favorite, M’lord.” Thomas said. Lord Grantham’s smile became warmer. 

“You know me well.” Lord Grantham praised. How could Thomas not after serving him for so many years. 

Lord Grantham spoke with a gentle tone, careful not to be too loud or brash as if Thomas would startle away, “Thomas, I’ve come to speak to you on a most serious matter. I’ve brought my charges before the Brigade. They’re beginning their investigation into Gray’s character. I confess, this is the most tedious part of the process. It will take quite some time for them to gather the evidence they seek. They’ll need testimonies, physical proof of abuse, as well as consultations from both Dr. Clarkson and Gray’s physician Dr. Cowell. It won’t be easy to refute Gray’s claim. Rest assured, you will be safe. Gray will not know of the investigation until its outcome is reached.” 

Thomas had been underneath no illusions of rainbows and puppies. 

“How do you know it will work, M’lord?” Thomas asked. It seemed like the road ahead of them was a hundred miles long. Thomas realized, crestfallen, that he would not be leaving Belton House today. Indeed, it seemed he wouldn’t be leaving for quite a while. 

“I have faith in British justice.” Lord Grantham said, which was good because Thomas certainly did not. After all, British justice had solidly put three people behind bars: Bates, Anna, and (worst of all) Baxter.

Lord Grantham seemed to sense Thomas’ reluctance, “I also know for a fact that several members of staff will be giving their testimony in your defense, both at Downton and here at Belton.” 

“The staff will be speaking out for me, M’lord?” Thomas was pleased to hear it. The more voices on his side, the better. 

“Oh yes.” Lord Grantham paused, when Champion let out an irritable shriek at not being pampered. Thomas gave him another treat in the vain hope that he’d shut up. “Mr. Wallace, Mr. Roland, Ms. Holmand, your maid, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Ms. Baxter all have offered to give their testimony. Lady Mary has likewise put her name forward…” Thomas could not help but smile a bit, “But I confess, it may take several months, even up to half a year for all the testimonies to be gathered by the Brigade. Are you content to be patient?” 

Thomas turned away, watching Champion pick up one foot to nibble at the feathers near his ankles. He looked a bit like a house cat trying to groom itself.

Champion pulled back and sneezed in rapid succession. Clearly the powder trapped in his feathers caused his nose to be blocked when he groomed himself. 

“It’s not patience I lack, M’lord. It’s safety.” For who could say from one day to the next how Lawrence’s temper would expand or shrink? Some days he seemed fine. Some days he seemed close to popping at every word. 

“I understand.” Lord Grantham was sobered once more, “I’ve made your position quite clear to the Brigade. Hopefully they will act swiftly.” 

“And if they do, M’lord?” Thomas asked, for there seemed to be an atrociously large gray area between Thomas ‘captivity and freedom. “What will happen next?” 

“There would be a siege.” Lord Grantham said, which gave Thomas a pleasant internal image of Belton’s doors being blown off their hinges by Carson in a commandeered German tank. “The Brigade will arrive unannounced. Even I would not be told the exact date. They would claim you, and you would be taken to a neutral zone. Most likely Dover Castle. Then, I’d be informed through a telephone call and would come to collect you that same day. Gray would know nothing of your whereabouts or your new alpha.” 

“I think he could guess M’lord.” Thomas grumbled. Lawrence was already incredibly suspicious of Lord Grantham’s intentions. 

“Perhaps.” Lord Grantham wasn’t troubled, “But that’s neither here nor there. I care nothing for him… only for you and your unborn child. If the Brigade acts fast, I’d like to take you to France for the remainder of your pregnancy.” 

It was the first time that Lord Grantham had mentioned the proverbial elephant in the room. Thomas flushed, bowing his head as he tried to summon up the courage to imagine himself waddling all about France with Lord Grantham for company. It was the queerest picture he’d ever imagined, and he didn’t take well to it. 

“M’lord…” Thomas was unsure how best to ask this question. Should he even seek Lord Grantham’s advice? “Wouldn’t it be better if… I just… got rid of it-?” 

Lord Grantham gave him a sympathetic look which boded ill, “Thomas…” There was a light tone of chastisement to Lord Grantham’s voice, “Surely you wouldn’t condemn a child to death simply because of its father.” 

Thomas felt hot shame wash over him. 

He didn’t want to think of it as murder. To accept it as murder would be to say that the thing was alive, when Thomas frankly couldn’t tell either way. Who was to say when a child was alive and when it was not? Was it at conception? Was it at birth? How could it be alive if it didn’t even have a heartbeat or a brain? He didn’t know much about the subject, but he’d read somewhere that in the early stages of pregnancy a fetus was practically the size of a peanut. Thomas did not want his future controlled by a peanut. 

“It’s just that… I don’t want to go through with the process, M’lord.” Thomas did not know how else to explain the terrible anxiety that loomed over him at the thought of giving birth, “I’m terrified.” 

Lord Grantham understood, despite his earlier consternations, “I can imagine, but you’ll be quite safe in France. We’ll travel there together, with Lady Grantham, and stay in a chateau until it’s time. The baby will be adopted out to a loving family in need, and that will be that.” 

But Lawrence was besotted with the baby, despite it being less than the size of a peanut. How on earth did Lord Grantham think that Lawrence was going to simply let Thomas and their unborn child go? Thomas had a feeling Lawrence would fight to the death on the subject. 

“M’lord,” Thomas didn’t want to sound too dismayed, but truly felt Lord Grantham was being a tad bit unrealistic, “Lord Gray won’t let this child go. He adores it, even now.” 

“I don’t care.” Lord Grantham certainly looked calm, but there was a steely fire in his eyes, “I will fight to the death over the subject.” 

So it seemed there would be a jousting match over a peanut before it was all over. 

“And the other?” Thomas asked, for if there was a bizarre subject to be discussed, it was the Lord Grantham’s sudden enthusiasm to take Thomas as an omega. The thought put butterflies into Thomas’ stomach. Lord Grantham did not immediately make to comment, cautious in how he approached or spoke to Thomas. It was a refreshing change from Lawrence, who’d soon as run you over to get where he was going. 

“Lord Grantham, I don’t think that you and I would be well suited.” Thomas had a difficult time meeting the man’s eyes as he spoke. He was certain there was a flush of color in his cheeks. “Surely you could find another omega if you truly wanted another so badly-“ 

“One does not pick an omega up like a pebble on the beach.” Lord Grantham said. Thomas was glad to know his philosophy on the subject. “You’ve been a servant for many years at Downton, Thomas. Becoming a house omega would not be so different. You wouldn’t be a member of staff, naturally. You would be my second, and in charge of the house affairs alongside Lady Grantham. I’ve spoken to her about you situation extensively, and while she is tentative she is also understanding.” Lord Grantham paused, reaching into his vest pocket to withdraw a piece of post. It was addressed to Thomas from Lady Grantham; Thomas took it at once. 

“Perhaps this letter might soothe some of your fears.” Lord Grantham said. He caught Thomas’ gaze and held it, wearing a warm smile. Thomas flushed, and had to look away at once lest he embarrass himself. It was so queer, to be spoken to by Lord Grantham of all people! Lord Grantham shifted a bit, sensing Thomas’ embarrassment. 

“It’s unofficial until the Brigade seizes you, but just so you know that in my eyes… I am courting you.” 

The last time Thomas had been courted, it had been a disastrous and hurried affair. He’d seldom understood the steps, and looking back on it would not have gone through with the act had he known what the implications would be. He was determined to do better the second time. 

“Is this the part where you force me to drink your tea?” Thomas grumbled, looking away. Champion was an excellent viewing subject, now nibbling at a piece of cuttlebone for a bit of calcium, “Or are you just going to give me some hurried love token and be done with it.” 

Lord Grantham did not take offense, “I know you’ve been horribly jaded. Your courtship with Gray was bizarre in the extremes. I promise you Thomas… you will know each step as we come to it. For now, I think it best that we avoid the exchange of nourishment or affection. I could seldom give you a love token without knowing your heart’s desire.” 

“What I desire is to be free.” Thomas admitted. His tone grew bleak. “But we both know that can’t happen.” 

Lord Grantham did not chastise him, or offer excuses. 

“I’m truly sorry you’re in this situation, Thomas. I know it wounds your pride.” He paused, “I know this must seem horribly imposing but you must understand that I care for you… and I would never abuse you as Gray has done. I think in time, the pair of us could grow to care for one another.” 

“I trust you implicitly.” Thomas said, and it was true. He knew instinctively that any union he might share with Lord Grantham would be far more pleasurable and effective that what he shared currently with Lawrence. “It’s just that I don’t want to be a house omega. I want to be free. I feel like that will never be possible and it makes me sick to my stomach.” As if to accentuate his point, his stomach gurgled nauseously. 

Thomas grimaced, closing his eyes and leaning carefully against the bars of Champion’s cage. He heard the sound of claws clacking against polished wood, and suddenly there was an odd nibbling sensation at his shoulder-length hair. He peeked with one eye to see that Champion was now toying with his hair much like he toyed with Lawrence’s. 

“…May I hold you?” 

Thomas looked up, and found Lord Grantham incredibly sympathetic to his green complexion. Despite appreciating Grantham’s kindness (and the fact that he would ask instead of just diving in and hugging Thomas without consent) Thomas felt something twist in his stomach at the thought of receiving affection. After Lawrence’s constant abuse, Thomas found himself nervous at being touched. He wanted to initiate it or not at all. So long as he knew the depths, he could feel comfortable. This felt terribly inconvenient for Lord Grantham though, who had no way of knowing what Thomas was comfortable with at any given time. Perhaps, as the months passed, their situation would improve. 

“Forgive me M’lord,” Thomas mumbled, not meeting Lord Grantham’s eyes, “But…” 

He swallowed, then spoke in a rush, “I’ve just been touched so often lately by Gray… and then he abuses me. I feel like I’m going to scream every time I’m approached. I just… I have to be in charge of the touching. I have to know what’s coming and be prepared for it.” 

“Of course.” Lord Grantham was prompt. Thomas was slightly shocked at his level of understanding. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable is how we’ll proceed. I shouldn’t dream of harming you, in any way at all.” 

Thomas remarked at Lord Grantham, wondering at how kind his eyes were and how he didn’t allow his privilege as an alpha or an upper class lord to sway his thoughts. It was like drinking water after months of chugging nothing but wine, making Thomas feel refreshed and level-headed. A surprising amount of affection suddenly swelled up within Thomas (maybe an offshoot of changing hormones). He suddenly felt compelled to thank Lord Grantham. To show him that though their courting might not be what he wanted it was still better than what he had. 

“… May I kiss you on the cheek?” Thomas asked. Lord Grantham flushed with pleasure, but merely smiled. 

Thomas was tentative… slow. He carefully inched closer to Lord Grantham, who did not make to touch him or to move in any way at all. Thomas leaned in, and placed his lips ever so softly upon Lord Grantham’s right cheek. He found the skin rosy and warm. 

He leaned back at once, nervous that he’d overstepped some boundary. Lord Grantham looked chuffed though, and Thomas felt better knowing that he’d initiated all contact and had not been approached without consent. 

“… I hope that helps, M’lord.” Thomas said, sounding just the slightest bit cheeky. 

“Most assuredly.” Lord Grantham murmured. Thomas noticed the smooth swell in his voice, the affection that was seeping into his words, “Though you don’t have to refer to me by a title anymore, Thomas. You can simply call me Robert if you like.” 

Thomas didn’t know how he was going to break the age old habit, but decided to try it out for size. 

“…Robert.” He agreed. 

Lord Grantham—Robert—beamed. 

 

 

Later that afternoon, Thomas decided to go on ahead and read Lady Grantham’s letter. This was by far the most bizarre conversation he’d ever entered in with someone. To ‘share’ an alpha with another omega in a brood formation was just… odd. Thomas had never thought to be in a brood. In truth, the thought made his stomach turn… but here he was, none the less, sitting in his boudoir and opening Lady Grantham’s letter to see what she would say. 

Thomas had taken a cup of tea, and read with one hand to sip with another. It was a rosehip brew that made his stomach feel slightly soothed. He didn’t know when the nausea stage of his pregnancy was going to end but Christ above it better be soon. 

The paper was crisp beneath his fingers, smooth and inviting: 

_“October 30th, 1926_  
_Downton Abbey_

_To Thomas B.—_

_I write to you hoping to find you in slightly better spirits. Robert has said that his investigation with the Brigade is finally underway, and all at Downton are grateful. We think of you often, and hope that you are as safe as can be expected. To say that we are afraid for you is a pale comparison. Poor Baxter is beside herself. Mary is very angry for your situation. Robert often keeps his emotions hidden from the staff, as he always has done, but I know that Bates in particular is aware of his strife and is unhappy with the circumstances._

_In the past—“_

But whatever had happened in the past, Thomas did not know. He was taken aback by a sudden knocking upon his door, and quickly folded up his letter to hide it beneath his seat cushion in case it was Lawrence. 

“Enter.” Thomas said, preparing himself. 

But as the door opened, his stomach broiled with anger; it was not Lawrence but Anthea looking slightly apprehensive in a pale blue day dress. Her long brown hair was in a wave against her back. She seemed to have a glow about her cheeks, as if she was running a fever. 

Thomas scowled, grinding his teeth as he drummed his fingers rapidly upon his armrest. Anthea waited in the doorway, cautious. 

“May I come in?” She asked. 

Thomas glanced about the room, scanning countertops for flying missiles Anthea could lodge at him. Thomas decided that anything she might attempt to throw could easily be outmaneuvered, so he gave her a curt nod. She entered, and shut the door behind her. To say that there was tension in the room did not fully cover the gross feeling that hung in the air. The temperature seemed to rise, a humidity occurring in the stale standoff.

“I wanted to speak with you.” Anthea said, still lingering in the doorway, “If you’re not too busy?”

“Three sentences and not a single insult between the teeth.” Thomas’ said, his tone icy, “I do believe that’s a record.” 

Anthea had the decency to look slightly ashamed. 

“…You’re angry at me.” Anthea said. 

“Oh we’re a bit past that.” Thomas snapped, for he’d jumped past angry several weeks ago when Anthea had sent Lawrence after him. If it hadn’t been for her meddling, he would still be safe at Downton Abbey. What was more, he wouldn’t be pregnant with a rape baby. 

Anthea carefully folded her hands in front of her, ever a lady even in tension, “I understand your anger but I wanted to explain myself to you if you would allow me to… It’s a bit in depth, I fear.” 

“I’ve got all day.” Thomas growled, folding his arms over his chest. 

Anthea paused, noting the hostility in his voice. When she spoke, it was calm and measured though she refused to meet his eyes: “Lawrence and I used to be very close, you see. But… as time grew on he drifted away from me. I felt like it was my fault, like I’d done something horribly wrong to lose his affection. He wouldn’t talk to me anymore. He started using drugs just to avoid me. In the end, he was hostile and unreachable. It just got worse and worse over time, and when you showed up he doted on you constantly. It was like I was invisible to him. Like I’d never mattered.” It clearly stung her. She took a moment to recompose herself, “I suppose that I just wanted you to feel as miserable as me. I wanted you gone.” 

“If you wanted me gone then why the hell did you send that telegram?” He demanded angrily, rising up from his chair. Anthea bristled, as if expecting another attack. Thomas felt a slight pang of embarrassment, regretting his loss of temper the night of the botched party. “If you hadn’t told Lawrence where I was, he wouldn’t have been able to drag me back! You could have had him all to yourself!” 

“I don’t know why I did it.” Anthea admitted. It seemed to cause her a great deal of embarrassment, “It was a snap decision and I’ve regretted it ever since.” 

Thomas scoffed angrily, unconvinced. “You’ve regretted it?” He growled, gesturing to himself, “You’ve ruined my life, do you realize that? I’m pregnant with a rape baby that I don’t want! I have to fight for my life every day from an abusive alpha that hates me!” 

Anthea blurted out, “I know I’ve tarnished myself in your eyes, but I wanted to apologize and make myself plain. Lawrence came to me the other day and… for the first time in years he spoke to me openly. Honestly. He treated me like a human being. Like he loved me.” 

Thomas suddenly recalled Lady Mary and Lady Edith, the pair of them standing in the main hall and staring at one another like they were seeing each other for the first time. Maybe he’d gotten so wrapped up in a game of sibling rivalry that he’d become another victim. Perhaps Anthea’s anger was, in a way, understandable. 

But that did not change the fact that he was pregnant via a rape. 

Anthea’s expression softened a bit, “He said that you’d told me to talk to me. To treat me with dignity. I wanted to… thank you. Truly. And to apologize for my remarks.” 

Thomas said nothing, still very bitter. 

“I wanted to ask of you that we share Lawrence’s affections.” Anthea said, “I think so long as I receive my time with him, we needn’t be estranged from one another. We could even be friends.” 

Thomas could never see that happening. 

“Take him.” He snapped, “He’s yours. Spend as much time as you want with me. As far as I’m concerned the less time he’s around me the better.” 

Anthea paused, taken aback. She recovered herself quickly though, and said no more on the subject. Perhaps she was looking for Thomas to continue on their conversation, but she would find him a very poor host as Thomas was still glaring at her with his arms over his chest.

She pursed her lips, demure once again, “…You don’t have to accept my apology.” 

“I’m not.” Thomas assured her. The only way he would ever forgive Anthea would be if he somehow did not have to go through with his pregnancy. Until then, fluffy apologies were meaningless to him. They would do nothing to rectify his situation. 

Thomas was starting to grow nauseas again. He sat back down in his chair and took a hasty gulp of tea, only to end up scalding the roof of his mouth. He grimaced, “I need to be alone. I feel unwell.” 

Anthea took the hint, turning away, “I’ll leave you then.” 

But as she opened the door and made to exit, she paused on the threshold and looked back at him over her shoulder, “Thank you for your understanding.” She said, in a soft tone that was foreign to him from her mouth, “I was not expecting it, and I’m truly grateful.” 

Thomas said nothing, merely glaring at her from his chair. 

She closed the door, and was gone. 

Thomas had to take a few minutes to recompose himself, shaking off his anger until he was in a bizarrely neutral state. He was grumpy on the edges, but only just, and felt capable of continuing on with his letter. Thomas fished out the letter from between the seat cushions and opened it back up to continue reading. When he felt it was safe to do so, he took another small sip of tea. 

_“In the past I know we’ve had our moments. I can understand if you’re anxious or unsure. I confess that I have my reservations too, but I think that we can come to an understanding eventually. When Tom made the transition between floors, it was just as difficult. Now he is as near and dear to us as any other member of our family. Robert wants to take you as his second, to save you from a lifetime of suffering and neglect. I think it is a very kind and generous thing to do. I know that right now it must be difficult to imagine any bonding as pleasant, but rest assured that your experience with Gray is not normal. It will be different when you are home. I hope to hear back from you. Don’t hesitate to write to me. Perhaps, in time, we can grow to be good friends._

_Yours Sincerely,_   
_Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham.”_

~*~

November passed, and became December. 

For the first several weeks of winter, Thomas had had delayed hope that the Brigade would come and seize him at any day. As November became December however, Thomas slowly started to lose hope that there would be a quick resolution. Lawrence and Anthea no longer fought, causing the house to fall into a state of morbid normalcy. The pair of them would often sequester away for hours at a time, reading together in the library or taking long walks around the property. Thomas didn’t care, imagining that they would surely have a lot to catch up on with so much time lost between them. What was more, Lawrence no longer dabbled with cocaine for which Thomas was truly grateful. He spent his hours below stairs as much as possible, and when he grew bored went out to the aviary to visit Champion. The bird had really begun to grow on him, mostly because Thomas realized that there wasn’t a bad bone in his feathery little body.   
Admittedly, biting Thomas had sent mixed signals, but what it boiled down to was that Champion was a greedy little booger that would sooner choke gorging himself than eat at a dignified pace. He hadn’t meant to bite Thomas. He’d just wanted to eat his rabbit. Thomas could respect that. 

Lord Grantham—Robert—had to be very careful when writing to Thomas. He did so mostly through code names, rarely giving away much in his letters. He certainly never flirted with Thomas or did anything as base as to state ‘I love you’. Lawrence was still avidly watching the mail in case something odd popped through. His spats of jealousy were easily smoothed over by Anthea, though, who would laugh and tell Lawrence that he was being ridiculous. 

“Come take a walk with me!” She’d say, and drag Lawrence off into another long romp around the grounds. Alone, Thomas would then dive into his letters, and content himself with news from home. 

Baxter, of course, wrote to him the most. He told her every sordid detail of his ridiculous pregnancy, hoping to hear back from Dr. Clarkson or Dr. Kinsey. Instead, he found that Dr. Clarkson was often too busy to write as the colder months brought on influenza. Dr. Kinsey had yet to write to him; perhaps he was busy too. 

Baxter soothed every fear he brought up. Thomas’ nausea mercifully faded around December 15th, resulting in him instead feeling quite lethargic. Baxter swore that it wasn’t uncommon, even as she told tales of Anna Bates’ final weeks in her own pregnancy. Apparently Anna was becoming so tired that she couldn’t walk up and down the stairs. Lady Mary had been kind enough to allow Anna to sit with her sewing box upstairs, so that Anna could work and not have to wander too far from the ‘central hub’. The worst part by far, however, was Thomas’ sudden depths of emotion that were making it difficult to go a day without crying. He’d be fine, or at least as fine as one could be when they were trapped in a bond they did not want with a baby they were forced to carry, and then suddenly he’d be bawling into his teacup, or his post, or one time Sarah’s sewing box. Everyone would baby him, handling him with child’s gloves until Thomas snapped that he was perfectly fine damnit and couldn’t they leave well enough alone? 

“He’s almost as bad as Gray.” He overheard Benedict say to Christopher one afternoon during tea time. 

This resulted in Thomas bursting into another round of tears, and Benedict getting cuffed round the ears by Sarah, Holmand, Mrs. Price, and Mrs. Gibson respectively. 

The real problem with it was that Thomas was somewhere between wanting to keep the baby and wanting to give it away. He still couldn’t be arsed to imagine himself as someone’s mother, but at the same time he was growing incredibly fond of this stupid little alien sucking up all his nutrients. Lord— Robert wanted Thomas to adopt out the baby, thinking it would be better all around if chance were left well enough alone. But Thomas didn’t rightly agree. What if the people he adopted the baby out to were awful? How would he end up knowing? He’d never see the baby again, and it could be locked in someone’s attic dying of starvation while he was a thousand miles away eating bon bon’s on Robert Crawley’s couch without a care in the world. The thought made Thomas sick to his stomach. Robert swore up and down, left and right that the people who would adopt Thomas’ baby would be heavily screened to ensure their moral fiber but the last time someone had left Robert in charge of studying character, Lawrence Gray had managed to bond with Thomas so clearly he didn’t know the first thing about picking good people out of a crowd! 

No, no, the more Thomas thought about it, the more he figured it would be better if the baby were to stay with him. This delighted everyone below stairs both in Belton and in Downton. None more so than Baxter, who was giddy at the thought of being someone’s ‘aunty’. 

Thomas had tried to ask Baxter to adopt the baby. She’d apparently laughed herself silly (or had written as much) before telling him that she could never in good conscience take on Thomas’ baby when he was standing right next to her. He supposed there was logic in it, but it still made him sad to think that she considered herself washed up. 

As December came to an end, Thomas received several parcels in the mail that were kept out of his reach until the fabled day when Father Christmas would come marching into town. In a spirit of emotional goodwill, and a spiteful stab at Lawrence’s pocket book, Thomas went out of his way to buy elaborate and expensive gifts for everyone underneath the stairs. He bought Mr. Carson a case of fine wine (in an attempt to make up for September), Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore silk blouses, Anna a silver rattle for the baby, Bates a box of Cuban cigars for his induction into fatherhood, Mr. Moseley a Harvard text on teaching, and Andy a new suit. It was easy to buy clothes for Andy since he worked alongside Bates and Moseley, both of whom were valets in their own right and could tailor clothes. Daisy’s gift, however, resulted in Thomas having to write secretly to Mrs. Patmore so that he could find out Daisy’s shoe size (5). Equipped with his hard earned knowledge, Thomas then proceeded to buy the most vivacious shoes that he could find. If one had a frock, they should have shoes to go with it, after all. 

Baxter was Thomas’ special project. He decided to buy her a necklace studded with fresh water pearls. He knew that, all things considered, she wouldn’t be able to wear it about the house or during normal romps into the village… but it brought Thomas distinct pride to know that Baxter would now have as much finery as Lady Grantham. 

Of course, that was another problem; it was difficult to buy gifts for someone who already had everything.   
Thomas decided that the best thing to give Lord Grantham (Robert, he mentally berated himself) was a well meant letter of emotion. In it, Thomas shared some of his deepest secrets, hoping that it would make Lord Grantham (Robert) feel closer to him. 

_“I’ve never told anyone this,”_ Thomas had written, _“But during the war, I became so depressed and upset at the state of things that I stuck my hand up in the trenches. That was how I got shot. I know you must think me a coward now, but I hope that you will take it as confidence of my growing trust in you. Likewise, I will tell you that in 1925 I was taken for a mug by an agency that swore they could change me into a beta. They pumped me full of drugs, and had me undergo electroshock therapy. Can you imagine me falling for such an obvious trick? But I did, and they got more money than I care to admit out of me. Dr. Clarkson set me straight, of course… but the adventure nearly killed me. I feel like a fool now.”_

Thomas wondered if Lord—Robert – would know how much it had taken for him to write such things. 

As for Lady Grantham, Thomas had addressed the letter to both of them. He still was coming to terms with what it meant to be in a brood… and if he even liked it. 

 

 

Christmas Eve came, and found Belton House in a flurry of holly and mistletoe, though the decorative cheer spread to none of its residents. Christmas at Downton had always been followed by a garble of servants whistling tunes and Lord—Robert—bestowing gifts on everyone within reaching distance. In Belton House, the only indication of Christmas was the decoration. This year, however, Thomas had stretched his advantage to the thin, going so far as to give the staff Christmas morning off so that they might have a feast below stairs as Thomas used to do during his time as a footman. The Dowager Countess was rankled, but Lawrence had allowed the whole affair by claiming that it was Christmas generosity. The staff were delighted, going so far as to prepare an elaborate meal for their breakfast along with buying Christmas crackers. Snow had been falling for a solid month now, painting the whole land in an even coating of sparkling white. One couldn’t walk a foot out the door without getting their boots wet; as a result Thomas had been cooped up inside while Lawrence had attempted to bundle him in every soft bit of clothing they owned. 

Thomas had been under the weather for a while now, feeling cold, stiff, and exhausted despite sleeping heavily every night. His stomach had not yet begun to swell, but it would only be a matter of time now. The skin was certainly tender, stretching slightly at the edges so that Thomas looked like he’d had a robust meal. A few of Thomas’ skirts were too pinched to fit now. He tried not to be disturbed by the concept. 

Sitting quietly in the library while Anthea sand and played a round of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” via the piano, Thomas nursed a cup of hot punch and kept a hand over his lower stomach where shooting pains had been troubling him for a while. Dr. Cowell had told him not to be troubled, that such pains were common with male omegas experiencing their first pregnancy. That didn’t stop Thomas from wincing every time a pain shot through his intestine. He distracted himself by thinking of his family at Downton, and how they might be relaxing together around the fire while gloating at their glittering presents. Of course, Thomas’ present to Mr. Carson was going to be obvious. Thomas smiled, imagining Carson shocked to discover he was now in the possession of a whole case of Tenuta dell’Ornellaia. 

Every so often, Wallace would catch his eye by the serving table; the pair of them would share small somber smiles. 

Anthea was wearing a dress of deep red velvet with a spring of holly in her chestnut hair. The Dowager was in black, as she often dressed for special occasions. Lawrence, for his part, looked no different save that he was wearing a red velvet tie and a sprig of holly upon his breast. Clearly he and Anthea had decided to dress similarly. Lawrence watched his sister, captivated by her one-man performance. They’d entered a new stage in their relationship, no longer fighting and carrying on. Lawrence looked healthier than Thomas had ever seen him, fuller in the face and with more color in his cheeks. He seemed blissfully happy… completely unaware that Thomas was miserable. 

Or maybe he knew and he just didn’t care. 

Thomas couldn’t get out of wearing feminine clothing, but was not showing his holiday spirit this year. He instead wore the black dress that Baxter had made for him, simply because he missed her terribly and felt closer to her when he wore it. He slumped in his leather armchair, taking small sips of hot punch as Anthea finished off her song with a flourish of piano keys. The Dowager was nodding her head slightly to the tempo of the song, pleased by her daughter’s rendition. 

“Marvelous, darling.” The Dowager applauded when Anthea finished. Anthea beamed at her mother’s praise.

“Beautiful.” Lawrence agreed, clapping, “Bellisimo.” Anthea laughed gayly. 

“Thank you.” She said. “What would you like to hear next?” 

“Something sweet,” The Dowager said, “Oh Holy Night?” 

And Anthea was back at it again, trilling lightly on the piano as her voice warbled over the refrain. 

Thomas felt another shooting pain go through his stomach and winced, rising up on his feet to walk towards the library window so that he could observe the grounds. It was snowing rapidly, so that the air seemed to blur with shoots of white. Thomas paused by the heavy velvet curtains, enjoying the cool breeze that emanated off the thin glass panes. He imagined himself like a snow flake in the air, flying high above the foreboding outline of Belton House to once again soar over the horizon and back to Downton. 

_This time next year, my child will be six months old_. Thomas thought somberly. He tried to imagine himself with an infant slung upon his hip. It made him sick to his stomach. 

There was a pair of hands upon his hips, pulling him lightly backward. Lawrence was behind him, making to gently kiss at his neck. Thomas did not acknowledge the man’s touch, instead losing himself in the fantasy of being detached from the scenery. 

“Thinking?” Lawrence murmured. 

“Maybe.” Thomas would give nothing away without force. 

“Well be here with me instead.” Lawrence urged, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ front so that they were securely rested over his sore stomach. 

“Why.” Thomas would not give him companionship, “What do you need me for?” 

“Oh I don’t know,” Lawrence had a teasing tone to his voice, “Companionship. A beautiful view.” 

But Thomas was not a statue on display in a gallery; Lawrence had a knack for forgetting that every so often. 

Lawrence allowed a hand to trail delicately over Thomas’ stomach. He rubbed the skin carefully, not pressing too hard or squeezing.   
Anthea started singing Silent Night. 

“The upcoming year will hold so much for us.” Lawrence whispered in his ear. Little did he know the Brigade was forming an investigation on his character. The year would more horrors that Lawrence could rightly comprehend. “You and I, Anthea too… We’ll all blossom in our own way. Come May you will be a bright and beautiful mother with a baby to warm your heart.” 

It was an incredibly complicated topic. In some ways, Thomas could sense himself slowly becoming more affectionate to the baby. He’d stopped associating it with Lawrence and had instead begun to associate it (for whatever reason) with the downstairs staff of both Downton and Belton. The baby felt more akin to Wallace and Carson than it did to its actual father, with Thomas thinking often on both his families abroad and near. He’d dreamed of the baby often; for whatever reason he always imagined it as a little girl... an infant with a squalling red face and a thatch of black hair atop its head. It would look like a prune and everyone would coo at how beautiful she was. Thomas would agree in public, but in private would wonder if his daughter would ever stop looking like a squashed cabbage. 

He hated to admit it, but he was starting to love his little rape baby. 

When Thomas did not agree or disagree, Lawrence nestled his nose in Thomas’ hair and took a long sniff. “Come back to the fire. Your belly will get cold.”   
Amazing how his belly was more important than the rest of him. 

“In a minute.” Thomas said. Lawrence kissed him gently upon the cheek and pulled away. Ever since he’d gotten over his spat with Anthea, he’d stopped being so domineering towards Thomas. It was refreshing, and allowed Thomas to get away with more than he ever could have in the past. 

As Thomas took a deep breath in his newfound solitude, he noticed a shadow creeping along the library wall. A glance showed it was only Wallace, approaching Thomas with a silver platter bearing a fresh cup of hot punch for him. Thomas was grateful, smiling pleasantly as Wallace came to stand side by side with him. 

Unlike with Lawrence, Thomas was grateful to share conversation with such a kind man. 

“Master Thomas,” Wallace offered his platter, “Perhaps another glass of hot punch?” 

“Thank you.” Thomas said, accepting the glass to carefully put his drained one atop the platter. Wallace swiveled the plate, balancing the shifting weight expertly upon his wrist. For a moment there was silence as Thomas took a long sip of steaming hot punch. As he exhaled, his breath frosted the window pane before him. 

“It is I that should thank you for tomorrow morning.” Wallace said. 

“It’s not my tradition.” Thomas said, “The design goes to Lord Grantham of Downton Abbey.” 

“He is a gracious and generous lord.” Wallace said, his tone making it evident that the compliment was layered in his approval of Lord Grantham’s courtship of Thomas. Thomas felt himself start to grow emotional again, thinking of how kind and gentle Lord--- Robert, for god’s sake!—had been in the past months. His bottom lip quivered in spite of himself. 

“Yes.” Thomas managed to get out, his throat clenching, “Yes he is.” 

He busied himself with another sip of punch, wishing he could stop being such a blubbering baby. 

Wallace leaned in, so that the pair of them could converse softly without being overheard by the Gray family. They were listening to Anthea sing a rendition of ‘Heavenly Father’, anyways. 

“The Brigade is drawing closer with their investigation.” Wallace whispered, “I hope that brings you some amount of comfort.”   
Thomas nodded. Perhaps he’d get a siege for Christmas… wouldn’t that be wonderful? Fresh snow on the lawn and fresh blood on the pavement.   
Joy to the world, indeed. 

“I’ve given my testimony.” Wallace said, “As has Roland. Sarah and Holmand will be giving their own testimony tomorrow morning when the family is not being attended to. We have to play our cards very carefully.” 

“Yes.” Thomas whispered. One slip could result in doom for all, “Have you heard anything about a siege? Anything at all?” 

“Not yet.” Wallace said. Thomas winced. “May I just say though, that we are all on your side and are incredibly proud of you. We are delighted by your baby. It has nothing to do with this family, and everything to do with ours.” 

Thomas smiled wistfully. When Wallace put it that way, his pregnancy wasn’t so terrible to think about. 

“I agree.” Thomas said. Who know? In time he could very well be a happy mother.

Christ, who would have ever imagined it? Him! Someone’s mother… 

“Merry Christmas, Thomas.” Mr. Wallace said. Thomas toasted him with his half-drunk glass of hot punch. 

“Merry Christmas Mr. Wallace.” Thomas said. 

 

 

The next morning found Thomas dreaming peacefully of a beautiful green field, strewn with wildflowers. 

_He was laying on his side upon a woven quilt, spread out with a picnic lunch and bottled lemonade. All of his Downton family were there, dressed for summer with rolled up slacks and straw hats. Thomas was mindless to all of it, his vision captured by a little girl in a white frock, running to and fro through the high grass as she searched for earthy treasures. She was an explorer in a giant’s world, too small to stand much of a chance on her own. Her black curly hair was the only sign of her as she bobbed through the wheat, ducked down every so often so that her britches were born to the air. She had little lace booties on, stained light green on the bottom from her adventures. She seemed to have found a grasshopper, and was trying to grab it with pudgy hands_. 

_It wasn’t going very well, but she was an enthusiastic hunter and not put off by a difficult chase._

_Thomas felt someone holding him about the chest, and looked around to see Dr. Kinsey of all people. When had he gotten here?_

_“Hello beautiful.” Dr. Kinsey whispered. “I have a surprise for you.”_

_“Really?” Thomas was pleased, “And what’s that.”_

_“Come with me.” Dr. Kinsey said, and tugged him about the stomach—_

Thomas groaned, shifting heavily in his warm blankets. His stomach twanged with discomfort, causing him to realize that he was not on a grassy meadow in the arms of an incredibly handsome doctor. He was instead in a bed with flannel sheets being pulled into a sitting position by a stuffy aristocrat who couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Thomas peered about in the dark to see that Lawrence was almost giddy, dressed in a suit and perched with his cane on the side of the bed. What the hell was he doing up dressed so early in the morning? 

The idiot had missed two of his buttons. Without a valet it seemed he was lost. 

“Whad’ya want?” Thomas moaned, scratching at his chin and nose. Lawrence just beamed, seeming to bounce a bit upon the bed. 

“It’s Christmas!” He declared, like he were five and expecting a shiny present. “I want to open your gift!” 

Thomas did not. 

“I want to sleep.” He grumbled, “It’s early and I don’t want to get up-“ 

“Please darling?” Lawrence whined. Thomas resisted the urge to smack him in the eye. “Please? It’s very important to me. I want to see her hatch!” 

But the term threw Thomas, who had not been expecting to have a present with a gender or a due date, “See who hatch?” 

He ended up having to get out of bed, throwing on a skirt and blouse that was heavy with wool in order to combat the fierce December cold. Lawrence bundled him in several coats; Thomas paused mid-dressing to re-button Lawrence’s vest so that it didn’t look ass-backwards. The two of them then left their quarters only to be joined by Anthea who (for whatever reason) was likewise awake and dressed for a sleigh ride. 

Thomas was in a foul mood as the two of them drug him along out into the crisp snow. It was still slightly dark, with dawn creeping ever so slowly over the horizon. It resulted in a dim golden glow being thrown over the ice. It sparkled as the sun grew in strength and climbed over the glen. 

The three of them marched up the hill to the aviary, with Thomas the slowest still half-asleep. As they made it to the top, they were greeted by the Mr. Locksley, who was beaming and beckoning them in a most unbecoming manor. 

“Quickly now!” He urged, despite being a servant and in no position to tell a Lord what to do, “Quickly! It’s starting!” 

“Ah!” Lawrence was giddy, throwing decorum out the window. He grabbed both Anthea and Thomas’ hands, yanking them into the aviary after him. 

 

Thomas’ present was waiting in a small humid room off the side of the aviary, with a furnace going and a table covered in hay taking center view.   
It was struggling, in a shell the color of speckled copper. 

The three of them crowded around the haystack, each of them oddly transfixed as the little egg wriggled and writhed from within. Mr. Locksely was quiet as he entered the hatching chamber, shutting the door fast so that none of the heat escaped. Thomas stared down at the egg bemusedly, wondering what in the hell Lawrence expected him to do with a bird. 

“It’s a peregrine falcon.” Lawrence whispered, delighted with himself, “Locksley was able to get her for me-“ 

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Anthea asked, also in a whisper. 

Why they were whispering was beyond Thomas; it wasn’t like the egg would give a damn. 

“Oh I have a sense of these things.” Lawrence gave her an impish grin. She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Her name is Ada.” 

“And if it’s not a girl?” Anthea asked. “What will you call her then-“ 

“If it’s my present, I should get to name it.” Thomas butted in. The Gray children were slightly cowed. 

“Ah-!” 

They were suddenly rapped at attention, watching amazed as the egg rolled. It was cracking, albeit slowly. 

It suddenly dawned upon Thomas that he was seeing something being born. He suddenly wished he was alone, and able to view this moment in reverence instead of having to listen to the Gray children. But they were just as silent as he, both of them captured with fascination as the copper egg shuddered and quaked. 

“Talk to her.” Lawrence whispered to Thomas. Thomas was taken aback, glancing at him only to find Lawrence solemn. It was a peculiar expression for him to wear. “Talk to her.” He urged, “She’ll hear you. She needs to hear you. You’re her mother.” 

Thomas was tentative, lowering his head until he was staring at eye level with the quivering egg. He coughed, unsure of how loud he should speak or what he should say. 

“…Hello.” He tried-

“Whistle.” Lawrence offered, “Pretend you’re a bird. Make gentle noises.” 

Thomas was baffled, the tip of his tongue pressed to the back of his upper front teeth as he gently clucked at the egg. 

He nearly jumped when he heard a sudden shrill cheep responding to him. The egg was quaking back and forth, desperate. 

“Holy shit-“ Thomas was agog. 

“Keep going!” Lawrence praised. “She’ll fight harder if she knows that you’re there.” 

Thomas went back to whistling, his face quite close to the egg. He could see the tiny slivers of shell giving way, something incredibly beautiful beneath. It was pearly pink and slimy but it was alive and it was cheeping at him. 

Thomas beamed in spite of himself, now just as giddy as Lawrence. He was bringing something to life and he was delighted with himself. 

“Come on…” Thomas chatted, “Come on you can do it-!” 

And she could, quivering with strenuous effort as she used her egg tooth to chip away at her shell. One crack gave way to another, and suddenly she was appearing, her head popping out as she struggled limply in her fragile prison. 

It took her several more minutes before she could dare to keep going, shaking as she finally rolled away from her shell to lay nude among the hay.   
She was the most beautiful thing Thomas had ever seen. 

Tiny, barely the size of a half dollar, with bulging purpled eyes and skinny little pink limbs that were not yet yellowed with strength, the chick desperately huffed for breath and shuddered upon the hay. She could not open her eyes, could not do much besides give faint calls as she rolled slightly upon her back. 

Thomas beamed, reaching out carefully with a lone hand to lay it supportively close to the chick’s head. She was covered in a downing fluff, wetted down from yolk, and was shivering. 

A sudden sense of pride swelled up inside of Thomas, though he certainly had nothing to be proud of. 

He was chuffed; solidly chuffed. 

“Isn’t she beautiful” Lawrence praised in a whisper. 

“A solid beauty, M’lord.” Locksley agreed. “What shall you call her, Master Thomas? She’s all yours.” 

Honestly the lot of them were idiots. Who was to say it wasn’t a boy? 

He suddenly found himself thinking of his home, and everyone he so loved; the beautiful blue and red flag flapping high above Downton’s spires. 

“…Sybil.” Thomas said. “Her name is Sybil.” 

And just saying the name aloud made him feel that much stronger. 

 

Sybil was of course incredibly fragile, and could not be handled without Locksley’s constant monitoring. This did not stop Thomas from traveling up to the aviary every day, wanting to view his baby bird and how she grew. Sybil developed a beautiful downy white coat, which kept her quite warm along with her furnace and hay box. Her beak was a pearly pink, her eyes bulging beneath their thin purple lids. She ate constantly and was obnoxiously loud. Every time she heard Thomas’ voice she began cheeping wildly, clearly sensing her ‘mother’ was near. Thomas, for his part, did nothing to help matters by praising Sybil and feeding her ground up rabbit from a miniature pair of tweezers. Locksley watched his every move, urging him to go slower or to allow Sybil a moment to rest. She fed ravenously, shit all over the place, and was generally the most wonderful creature Thomas had ever known in his life. 

He’d cried about it several times. The downstairs staff thought it ludicrous. 

Of course, Thomas’ Christmas was far from over with one present. He received a shocking amount of presents, and (of all things) another damn bird.   
Of course, the second bird was completely different in all respects from the first. 

Thomas received her from Robert; a beautiful mourning dove in a gilded cage. She came with a letter, gushing with affection for Thomas and praising him for his honesty: 

“I confess your Christmas present is a courting gift, should you accept it. You spoke on freedom, and moved me with your emotion. While I cannot ‘free’ you in the terms of society I can at least allow you to vent some of your feelings with this mourning dove. She is yours to release. Let her go anywhere you please, and watch her fly away. She will never know a cage again in her life. She will be free, even if you cannot. If you do not wish to accept this bird as a courting gift, do not feel that you have to release her. Simply return her to Downton and I shall do the honors. Either way, the dove will be free in the end.”

So Thomas had taken her out onto the hills, early one morning before Lawrence rose for work, and marvel at his dove in her little cage. She was incredibly beautiful with a peachy dusted breast and pearly gray wings. Indeed, he wished he could keep her simply because of how lovely she was and the pretty sounds she made. 

But she was meant to be free, even if Thomas never could be. 

He let her go, opening her cage door and cupping her with both hands, stroking her plumage for a moment and admiring how soft she was before thrusting his hands up into the air and setting her free. 

She flew away, making a wild whooping sound of joy. Thomas watched her vanish over the hill, gone forever into the wilds of England where alphas and omegas were an abstract concept. He smiled, feeling a little bit better. 

He then got emotional and had to chastise himself not to cry. 

 

 

Of course, he received much more functional gifts from the rest of his family. 

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sent him a christening gown, which was white, lacy, and utterly ridiculous. Apparently his child would have to be christened, regardless of what he felt on the subject. He could almost hear Mr. Carson now, grumbling about Thomas’ heathenish ways… “Every child must be christened! What is this, a pagan society?” 

Mrs. Patmore wrote him a rather thick letter, detailing several teas that she was planning on feeding the baby when it was born. Apparently omega males, while having the ability to lactate, developed very poor milk and usually bottle fed their babies. The idea of growing breasts, no matter how small or insignificant, made Thomas want to scream. He was grateful for Mrs. Patmore’s understanding and fast thinking. She likewise sent Thomas a little silver spoon, with a gilded handled decorated in flours. It was incredible to think that such a small spoon would one day be clasped in his child’s—

Oh Christ, he was about to cry again. 

The Bates were polite enough to give Thomas a pair of booties that had soft white leather soles. They could both easily fit into the palm of his hand. Daisy had knitted Thomas’ spawn a little cap and a pair of mittens out of a light yellow wool. Mr. Moseley hadn’t gotten him anything (which didn’t really surprise him) and Andy went a stride beyond everyone else to buy Thomas a gift that wasn’t solely reflected on the baby. Thomas was delighted to receive a new detective novel, having grown slightly bored with being cooped in the house. He took the book slow, imagining the plot lines threading together and trying to deduce the end. So far he’d been slightly off the mark but he had a feeling the main character’s love interest was actually the villain in disguise. 

Baxter’s gift, however, was by far his most treasured. 

Just as she’d made Thomas a dress in his time of need, so too had she made several little jumpers. They were ridiculous little outfits, with snaps to close up the groin and tiny white collars. She’d made them out of hand me down fabrics, all of them off white or faded peach. One in particular had tiny colorful fish on the sleeves, and had resulted in Thomas crying hysterically for several minutes while Mrs. Gibson frantically tried to calm him down by distracting him with the daily newspaper. 

Fish. Fish, for fucks sake. 

Of course, Lady Grantham hadn’t been one for hand-made gifts. She’d instead written to Thomas, assuring him that she’d taken out several bonds in the baby’s name so that as they’d grow older money would be set aside for their future and education. This was, of course, assuming the baby was a boy and able to go to university… but Thomas was suddenly growing very passionate about his unborn child and felt determined that should he have a girl she would be able to pursue any path that she fancied. If his daughter wanted to be a scientist, by god, she’d be a scientist. After all… Ada Lovelace had helped to form the analytical engine. 

 

 

January turned into February, and Thomas’ stomach truly began to swell. A sort of expansive period happened as March slid into its final weeks, resulting in Thomas looking like he’d swallowed a football. He couldn’t fit into skirts anymore. He couldn’t fit into fucking anything. Sarah had had to take out all his clothes, and even his feet were starting to get bigger. The good news was that Thomas was solidly back to normal and could safely consume food without having to puke it five minutes later. Not only that, he had his energy back, and so though he couldn’t run or even jog fast he could still wander about the estate with Sybil on his arm. 

Sybil was a joy, turning from a fluff ball into a beautiful preening peregrine falcon. By god if she didn’t actually turn out to be a girl (perhaps Lawrence truly did have a knack for these things), but she was incredibly spirited and loved nothing more than to scream into the wind while Thomas cheered her on from the ground. She’d circle around the estate for hours, though Mr. Locksley swore Thomas was spoiling her rotten and ought to be pushing her harder. Thomas couldn’t be arsed. He wasn’t a professional falconer like Lawrence. He didn’t want to win titles or competitions. He just wanted to watch Sybil fly about and have fun. If she caught a vol, good for her. If not, there was always ground rabbit on hand at the aviary. 

But March was the month of wonders for several reasons, mainly because one morning Thomas woke up to the sudden shocking sensation of feeling something move beneath his skin. 

It had been terrifying at first, absolutely fucking terrifying, and he’d rang for Sarah only to sit there with her on his bed as the pair of them felt along the top of his swollen stomach. When another rolling movement had occurred, Sarah had beamed and looked close to tears. 

When Thomas had realized it was his baby moving, he’d been speechless and hadn’t regained proper control over his verbal tendencies for a good half hour. 

From that moment on, Thomas had spent far too much time sitting in a chair with his hands over his belly. For whatever reason, the baby was most active very early in the morning. Thomas would be laying on his side, somewhere between awake and asleep, only to feel the oddest sensation hammering away at his bladder. He’d have to get up and pee, and when he returned to the comfort of his flannel sheets he rubbed his belly repeatedly over the top to ease the slight ache. 

It was like the baby could feel his hand; it would kick wildly, thumping like a little drum beneath his skin to try and touch his fingers.

Thomas would close his eyes and breath deeply, his soul aching for love of this creature growing inside his womb. He’d never wanted to be an omega, or a mother for that matter, but now suddenly he was coming to terms with the incredible beauty that was giving birth to another human being. This little thing inside of him was more attached to Thomas, more akin to him, than any other thing on earth. Suddenly it felt like Thomas was not alone anymore. Like he was loved. This little thing, which knew nothing save for the beat of his heart and the warmth of his blood, needed him more than any other.   
Loved him more than any other. 

Thomas did not know how to react save to love the creature back. He began to dream of a life with his new baby. He dreamed of giving birth in France, in a beautiful chateau. Of his baby being swaddled in Baxter’s little jumpers wearing shoes from the Bates. Thomas dreamed of feeding her with Mrs. Patmore’s spoon, gushing over just how beautiful she was as Daisy made sure her knitted cap was snug. 

I have been raped and abused, Thomas reasoned, But I have gained this beautiful angel who shall surely love me always. So maybe it was not all in vain.   
Above all, he dreamed of being seized and taken far away from Belton House. He, like Sybil and Robert’s mourning dove, would fly in a sweet spring wind and take his baby with him. 

His baby would never know its father.   
And that was as it should be. 

But the dream in which Thomas had bound up a vision of his baby free from all harm was a fragile mirage. An image that could easily be shattered by a sharp blow from reality. 

This fucked up dream he’d been living, away from the clean air of Downton and the warm familiarity of his family, it had to end. It couldn’t go on. God could only stand for so much chaos in the universe before he intervened, and Thomas knew from experience in his life that nothing was settled until the smoke and dust had fallen to earth. Like when he’d held up his hand in the trenches, waiting to be shot… there had been a two second pause of nothing. Just his hair suspended in cold hair with a pewter lighter to keep him company. 

The baby was the lighter. 

The bullet was the third week in March, and a walk down the eastern corridor of the second floor. 

 

 

It was March 20th. A quiet gray day with the slight pattering of rain on the windowsill. Thomas had been out to the aviary until the rain had worsened, resulting in him having to return to the house lest he catch cold. Lawrence was out for the day, doing work in Derby’s. Anthea was feeling slightly unwell, and as a result was laying down. The Dowager Countess was out to a friend’s house. 

Alone in the house, Thomas felt himself slightly relaxed, waddling about the upper floors as he rolled his right wrist which was beginning to feel slight twinges of pain. Sybil was incredibly adept and a delight to work with, but she also had a grip like… 

… Well, like a peregrine falcon. 

Thomas headed down the eastern hallway, intent on getting back to the boudoir and having a hot bath. The snows of winter had melted but it was still incredibly cold. There had been rumors of the frigid temperatures lasting into May but Thomas hoped this wasn’t the case. He wanted his baby to be born in a warm and loving world. 

As he passed by Anthea’s closed door, a sudden thump made him pause. It sounded like she had rolled out of bed and landed jaggedly on the floor. 

Rolling his eyes, Thomas turned and headed back down the hall, stopping at the door with his hand outstretched to take the handle- 

_“Alpha-!”_

Thomas paused, still not touching the door knob. 

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the sounds of someone having sex when he heard it. What was more, he was almost certain it was Anthea having sex, which was shocking because Anthea didn’t have someone in her life that Thomas knew of. 

His eyes widened. 

Wary, Thomas leaned in close to the door, lining his eye up with the crack. He wondered who on earth would be willing to have sex with Anthea. Honestly, he couldn’t name two people if he-… 

….tried… 

Thomas could only see so much. It seemed his original idea hadn’t been too far of the mark. Anthea had, in fact, rolled off the bed. She was on the floor, on her stomach, naked and writhing. Her breasts were rubbing across the blue carpets on her floor, causing her rosy nipples to peak with excitement. 

She was gasping, writhing, a man behind her just as naked as she, fucking her from behind so that with each snap and thrust of his bony hips she was jiggled upon the rug. He was fucking her with abandon, his long inky black hair in a flair across his face. His hooked nose and furrowed brow were dripping with sweat. 

“Alpha-!” Anthea gasped at another brutal thrust. 

Lawrence grabbed Anthea’s mouth from behind, holding her tight to make sure she didn’t utter another sound, “Shh… sweet omega. Don’t say a word-“   
Lawrence was grinning, sucking against Anthea’s pale swan like neck as he bit and licked at the juncture of her shoulder right atop where her scent gland would surely be. The skin was raw with abuse. 

“Your alpha’s here.” Lawrence whispered in her ear. 

Thomas scrambled backward, a hand flying to his mouth to hold in the wave of vomit that threatened to spew from him. He collided with a pedestal against the opposite wall. A ming vase atop it fell to the ground, crashing into several pieces. 

The noise was loud, like a gunshot to Thomas’ ears. 

He scampered. 

Thomas ran across the hallway, heading for the stairs as fast as he could. Despite having more privacy in the stairs from the ante-library, Thomas was so desperate to get out of sight that he took the main marble stairs to the ground floor. It was impossible to run fast, not with his stomach swollen and his frame bruised from second trimester. He knew that Lawrence and Anthea had heard- 

Lawrence and Anthea- 

Lawrence- 

Thomas’ brain was spinning in a wild panic as he hit the ground floor and pelted around the stairwell. As he made it around the bend of the green baize door, Thomas crumpled at the knees, sagging on the servant’s steps. The door swung back and forth, falling still eventually, and Thomas cupped his head against the iron railing that descended in a sharp spiral. 

He sagged a breath, three more, and broke into a low groan of pain. 

Oh god no… no. 

No this could not be happening. This could not fucking be happening.

Lawrence’s cocaine usage, Anthea’s jealousy, the way she’d been so despondent at their bonding ceremony, taking a headache. 

The way she’d been horrified at Thomas’ pregnancy. 

Lawrence had made it sound like Anthea was furious at him for some childhood spat, and Thomas had been so eager to make it stop he’d never questioned what the spat was over. 

And now he knew, and he was going to be sick. 

They were fucking. They were actually fucking. Like animals, like heathens, like devils in the flesh- and Thomas could not wrap his head around this house could contain so much evil around four walls. 

He wept, a broken man. 

His belly ached; a fierce kick landing somewhere near his gallbladder. He clutched at his swollen stomach, squeezing at the sore flesh. It was like he couldn’t breath- 

“God-“ Thomas spoke aloud to a deity that surely did not care about him, “God help me. I’m in hell-“ 

“Thomas?” 

The voice of Mrs. Gibson was disgustingly naive and light. 

Thomas could barely stomach it, still whirling in a cess pool of misery and sin. 

“Thomas-“ Mrs. Gibson came up a few more stairs, carefully touching his shoulder as if she thought he might pop, “Are you alright, dear?” 

“No-“ Thomas ground out. His voice was more like a hiss, “No, I am not alright.” 

 

 

Mrs. Gibson took him downstairs to her office. 

She offered him rosehip tea. She even flavored it with lemon and honey. 

Thomas did not drink it. 

It went cold, clutched between bone white hands. His grip was akin to Sybil’s, his nails turned into claws. 

He wanted to gouge out Lawrence’s eyes. To let his hands be painted with blood. 

“…How long…” Thomas whispered, for after telling Mrs. Gibson what he had seen two floors above she’d gone deadly quiet and not made to ring the police. So it was obvious, to him, that she knew. “How long has this been occurring.” 

Mrs. Gibson was bleak, ashen faced as she stared into her own teacup. She had not made to drink it either. “For years.” She finally admitted.   
“Jesus-“ Thomas griped at his teacup tighter. He heard the china begin to crack slightly, and let up to instead grip at his own face. He sighed, exhausted, and closed his eyes so that he could momentarily block out the world. It would do nothing to block out the voice of Anthea in his head, panting and moaning the word ‘alpha’. 

Because that’s what her brother was. Her alpha. 

He swallowed down another roll of nausea. 

“When they were very small, it…” Mrs. Gibson barely spoke above a whisper, her head bowed meekly. She seemed afraid to have this conversation, “I can’t say if it occurred then. But when Master Gray dropped out of university and came home, something wasn’t right. He acted so peculiarly. He constantly wanted to be near his sister. I even caught them sleeping in the same bed-“ 

Thomas groaned, another wave of bile hitting him. How many years had this been occurring? How many? “I’m going to be sick-“ He jerked up from his chair, almost intending to vomit into the first waste basket that he saw. But Thomas was so angry that the bile didn’t seem to be able to come out. He didn’t want to puke. He wanted to punch something, and hard. 

How could he have become entangled in such a sick family. How? When had his life gotten so god damn twisted? 

When Lawrence had come along. Of course. 

Mrs. Gibson pursed her lips. It was obvious she had something else to say. 

“…It wasn’t me that caught them.” She whispered. She closed her eyes, obviously blocking out a bad memory. “It was their mother.”   
Thomas waited, eyes locked with Mrs. Gibson. 

She was steeling herself. Thomas did the same. He clenched his fists, his jaw grinding. 

“I was at my work,” Mrs. Gibson told the tale in a monotone voice, desperately trying to detach from the emotion it brought up, “I heard a screaming, like a banshee was on a prowl. I went upstairs, to see if something was the matter. I came into the hall and saw Master Lawrence, naked as the day he was born. He’d been flung into the hall, left with nothing to cover him in his indecency.” 

She paused. Thomas did not press her. 

“I could hear Lady Anthea and the Dowager, screaming at one another.” Mrs. Gibson whispered. There were tears in her eyes. Her chin was quivering wildly. When she spoke again, her voice was pinched and tight, “The Dowager was saying that Lady Anthea had poisoned her womb. That she would surely breed a monster.” 

A child consumed between siblings. Thomas couldn’t even wrap his head around it. 

“I don’t know what happened after that.” Mrs. Gibson began to cry. She touched her hand to her lips, desperate to keep it down, “I ran to get Mr. Wallace, and when I returned upstairs Master Lawrence wasn’t in the hall and everything was quiet.” 

Mrs. Gibson sniffed, tears still in her eyes even as she wiped her cheeks clean. “It didn’t last.” She whispered. 

Thomas was still grinding his teeth, waiting to hear the end of it. Treachery, abuse, sin, disgusting lust, all of it was just wrapped up one atop the other in awful layers. Thomas didn’t know how he would ever get to the bottom of it. He felt like he was falling into a rabbit hole. 

“The Dowager was furious at Master Lawrence. The very next morning she threw him out of the house, without a cent of money to his name. She wouldn’t let Lady Anthea out of her room. She brought a doctor by… I couldn’t tell you if Lady Anthea had actually conceived or not. Lady Anthea claimed that Master Lawrence has put himself upon her, but… something didn’t feel right. In my gut, I always felt like Lady Anthea adored Master Lawrence… Like she was truly…” 

Mrs. Gibson couldn’t carry on. She shook her head and stuck to her original story. 

“Master Lawrence didn’t return here for many years. When he did, he did so with a flourishing business and… cocaine addiction.” Mrs. Gibson glared at the wall, “He was like the devil himself, with such a violent temper. He struck his mother, and his sister. Acted like they were nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. Master Lawrence claimed Belton as his prize for making himself a man of business without the aid of another, and would not be moved. His mother was terrified of him, but she stayed out of his way. How could she not? She’s a frail old woman… she couldn’t withstand the full might of his temper.” 

She paused, looking back at Thomas. 

“Not like you.” Mrs. Gibson whispered. 

“…I’m a decoy.” Thomas deduced the sickening truth with undeniable ease. “That’s all I’ve been. He’s been working his way back into the fold, trying to get back with his sister. Isn’ that right?” 

“I’m afraid so.” Mrs. Gibson painted a bleak picture indeed. “Master Lawrence was determined to have you. I overheard him speaking with Lady Anthea… claiming that you would be nothing more than a guise. Lady Anthea didn’t believe it.” 

“…She was jealous.” Thomas whispered, mimicking Lawrence’s own words back in November.   
Mrs. Gibson nodded. 

Thomas took a long breath through his nose, and deciding on the spot that he would no longer stand for this insanity. 

“Right.” Thomas was bitter. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them aggressively, before turning on a dime and facing Mrs. Gibson with a steely look in his eyes. 

“… You’re going to go upstairs, and clean up a broken vase in the eastern hallway.” Thomas said, “And I’m going to call Robert Crawley. And I’m going to tell him everything.” 

Mrs. Gibson rose up, looking slightly afraid, “Master Thomas, you must understand, if Master Lawrence finds out-“ 

Thomas didn’t care. So what if he did find out? It wasn’t like it was a secret in this house… and with luck, this would seal the siege for good. 

Mrs. Gibson wrung her hands, then turned and left. She closed the door quietly behind her. 

Thomas did not waste a minute, heading straight for the candlestick telephone and jiggling the dial for the operator. 

_“How may I direct your call-“_

“Downton Abbey in the precinct of North Yorkshire… county of Grantham… town of Downton.” 

_“Hold and I will connect you.”_

Thomas knew from experience that it would take three more routers to get him to the house. One would direct him to the county of Grantham. One would take him to the town of Downton. The final would take to Downton Abbey itself.

Thomas eventually had to sit down, his leg jiggling wildly.

He could feel his composure crumpling with each ring of the telephone. Each jump of static made his knee bang on the underside of the table. He kept thinking about the way Anthea had allowed herself to be fucked on the floor. 

Like an animal. 

_“Downton Abbey, this is Mr. Carson the butler.”_

It was the fact that Carson was such an upholder of order and regiment that made Thomas break down. Of all people on earth would understand Thomas’ anger and horror, it would be Carson, who panicked if the wrong spoon was used to scoop a grapefruit. 

Thomas began to sag into guttural moans, tears dissolving into wails that honestly would make sense coming from a dying animal rather than a man. He could hear Mr. Carson panicking, babbling, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. 

“Robert-“ Thomas blubbered, “I have to talk to Robert, please-“ 

_“What’s happened?!”_ Mr. Carson was saying, in a clear and obvious panic. _“Are you injured? Are you in danger? Thomas, you must tell me! If you don’t I shall have no choice but ring for the police-!”_

“Robert!” Thomas barked the name, furious through his tears, “Lord Grantham, put him on the phone! I have news he needs to hear, immediately-“ 

_“But as I say, you’re not injured?”_ Mr. Carson demanded. _“Your baby- you’re both fine?”_

“For now.” For Thomas had no way of knowing how long he had until Lawrence was aware that he knew the full truth. “But it won’t last long.” 

Mr. Carson sounded grave, _“I shall fetch him promptly. Don’t go away-“_

Thomas wondered in morbid humor where on earth Mr. Carson thought he would go way to. If he had a choice, any choice at all, he would have picked it over Belton House. Over Lawrence. Over incest. 

Thomas burped; acid was bubbling in his throat. 

There was a sudden shock of static, and Thomas feared that the telephone line would be dropped, but then suddenly with a huff of noise Robert was on the phone, sounding most alarmed. 

_“Thomas!”_ Robert barked. _“Are you alright?”_

“Oh my god, Robert-“ Thomas blubbered, cupping his hand to his mouth. He’d never called Lord Grantham by his first name before, certainly not aloud or over the phone. Robert seemed to realize that Thomas was in shock, that something was wrong, for he did not comment on it so much as press forward to the pertinent details. 

_“What’s happened?”_ Robert urged, _“Has he touched you? Are you injured?”_

“No. Not me.” Thomas sniveled. “God…” He thought he might be sick any minute now, “God it’s so awful I don’t think I can voice it.” 

_“I beg of you, you must tell me if you’ll think it can help our case. I could ring the Brigade tonight-!”_

“It’s Gray… and his sister.” Thomas bit out the words, bile on his tongue. He coughed, trying to keep the acid down. “I…” All the jealousy, all the lies, all the violence, “I guess the signs have been right in front of me, but I didn’t see. I didn’t realize. Today- I saw them together-“ 

_“I don’t understand.”_ Robert said; of course he didn’t. He was sane. He feared the wrath of God. 

He had a sister.

“I saw them…” Thomas continued, bitter, “In a way that no siblings should ever be seen together. I saw them… ” But he couldn’t say anymore. 

There was a long, swelling silence. Thomas heard a shuddering breath on the other end. 

_“Oh my god.”_ Robert finally said, clearly cuing in. _“You cannot be serious-“_

“You have to get me out of here!” Thomas begged, back to blubbering again. He felt weak with lack of options, alone and vulnerable, “Please, Robert!” He sobbed, “Please, you have to help me! When he finds out that I know, I think he’s gonna kill me!” 

_“I’ll contact the Brigade, right this instant.”_ Robert assured him, _“Don’t worry Thomas. He would never harm you, not when you’re carrying his child. Everything will be alright. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve told me. Act like nothing is wrong. I promise you, I will handle this.”_

“Please hurry, Robert.” Thomas couldn’t bear it anymore. He cried openly, though he knew it would do him little good. When had tears ever made an impact in his situation, “I can’t take it anymore. What if-“ a horrible stab of terror caught him in the chest as he thought of his unborn baby and its incestuous father. “What if it’s genetic? What if my baby-?” 

_“Don’t be silly!”_ Robert soothed at once, refusing to let Thomas even finish the damnable sentence, _“Your baby has nothing to do with them. It’s the pair of them, Thomas. Something is deadly wrong with the pair of them. It’s a bloody awful business, hardly genetic. The sooner you’re away from them the better. I promise you, the Brigade won’t let this stand. They’ll have you seized before you can count to ten.”_ Thomas wanted to believe it, but it was hard to stop his tears. He was already overly emotional. 

He tried to keep it together… but it was hard. 

_“Darling…”_ Robert whispered, _“Darling, don’t cry. I promise you everything will be alright. You’ll be home soon. Very soon. And we’ll leave for France as soon as-“_

“I don’t wanna go to France.” Thomas blubbered. “I wanna stay at Downton.” 

_“I know that you’re longing for home, but it won’t be safe. Why don’t we all journey to France together? We’ll take the staff-“_ Thomas sniffed, slightly cheered at the thought of Mr. Carson being forced to endure the horrors of French cuisine and culture. He’d be stuffy and English, turning his nose up at everything until he realized that he was in the thick of it and couldn’t hide in the cellar forever. 

Mrs. Hughes would be delighted. She’d pick lavender from the fields of Provence and sing French lullabies to his baby when it was born.   
Thomas sniffed again, his tears slowing. Robert seemed soothed. 

_“Don’t worry, Thomas.”_ Robert was strong in his affirmations, _“I’ll call the Brigade right now. With luck, you’ll be seized tomorrow. Possibly even tonight. Don’t be afraid… be strong. Be strong for your baby. The baby will panic if it thinks you’re in danger. Tell the baby that you’re fine, and believe it. All will be well. You’ll be home soon.”_

Thomas took a deep shuddering breath, looking down at his belly. He stroked the aching skin, burping slightly. 

“I feel sick.” Thomas admitted, “Maybe… it’s the baby.” 

_“It could very well be. Try to rest darling, and I’ll see you very soon. Call me tomorrow if you haven’t heard from the Brigade. By god, I’ll seize you myself if I have to.”_ That brought back images of Carson in a commandeered tank, save that this time it would be Robert in the driving seat wearing a turtle shell helmet and a belt full of extra rounds. Mr. Carson would be doing something pompous… possibly riding a horse and carrying a sword. 

“Thank you.” Thomas whispered, sniffing as he wiped his eyes again, “Thank you for doing this. You don’t know what it means to me-“ 

_“Don’t be silly.”_ Robert urged, _“I do it because I care about you, and it’s the right thing to do. The honorable thing. I won’t abandon you Thomas, and I won’t abandon your child either.”_

“Can I keep the baby?” Thomas begged, for how many times had he asked this question in letters only to not get a response? Robert could hardly avoid it over the phone, “Please, Robert, I beg of you. I know I wasn’t keen first but… it’s my baby… and it loves me. Please?” 

_“We’ll talk about it when you’re home.”_ Robert assured him, _“For now, let me call the Brigade.”_

Thomas winced, sensing Robert’s lack of enthusiasm. 

 

Thomas felt slightly better after the phone call, thinking that surely Alden MacNaire would blow a gasket once he learned that Lawrence Gray was incestuous. How could anyone ignore a sin like that, even if they were as dumb as an oxen. 

Thomas drank his cold tea in Mrs. Gibson’s office, collecting himself and wiping his face with a wet flannel until he felt quite sure he wouldn’t grow hysterical. 

He did not return upstairs until dinner, deciding to take a tray in his room so that he could avoid the family. He heard through the grape vine that Lawrence was gone from the house, apparently having left shortly after lunch much to the surprise of everyone who had thought him at work in Derby’s. Lady Anthea hadn’t appeared out of her room. Everyone had assumed Lawrence was just being a flighty bastard as usual, breaking promises and being lazy. 

It seemed that only Thomas and Mrs. Gibson suspected the truth… though Roland was tense and quiet by the fire. 

Dinner that night was a chicken pie, and it was soothing to Thomas. He ate in the library, warming himself by the fire as he read his detective novel. He’d already gone through it twice, but he liked to read it every so often to see if he could pick up clues in the text that he’d missed before. It was soothing, repetitive, and allowed Thomas’ mind to go numb. 

Of course, it couldn’t stay that way for long. 

He heard the sound of the door creaking open, and looked up expecting to see Mr. Wallace coming to look in on him or Mrs. Gibson making sure that his fire wasn’t getting too low. 

Instead, he saw Anthea. 

She looked terribly pale, her hair unbound and hanging over her shoulder. She was wearing her blue housecoat and seemed ill. 

At once, Thomas felt bile rise up in his throat. he couldn’t even bear to look at her. 

He took slow, even breathes… but still his heart began to pound.

“…Thomas…” Anthea’s voice was weak, “Can I talk to you for a-“ 

But Thomas could not bear to hear her voice anymore. Every word she spoke just made him want to lash out in anger. He rose up with a jerk, nearly stumbling as his weight shifted wildly. He stormed out of the library and through the Regina bedroom, slamming the door after him so that Anthea was cut off. He locked the door behind him for good measure, sequestering himself inside the darkened boudoir where no one would bother him. 

He slept fitfully that night… and when the baby began to kick around three in the morning, Thomas found himself whispering nonsense, hoping it would sooth her. 

…He didn’t know why, but he felt certain his baby was a girl. Call it mother’s intuition. 

“It’s alright.” Thomas whispered, eyes closed as the moon shifted slowly across the sky. “Everything will be alright. We’ll be home soon… And you will be born in France, in a field of lavender.” 

The baby quieted after that. Her kicks were feeble…sleepy little things.   
Thomas was soothed. 

 

The next morning, Thomas did not rise up at his usual hour. He felt ill, and kept waiting impatiently to hear the front door being kicked down by the Brigade. When the hour grew close to lunch and still no one had come, Thomas rose up and got dressed. He wore Baxter’s black outfit though it was tight around his middle and brushed his hair. The baby kicked a bit, rolling in his womb. Clearly she was feeling agitated too. 

“Shh…” Thomas whispered to her, rubbing lotion on the stretched skin of his stomach, “We’ll be home soon. Very very soon.”   
The baby seemed none too sure. 

 

Thomas was just about to ring for a tray when it happened.   
The door to the Regina bedroom opened to reveal Lawrence. 

Thomas froze, in the middle of putting lotion on his swollen ankles. He locked eyes with Lawrence using his vanity mirror, getting a full view of Lawrence’s pale complexion and the iron fury in his eyes. 

Lawrence slowly closed the door to the Regina bedroom, and locked it. 

Thomas knew instinctively that Lawrence knew. He’d lived with the man for too long; his body movements were as telling as a brass orchestra trumpeting away. He might as well have written “I know everything” in ink upon his forehead. 

Thomas slowly set down his bottle of hand lotion, his fingers trailing up to clutch at the thin neck of a glass vase holding a few dying wildflowers. Sarah had picked them for him out in the fields a few days ago. 

Thomas rose up with a slight wobble from his chair, taking the flowers out of the vase and letting them fall unheeded to the ground. He then made a show of turning the vase upside down, so that all the water fell from it to the carpet in a messy splatter. Lawrence watched all of this, but said nothing. 

Thomas glared at Lawrence, his fingers wrapped tight around the neck of the now empty vase. 

He was prepared to smash it and use it as a dagger if it would save his unborn baby. 

She kicked, sensing his anger. 

“…What…” Lawrence spoke with deadly calm, “No hug and a kiss?” 

“I don’t think you need me for that, do you.” Thomas replied, just as calm. The tension in the room was to a flammable point. Any word could be the trigger. 

“Anthea was going to call me last night.” Lawrence said, by way of conversation. Thomas noticed a vein jumping in his temple, “She said she heard you on the phone. With some bugger named Robert. Wouldn’t be Robert Crawley of Downton Abbey, would it?” 

In that moment he was disgusted by Lawrence. Truly and honestly disgusted. How dare this man, this incestuous abusive man, attempt to pull the honor code on him? What did he know of honor? What did he know of anything at all? 

“I’m not afraid of you.” Thomas said, for in that moment, he wasn’t. Afraid? No. Murderously furious? …Yes. 

“Oh you really should be.” Lawrence snapped, dark eyes blazing, “What’s all this about the Brigade? And a siege? You planning on going somewhere?” 

“Oh I just couldn’t say.” Thomas said loftily, “Quite literally. You know they don’t even tell omegas in advance. I suppose I’ll have to keep a valise packed just in case. I doubt you’ll even notice I’m gone. You have Anthea to keep you company, anyways.” 

Lawrence bristled. The muscle in his jaw was jumping now, too. 

“Isn’t that was this is about, Gray?” Thomas said coldly, “A love affair gone horribly wrong? I thought it was just a sibling spat, but this was more of a lovers quarrel wasn’t it. Two omegas at the same time, how very tedious for you.”

“Crawley’s going to challenge my claim on you, isn’t he.” Lawrence growled. 

“Yes.” Thomas said. “And I look forward to the day when he will rip me from this vile house.” 

“You…” Lawrence couldn’t seem to find the words in his anger, “You spiteful… vicious… vile-“ 

“Me, vile?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh at the queerness of it. He threw his head back, cackling murderously. “I’m the vile one? Meanwhile you’re the one fucking his sister!” 

He shouted the words.

They were like a trigger for Lawrence, who surged forward with his hands out as if he meant to ring Thomas’ neck. Thomas didn’t hesitate, bringing the vase crashing down so that the thin neck broke from the bulb base and rendered it into a deadly weapon. Thomas held it like a knife, ready to slit Lawrence’s throat. Lawrence kept his distance, hands still curved like claws but now very wary of Thomas’ weapon. 

“You think I’ll let you hurt my baby?” Thomas growled. For the first time in his life, he was truly ready to murder a man, “You think I’ll let you put one finger on my belly.” 

“It’s not true!” Lawrence was clearly furious, but there was such emotion in his voice that he almost seemed to the point of tears. His face was blistering red, his eyes were glazed with wild fear. It was true, and Lawrence knew it despite how he might try to deny it. His sister’s belly was full of his seed, and no one would be able to erase from Thomas’ memory the sight of her taking Lawrence’s disgusting cock. 

Lawrence would have to kill him. That was the only way he would stay silent. 

Thomas scoffed. “I knocked over the vase, Laurie.” He sneered the pet name. 

Lawrence went white, mouth open but silent as he realized that Thomas wasn’t bluffing. 

“Oh yes…” Thomas was without sympathy, vase still out in front of him ready to stab or lunge, “I was a bit shocked you see. Mark of seeing your abusive alpha fucking his own sister. Honestly Lawrence, cocaine?” He wore a nasty smile, “Cocaine to forget how good your sister’s gams looked wrapped around your waist… goodness me.” He scoffed, “Couldn’t you have used something better like- I don’t know- a handgun?” He asked savagely. 

Lawrence was speechless. All the power seemed to have gone out of his sails for the moment. 

“There’s something wrong with you.” Thomas spat, furious. “There’s something very wrong with you. And to think, you could have put that strangeness in my baby.” He shook with fury. “My baby… will never see your face. It will never know your name. I will protect her until the ned of time from you. I’m tired of waiting.” He decided on the spot, “I’m tired of waiting for the Brigade to seize me. I’m leaving today. Right now.” 

He didn’t even bother to grab his coat or his clutch, storming for the eastern door with the vase still held out like a knife.

He flung the door open, so that it banged into the opposite wall and squeaked aggressively on its hinges. He stormed out, the broken vase pointed behind in case Lawrence tried to jump him. Lawrence stumbled after him, gagging on words though he seemed to wary to get close to Thomas’ impromptu weapon.   
Good for him. It would cost him his life otherwise. 

“Where are you going?!” Lawrence demanded. For the first time in their union he sounded truly afraid. 

“Anywhere, so long as it’s away from you!” Thomas said murderously, “You thought I’d never find out! You thought I could be your cover and you could just keep fucking your sister-!” They came around the bend, passing Anthea’s room and the famed pedestal which was now distinctly bare. As Thomas approached the landing of the stairs, he felt Lawrence grab his hand and jerked around to stab the bastard in the neck. 

A sudden fight ensued, with Lawrence dangerously close to being gouged in the face with a broken vase. He was furious, tears sparkling in his eyes, but Thomas would not be moved. Lawrence was no longer a man to him. He was an animal, a violent and ugly beast. 

He would kill him like one, and with pride. 

“You shut your mouth!” Lawrence hissed, eyes blazing. 

“No!” Thomas screamed, right in his face. Lawrence flinched instinctively, “It’s not a damn secret! Everyone in this house knows so why should I be silent?!”   
Their little spat had caught the attention of others on the gallery floor. The Dowager was coming up, looking quite alarmed. 

“What on earth are you doing?!” She demanded, “Stop this! Stop this right now-!” 

Lawrence panicked at the sight of his mother. Thomas used the slight resistance to shove the man back, the vase pointed aggressively in his face. He didn’t know who he wanted to gouge first, his abuser or his enabler! 

“And you!” Thomas roared at the dithering woman, who was taken aback at his brash tone and vulgar forwardness. “You’re just as bad as him! Your own children, slutting after one another, and you do nothing!” 

The Dowager was white as a sheet, horrified at Thomas’ words. 

“It’s happening again.” Thomas spat. She looked ready to faint, “They’re fucking again, and it’ll just keep happening because they’re sick! Sick like diseased dogs!” 

Lawrence was scrambling for words, but failing to find them. With Thomas’ vase in his face, he had no choice but to take the abuse or be blinded by shards of glass. 

“I’m leaving.” Thomas felt freer than he had in months, suddenly full of a blazing energy. He would stride from these doors and never be burdened upon the steps of Belton again! “I’m leaving and I’m going to the police. I’m going to tell them everything! Every last thing that’s been happening here, and see if you can stop me! I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my child!” 

Thomas headed for the stairs, but the Dowager stopped him, protesting with her hands clasped as if in prayer. 

“Thomas, please see reason!” She begged, “Lawrence is your alpha, and rumors like this-!” 

“No!” Thomas barked. The Dowager took a step back, afraid of him, “He’s Anthea’s alpha, not me! And she can fucking have him for all I care! If they want to screw like rabbits then that’s their own agenda!” 

Bidden by the sound of her name and the wild screaming just outside her bedroom, Anthea appeared. She was still in her housecoat, still looking dreadfully pale, and quaked with fright at the sight of Thomas brandishing a broken vase in her mother and brother’s faces.   
Her brother. Her lover. 

Thomas turned the face on Anthea now… for some reason he could feel nothing but ugly contempt for her. Not a drop of pity could be found in his veins. 

“You…” Thomas hissed through clenched teeth. Anthea trembled, holding her housecoat tight to her chest as if experiencing a sudden savage cold, “You were jealous of me… not because I was getting attention but because I was being fucked like an animal by him.” He gestured from Lawrence to Anthea with the vase, “You… you wanted him to fuck you. Not me. You didn’t even care that it was rape, you just wanted the attention. You’re sick. You’re absolutely sick.”   
“It’s not my fault!” She bleated, afraid, “I can’t resist him! He’s an alpha! I’m an omega!” 

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GOD DAMN!” Thomas howled at the top of his voice. “The police can sort you both out! I’m leaving! I’ve had enough of this-!” He charged for the stairs again. 

“Oh no you’re not-!” 

Thomas felt Lawrence try to grip him, and rounded on him with the vase. He slashed Lawrence, aiming for the neck but instead getting the cheek so that a huge red scar suddenly appeared and blood began to pour from the cut. Lawrence gasped in pain, and as Thomas brought the vase up again to try and to more damage, Lawrence reared back and sucker punched Thomas in the mouth. 

Thomas staggered, losing his footing. The vase went flying from his hand, shattering on the floor, but before Thomas could fall, Lawrence grabbed him by the arms and jerked him back up. He was shaking him, shoving him-! 

Thomas felt something explode against his back; Lawrence had shoved him into a pedestal holding yet another vase. It broke behind Thomas’ head, crashing to the earth in a cacophony of noise. 

“Lawrence, stop!” The Dowager screamed. “Stop, I beg of you-!” 

“I don’t care what you’ve seen!” Lawrence was seething, wild like an animal as he shook Thomas left and right. Thomas felt the baby kicking violently at his spleen, shocked by the sudden assault, “You’re nothing without me, d’you hear?! You’re nothing but a stupid, useless, worthless omega! And no one will believe you! No one! Why should they- why should they when you’re nothing without me!” 

He brought his hand up and punched Thomas again, sending Thomas floundering back against the wall. He bounced against the wood, gasping for breath. 

“Lawrence!” His mother screamed, closed to tears, “You’ll hurt the baby-!” 

“SO WHAT?!” He rounded on the woman; she cowered, afraid of her own son. “He’s a breeding machine! I’ll just fuck him again!” 

“You’re insane-“ Thomas was shaking against the wall, a hand against his bleeding mouth. His heart was pounding in his breast, his lungs burning as he began to hyperventilate. Whether it was from fear or from anger, he just couldn’t say anymore. “You’re completely insane!!” 

The door to the library was thrown open. Mr. Wallace strode out, shocked at the sight of the violence and chaos. 

“What on earth is going on?!” The butler demanded, outraged. 

“Wallace, stop him!” The Dowager pleaded, desperately, “Stop him! He’s gone mad!” 

“Shuttup!” Lawrence howled, and with a sudden stab of violence he reared about and slapped his mother hard across the face. She fell to the ground, wailing in fright as she covered her head with her hands. 

Anthea watched all of it motionless. Her eyes were wide and dark like a deer caught in the gaze of a hunter. It was as if she was watching a movie, and not a real life disaster unfolding feet in front of her. 

Lawrence rounded back on Thomas, even as Wallace tried to grab Lawrence from behind. The three of them were suddenly locked in a deadly combat, with Lawrence trying to pull Thomas towards the eastern hall. Mr. Wallace kept jerking Lawrence back towards the library. They couldn’t move one inch without struggling against the other, and Thomas twisted with all his might, wild. The baby was frantic now, he could feel her kicking and rolling, afraid. 

“Get off of me!” Lawrence roared, furious at Wallace’s meddling, “Get off of me, you dotting fool!” 

For one second, Lawrence let go of Thomas, rearing on Wallace to strike him in the face. 

For one second, Lawrence could not balance Thomas’ shifting weight, so that Thomas was suddenly falling backwards again. 

For one second, Thomas gasped, eyes wide and mouth stretched into a silent ‘o’ as he suddenly realized just where he was, and what was about to happen. 

For one second, Wallace saw he falling backward in a long arch and made a desperate lunge for him. 

For one second, their fingers brushed. 

For one second, Anthea screamed, clapping her hands to her mouth. 

For one second, the baby gave a wild lurching kick as the entire world went upside down and Thomas fell backward down the long set of marble stairs. 

 

And then— 

 

It happened so fast that Thomas could not stop himself, could not protect himself. He crashed, arse over elbows, limbs flying in all directions, as he rolled down the sharp marble stairs. He could feel bones crunching in his leg, arm, head, nose, and stomach. He could feel something pull in his neck. He could feel a horrific exploding pain in his abdomen. He could feel a slamming sensation take him over at the back of the head, causing his whole vision to go white. 

He just kept falling and rolling, unable to stop, unable to scream, unable to even breath until finally he hit the bottom stoop and lay on his side with his back to the first step. 

His mouth was open. 

No sound came out. 

“Oh my god-“ Wallace… Thomas could hear Wallace. Someone was running down the stairs. Someone was holding him from behind, holding his head in their lap. The white made it impossible to see clearly. The pain in his abdomen made it impossible to care. “Oh my god, what have you done?!”   
“A doctor-!” Wallace was screaming, “We must call for a doctor-!” 

But Thomas let out the tiniest blurt of a scream. 

The tiniest noise, trapped from lungs crushed with broken ribs and bruised tendons.

The baby wasn’t kicking anymore. 

“Hold on for me!” Wallace was begging Thomas. He had his hands pressed over Thomas temple, which he suddenly realized was bleeding aggressively from the way that his skin was growing wet. “Hold on— you’re going to be alright! Everything’s going to be alright-!” 

But Thomas couldn’t hold on. The pain was too intense.   
He closed his eyes, shuddered, and fainted in Wallace’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warnings will include by a miscarriage and incest in this chapter**
> 
> If you have any comments or concerns... well... you're probably not the only one.


	16. Farewell, Ada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A horrific consequence for a sensless tragedy leaves Thomas shattered. 
> 
> Fortunately, he is in very good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, a Joyous Kwanzaa, and a Bright Three Kings Day. 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, and as my seasonal gift to my readers/followers, allow me to say that Thomas Barrow will officially suffer no more abuse in this fic. Also, Alden is about to get _owned_. Please note though, that this is the last sad chapter for a while and as a result there will still be a **trigger for miscarriage, body gore, and a suicide attempt.**
> 
> It will be okay though, I promise. May all your days be merry and bright.

When the white cleared, It gave way to a clean and bright world too sterile to truly exist. 

Thomas did not know where he was, and yet felt no fear. He was upon a soft bed, and knew instinctively that he was safe from Lawrence. That in this world, there was no Belton House. No Downton Abbey. No anything. 

Save for her. 

 

She lay beside him, completely still.  
A baby, perfect and pure. Skin as pink as cashmere and little black tufts curling about her ears. 

She was asleep. Quiet. Content. 

Thomas rolled onto his side, ignoring the aching pains of his mutilated body to carefully cradled his daughter’s head. She was so small she could easily fit into the palm of his hand. 

He stroked her cheek.  
Her skin cracked. 

Like some kind of bizarre Christmas pudding, the cool veneer of her skin was nothing more than a thin film for what lay underneath. 

Blood suddenly spilled out of the cracks.  
His daughter lay still and quiet… but the cracks were spreading and suddenly her whole face was breaking up into chunks-! 

“No!” Thomas cried out, terror leaping into his heart and mind as he scooped his daughter to his chest. He sat up in bed; white sheets were becoming red with her blood. Buckets. Gallons. Would it ever stop, “No! Sweet angel, no— don’t!” He tried to hold her face together, tried to press the cracks closed with his hands till his fingers were coated in blood. Her flesh was falling away and he couldn’t stop it. 

“Stay with me!” Thomas begged, blubbering. She was slipping away. She was dying. He could not stop it, “STAY WITH ME-!!” 

 

High pitched whining  
Thrashing  
Screaming

Hands. Hands all over him. 

Thomas sucked awake, the terrible reality of his daughters crumbling form and white rooms suddenly replaced by a very real hospital operating room and a table surrounded by nurses. They were panicking. They were holding onto him, trying to keep him still. 

“Stay still!” One nurse shrieked, “You have to stay still now!” 

Another was calling over her shoulder, panicking, “Doctor!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, her hair falling into her face as she struggled to keep Thomas down, “Doctor Clarkson help!!” 

He was there in a flash, face pained with worry as he turned on an overhead light.

“Thomas- Thomas look at me-“ 

But Thomas was dazed, scrambling at everything as he tried to sit up on the operating table. He was reaching for his stomach, trying to feel for his daughter. Her kicks had ceased. A strange cold numb feeling had crept over the lower half of his body. He couldn’t feel his legs- was he paralyzed? 

“The…. ba….” Thomas could not form words easily, “The baby-“ Dr. Clarkson had a light in his eyes, blinding him, “My baby-“ 

Dr. Clarkson was trying to stabilize his neck. A nurse was wrapping a strange cloth about his forehead and collarbone, trying to keep him still. He could feel wood sticks against his ears. 

“When you fell you shattered several bones.” Dr. Clarkson explained, talking rapidly as nurses isolated Thomas’ arms and legs. He was naked. He was cold and exposed, his bruised and torn flesh open to the air and the sterilized light of the hospital, “Your right fibula and radius, your collar bone—“ 

But Thomas didn’t care. He reached out blindly, his arm wrapped in bandages and covered in some weird medical gel. His limbs were almost alien to his eyes, distended from the rest of his body as he reached for Dr. Clarkson’s coat. He grabbed on, staining the stiff white fabric red and yellow from blood and iodine. 

“Baby-!” Thomas screamed out the word. A yelping shriek in pain. 

Dr. Clarkson was shaking his head.  
Thomas knew instinctively… but that did not mean that he had to accept it. 

“No…” Thomas groaned low, reaching out and grabbing at the flesh of his stomach. It was sore. Blackened. Distended but… flabby somehow. 

Empty. 

“No, no, no, NO!” Thomas screamed out, sitting upright. 

He was pulling at medical wires. Yanking at tape, bandages, IV drips, anything that was holding him down, Thomas finally managed to sit up only to grab at Dr. Clarkson’s coat so that he might throttle the man. He was too weak to manage it; the best he could do was just shake Dr. Clarkson with a deranged look in his eyes. 

“Thomas, you have to stay still!” Dr. Clarkson panicked, trying to push him back down. Nurses were holding heated blankets, trying to wrap him up, but Thomas wouldn’t be soothed. 

“LET ME SEE HER!” He screamed. One of the nurses was filling a syringe with an opaque liquid, trying to pass it to Dr. Clarkson while Thomas kept throttling him, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER?!” He shook Dr. Clarkson as hard as he could with his one good arm, “WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY BABY?!” 

“Nurse-!” Dr. Clarkson barked. There was a sudden jerking as several of the nurses worked together to shove Thomas back down onto table. Thomas fought with every last remaining bit of strength he had, his grip on Dr. Clarkson’s coat like steel despite his broken bones and torn ligaments. 

“God damn you!” Thomas howled. “I will find her! I will find her-“ 

Two of the nurses were stabilizing the arm holding Dr. Clarkson’s coat lapel, baring the veins of his wrist. Dr. Clarkson reached up awkwardly, and all but stabbed Thomas in an attempt to get the needle in before he could jerk or thrash anymore. 

A golden sluggish feeling was taking Thomas over. It was laudanum. He knew he would faint within seconds. 

“I will never… forgive you…” Thomas couldn’t get the words out. He was being laid upon the operating table, covered over with heated blankets. The white lights were bleaching his vision, fuzzing everything out. 

“For… thi…” 

But he was sucked under, broken beneath a golden heavy wave, and knew nothing save for the steady thrum of the pulse within his feeble veins. 

 

 

For what felt like only a short time, Thomas lay under the cover of gold. The only distraction he was given was a strange background noise that slowly took dominance as his mind began to awaken. It was jazz, crackling over a radio. A woman was singing, though Thomas did not know who particularly. 

_“My sin was loving you, not wisely but well-_  
_Your sin was letting me and getting me in your spell._  
_Our sin was following a love that could not be._  
_Now my sin is wanting you, though you’ve forgotten me.”_

A dim cold seemed to suck at the room, making his skin clammy and pale despite all the sheets that were atop him. Any warmth originally baked into the textiles was gone now. 

Thomas opened his aching eyes, registering that he was in a dark and quiet room. His neck was horribly sore, bound up in some odd implement that kept him from moving his head left or right. His original assumption that he’d been paralyzed from the waist down turned out to be incorrect, for Thomas could very easily feel the horrible pain in his right leg. His right arm was no better, each limb in a stiff cast that kept his broken bones from shifting any further. 

The pain that radiated from within him seemed to have no beginning and no end. Every muscle, every sinew, every tendon was bruised. The only refuge came from lying still, but voices were whispering to him in the dark and bidding him to move. 

Edward Courtenay was sitting at the end of his bed. 

Thomas could barely see him, but knew instinctively that it was the late lieutenant. He had always possessed such as stiff profile; nobody had been able to emulate it since. 

Edward Courtney was pale, his skin stretched waxy and thin over his corpse. His sunken dead eyes were staring listlessly out across Thomas’ hospital room, his hand pointing to Thomas’ door. The bloody scars upon his wrist looked black in the dark 

Using only his left hand, Thomas rolled and sat up. The pain upon his spine and ribs was so intense he thought he might pass out. His lungs ached with each breath that he took. Edward was pointing to the door that lead out into the hallway. Thomas could see lights beyond the doorway; someone was out in the hall. 

“She’s that way.” Edward whispered. “She’s waiting for you.” 

Thomas did not hesitate. Despite his bruises and broken bones, he swung both legs out of bed. He had to use his left hand to get his right leg cast to move. His arm was connected to a string of IV’s, each of which was tethered to a different bag. He could see that one of them was saline. The other two were foreign to him despite his medical experience. 

The only way he would be able to stand- to walk- would be to hold onto the IV rigger with his left hand. It would take all his strength and coordination (a miraculous feat in his discombobulated state) to make it to the door…But Thomas did. 

He did because he knew his daughter was waiting for him. That was all the incentive he needed. 

The hallway outside his room was dark and quiet; the glow and the sound of static filled jazz seemed to be coming from the nurse’s station down the hall; both were so far away that either barely reached Thomas’ wing. 

He saw through disbelieving eyes, a hallway lined with corpses. Each of them was gaunt, erect like soldier’s to a watch post. Each of them was pointing down the long western corridor, at the end of which stood a familiar woman with her back to a locked door. 

Sybil Crawley was only recognizable for the night dress he wore. Pale blue with small red flowers at her sagging breasts, full of milk she was never able to give. 

Her hair was frayed, dampened with sweat. Her eyes and lips were dark blue from lack of blood. 

Thomas stumbled down the hallway, moving at a snail’s pace. He followed the arms of the dead, each anonymous hand pointing him onward until he stopped at Sybil’s post. 

She stared at him with unseeing eyes, grayed and lacking distinction. She turned, and with one fluid movement pushed open the door behind her. It revealed a sterile hallway beyond. 

There was blood on the floor, drizzled and coating in erratic crossing patterns as if someone had bled out on the stoop. 

Thomas entered, and followed. At the end of the hall there were two doors. Only one was open. 

As he moved down the hall, his feet grew damp from blood. Thomas could not look down without stretching his neck in his cast. He could only face forward, and even that took enormous effort. One sluggish foot at a time, Thomas came to the very end of the hallway where the one door lay open and another stood shut. 

He turned with small clockwise rotation, to stare at the open door. Its placard read “Morgue” in heavy blocked ink. 

Thomas bodily pushed his way through the door. 

Inside, he found a tiled room, frigidly cold with several steel rolling tables in vertical rows. Each was covered with a white sheet, hiding a body beneath it. A cabinet wall to the left held twenty or more body drawers. Two were open to show the slabs within them tagged and waiting. At the far end of the morgue lay a kidney dish atop a chest of steel drawers. The dish was, for whatever reason, covered with a white cloth to hide what lay inside. 

The room smelt of decaying bodies, and the faintest trace of blood. The slow sequestering of medical fluids that embalmed and encased, erasing all forms of life. 

Thomas moved forward once inch at a time, the wheels of his IV rigger rattling across the mopped tile floor. 

_“Our sin—a love that could not be—“_

He reached the drawers, and the lone kidney dish atop. From a birds eye view he could now see that the white cloth atop the basin was lightly stained red in the center where it dipped from lack of resistance. It was blood… still wet. Still fresh. 

Taking a shuddering breath, his lungs aching with the forced expansion, Thomas carefully let go of his IV rigger with his left hand to grasp at the counter of the drawers, pinching the edge of the white cloth between his middle and ring finger. He squeezed his hand into a fist, consequently pulling the cover cloth away. 

It revealed a form beneath. 

It was small, curled on its side. It was blue, with the no true hair or facial distinctions. It was flat faced, a bit like a fish, and was only reminiscent in human for its obvious arms and legs. It was so small it could have easily fit into the palm of Thomas’ hand. 

“God…” He groaned, his voice weak. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting the collar of his neck brace. “God help me.” 

He picked his daughter up from her basin prison, cupping her to his chest. Her skin lightly stained the front of his smock red. It was his blood. Her blood. There were no distinctions anymore. 

He could not stand anymore. He was too weak, too heartbroken. He leaned against the wall and slid down, inching until his bottom touched the floor and his bruised legs stretched out in front of him. He looked a bit like a macabre giraffe, his arms and legs spotted with bruises when they weren’t covered with casts. 

“Mmm…” Thomas could not tell if he was moaning, if he had any will in him left to cry or to breath. For so many months, he had found himself waiting for his daughter. Wanting to hold her and see her face. He’d dreamed of her, running through fields in shoes stained from grass and dew. He’d felt her kick in the morning, urging him to wake up. 

Felt her kick when he’d been pushed down the stairs. Kick in fear.  
She’d known. Thomas was certain of it. She knew that she was about to die. 

He only dimly registered the sound of heels clacking; the soft gasp of a nurse who happened to glance in on the wrong room at the wrong time. 

He paid no mind to her as she ran away. His thoughts were for his daughter alone, pressed against his chest. He spoke to her, though he knew somewhere in the back of his broken mind that she could not hear him. It was as if he was speaking to the universe aloud. To the stars, moon, and whole night sky. 

“No…” He whispered, thumbing her cold, pallid flesh, “Not you. You’re far too good. Far too smart and sweet. You’re not meant for this awful, awful world.” He saw her as if in a vision, swimming through a soup of stars, bathed in the light of the milky way, “Omega, alpha, beta… man… woman… all of it. All of it is beneath you. You are of the stars.” And he knew in that moment that he would never look to the night sky again without seeing his daughter in some way. Without seeing her pale skin or black eyes. 

He was listless, staring down at his daughter though it strained his neck. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her flesh better, but his casts made it almost impossible. He had to raise her with his one good hand, laying her slightly between his shoulder and chin where the cuff of his neck brace was softened to prevent a rash from forming. He kissed her, only to feel the bitter taste of medical juices on his lips. They’d tried to clean her malformed skin of blood, so that diseases could be eliminated or controlled. It had been a botched job; someone was new to their craft. 

“The stars… my dear.” He whispered in her ear. It was barely formed, the slightest shell. Still, she heard him. 

 

There was a man walking through the morgue. 

The scent of white tea and honey clouded around him. Thomas looked up as if through a vicious smog to see the lone figure of Dr. Kinsey. How he’d come to be there was impossible to say. The universe was granting him the image of the one man who had shown him the tiniest amount of decency and honesty in the past months. The handsome doctor who had urged him to wear trousers. 

He looked on Thomas with neither pity nor disgust. He merely saw Thomas for who he was, and for whatever reason chose to sit beside him. He slid down the wall, legs outstretched before him in a mimicking posture. He folded his arms over his chest. He was wearing a faded suit; he’d taken off his tie and loosened his collar. 

Dr. Kinsey took off his wire rimmed glasses, revealing his eyes to be bagged from lack of sleep. He rubbed them carefully upon the bottom of his shirt and put them back on his face. 

He sighed. 

“..How are you?” Dr. Kinsey asked. A gentle start to a gentle conversation. 

“…M’ fine.” Thomas whispered. He’d never been farther from. 

Dr. Kinsey looked down at Thomas, eyes falling tenderly upon the creature tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Who’s this?” 

“…This is my daughter.” Thomas said, “Ada.”  
He called her that instinctively. For some reason, the name had already been chosen for her in his heart. 

Suddenly a memory hit him in a flash. Of Lawrence and Anthea beaming down at Sybil when she’d been a newly hatched chick. Her name had nearly been Ada till Thomas had stepped in and named her himself. 

Lawrence had been beaming. 

“This is the first time you’ve been alone with her,” Dr. Kinsey deduced, “In person like this.”  
So it was… but not entirely. 

“…This is the last time.” Thomas corrected. “And I don’t want it to end.” 

He knew they would not let him keep her. They would force him to relinquish her corpse for fear of plague and disease. A mother’s love would not save him from germs carried by decaying flesh. 

“End?” Dr. Kinsey asked. He seemed perplexed. 

“I don’t want her to be taken away,” Thomas explained, “To a place where I can’t follow.” 

Dr. Kinsey nodded, musing over this disturbing revelation, “When you think about her being taken away, how does that make you feel?” 

Had it been anyone else speaking to him, Thomas might have felt incredibly angry that someone was attempting to infringe upon his time with Ada. But Dr. Kinsey, like Ada, was made of the cosmos. He seemed to exist in the universe simply because the universe had demanded it so, and Thomas felt that if there was anyone alive or dead who could communicate with Ada, it would be these calm kind man who smelt of honey and white tea. 

“Powerless.” Thomas choked. “And as a mother, that is something I do not want to be.” 

“You feel helpless that you can’t do anything for your daughter.” Dr. Kinsey added. He glanced at Ada fondly, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his carved lips. 

“What pull do I have over life and death?” Thomas whispered. No man could go back in time and erase what was already done. No power on heaven nor earth could keep him from losing Ada tonight. 

“That’s something we all have to face, as human beings.” Dr. Kinsey agreed. He spoke in a whisper. 

“…Then I don’t want to be human anymore.” Thomas’ voice broke. 

He did not want to be human. He did not want to feel pain, exhaustion, fear, or anger. He did not want to cry or to scream. He did not want to have a sexual appeal to other men, or a purpose in the eyes of the Rod. He did not want to be a servant. He did not want to be an omega. He did not want to be anything. He wanted to vanish into the dirt and the grime, to sink right into this tile floor with Ada on his chest so that the pair of them could never be parted. So that misery could never find them again. 

“What else does it mean to be human to you?” Dr. Kinsey asked. 

Thomas painted a bleak picture, “To… to hurt. To fear. To want. To need.” Above all to need; to need and not receive no matter how much you screamed or cried. 

To be human was to be powerless and completely unaware until it was too late. 

“What do you need?” Dr. Kinsey asked. 

He supposed he could answer with many retaliations, but only one mattered in the end: “I need her alive.” And he begged it to the universe in that moment. To offer some divine miracle by which his premature miscarried infant might suddenly sprout a beating heart and start back to life. 

“I need her to wake up and breath.” Thomas whispered, “And… I keep thinking if I sit here long enough, she will wake up and breathe for me.” He paused, “but how can she… when she’s already dead?” 

Dr. Kinsey nodded, listening intently. 

“I wonder…” Thomas’ lips were numb as he spoke. “I wonder if we just sat here for a few more months. Maybe kept her here for three more months, maybe she’d… grow on her own. But that’s not logical is it? People aren’t plants. They don’t grow with a bit of water. They need more.” 

He felt it pertinent for Dr. Kinsey to know, “I would have given her more.” 

“But you weren’t able to.” Dr. Kinsey said. Thomas could barely swallow around the knot in his throat. No… no he was not able to. Lawrence had seen to that. 

“… My alpha…” Thomas sniffed, his nose close to running. His voice was throaty, “My alpha pushed me down a flight of stairs because I caught him sleeping with his sister. I threatened to tell, to leave… and he didn’t want me to. He was struggling with me at the top of the stairs, and he let go of me… and I slipped and fell.” 

He did not know why he told Dr. Kinsey these things. He wondered what it mattered. 

“…Is incest genetic?” Thomas asked, looking at Dr. Kinsey. Dr. Kinsey was calm, unblinking in the eye of shocking sin. 

“Does it matter?” He parried. “Does it matter for Ada?” 

And Thomas supposed that it really didn’t. That even if he knew the answer, Ada would still be dead. 

“No.” Thomas agreed. “Nothing matters because she’s dead.”  
His tone was hollow and flat. 

“How do you feel when you say that?” Dr. Kinsey asked. 

“Like I am dead too.” Thomas admitted. “Like I will never love again.”  
And he knew in his soul that his heart would always be wounded from Ada’s loss. That even if, by some far off miracle, he managed to rebuild his life and start again, he would always mourn his daughter. 

For a long while, Dr. Kinsey sat beside him and said nothing. He did not make to take Ada from him by force, nor chastise him for unwisely clutching a corpse to his chest. He did not state the obvious, nor ask Thomas to state it himself. He merely sat and kept Thomas company. 

And for that, he was grateful. 

“… I know why you’re here.” Thomas whispered, after many minutes had passed and the pair of them had not crossed the awful hurdle before them, “I know you’re here to make me put her down. But I needed to see her face, do you understand?” 

Dr. Kinsey did not object nor deny. He looked down at Ada again, reaching out with a careful hand to tenderly touch the shell of her minuscule ear. By contrast, his pointer finger looked enormous. Thomas was amazed at the gentleness in this man’s heart. At his kindness. It moved his soul, made him look on Kinsey with incredible and reverent respect. 

“You wanted to see her, and why not?” Dr. Kinsey shrugged, dropping his hand, “She is very lovely.” 

“No she isn’t.” Thomas would not be treated like an infant. He knew that Ada was, by no stretch of the imagination, a terror to look at. The stuff of nightmares. “She’s under developed and looks like something you’d pull out of the bottom of a river. She wasn’t ready to be born. She’s not lovely. But she is mine.” And Thomas said it with fierce pride, “And that makes her lovely. People can be lovely and not look lovely.” 

“I agree.” Dr. Kinsey said. 

So Thomas said more, “I would have gladly traded my life for hers. I don’t see why those stairs had to discriminate.” 

“Were they carpeted?” Dr. Kinsey wondered. 

“They were marble.” Thomas sniffed. He knew he would be seeing those stairs for the rest of his life, always hidden in the back of his mind, “Black and white tiled marble.” 

“Damn marble stairs.” Dr. Kinsey shifted against the wall, probably sore from sitting in a difficult position on unforgiving tile floor, “How dare they.” 

“Any decent set of stairs has carpet.” Thomas said, for the grand stairs of Downton Abbey were carpeted with a soft red fiber. 

They fell into silence again. 

It was mildly pleasant and soothing, to imagine that this little bubble crafted for love and happiness could last. But Thomas’ brain had always been masochistic at its core, and he knew that despite the love he felt for Ada and Dr. Kinsey’s acceptance, there was only so much time given. 

“…Just say it.” Thomas whispered. Dr. Kinsey looked at him, taken off guard as if he’d been lost in thought. 

“Say what?” He asked. 

“You came here for a reason.” Thomas wouldn’t be lied to. 

But Dr. Kinsey did not make to lie. Instead, he just kept on observing. “You feel that I’m here to order you around.” 

“Yes.” Thomas mumbled. “You’re an alpha. I’m a disobedient omega, holding a miscarried fetus in a morgue.” 

“I’m also a Taurus,” Dr. Kinsey joked, “Does that factor into this as well?” 

It was unbelievably refreshing, to speak to an alpha who didn’t care that he was an alpha. Who didn’t expect some kind of privilege over omegas, just for existing. 

Thomas looked up at him, sinking into the warmth behind Kinsey’s honey brown eyes. It was easy to get lost in those pools. To let the smell of white tea wrap around him and hold him close. 

“…Can I keep her?” Thomas whispered. 

“What do you think?” Dr. Kinsey whispered back. Not mocking just… asking. 

Thomas knew the answer, though he was loath to admit it, “No.” Dr. Kinsey nodded in somber agreement. Thomas sniffed, rubbing his daughter’s thin skin. He rocked a bit, as if soothing a fussy baby instead of holding a cold corpse. 

“…Can I be the one to do it?” Thomas asked, remarkably unspecific, “To take care of what needs to be done?” 

“Of course.” Dr. Kinsey seemed to understand what he was getting at, “I insist on it.” 

“I want her cremated.” He wanted her as close as possible, not locked in the cold earth. 

“That is a viable option.” Dr. Kinsey said. 

“I want to keep her with me.” 

“As an urn, that is a viable option.”  
So it seemed there would be no wiggle room. 

Thomas allowed silence to overtake them once more. It seemed that Dr. Kinsey would not press him, that they would leave and move on at Thomas’ pace. If he wanted to take a few more minutes, that was fine. If he wanted to take a few more hours, Thomas had a feeling that would be fine too. But he was starting to grow slightly ill at the realization that he was holding onto a corpse. That nothing on heaven or earth could pump life back into the cold flesh beneath his hands. 

“…Is it my fault?” he whispered. God, how it ached within his breast. He kept replaying the tragic scene over and over in his mind. If only he hadn’t called Robert. If only he hadn’t fought with Gray. If only he hadn’t strayed so close to the stairs. If only Gray hadn’t let him go. If only. If only. If only…. 

Dr. Kinsey spoke up, “Earlier you said that you would have given her more. How then, can it be your fault?” 

A solid observation. 

Thomas sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He was so exhausted, so achy… he couldn’t stay much longer in the morgue. He needed to be in bed, lying down. “I want to take her back to my room.” He decided. He would hold her there, in bed. 

Dr. Kinsey pursed his lips, eyes locked on Thomas’. They were challenging, but not unkind, “Do you think Dr. Clarkson would be okay with that?” 

Dr. Clarkson? The man who scrubbed his hands like a man possessed? The doctor who consistently demanded the floors be mopped and waxed even if they hadn’t been trod upon in days? Would Dr. Clarkson be okay with Thomas holding a decomposing corpse to his chest till it rotted into the mattress? 

“No.” Thomas whispered. Dr. Kinsey nodded in agreement. 

“I tell you what.” Dr. Kinsey was not one to leave Thomas in the lurch. He softly slapped his knee in a moment of decision, gripping the faded fabric of his trousers with smooth hands, “I’ll talk to Dr. Clarkson about having the cremation done very soon. Maybe even tomorrow. Then I’ll have Ada’s urn brought to your room. How does that make you feel?” 

“Better.” Thomas admitted. Dr. Kinsey just kept nodding, shifting his glasses a little higher up onto the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.” Thomas begged. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t want to hurt, “I can’t take it.” 

“Well, several people already know you’re here.” Dr. Kinsey admitted. Thomas’ stomach twisted. “The Dowager Countess of Lincolnshire was the one who had you brought here, so I assume the Gray family knows of your location. You haven’t been visited by any of them, though. People at Downton Abbey also know that you’re here. You’ve been asked for several times by the downstairs staff, but you’re in a secure wing, and no one has been allowed to see you. I’ll talk to Dr. Clarkson about adding extra security to your room if you wish. We won’t let anyone in; your privacy will be maintained.” 

Thomas supposed in this position that was about as good as he was going to get, “I want to choose the urn.” He said. Anything to make him feel more in control of the situation. 

“I will make sure that happens.” Dr. Kinsey assured him. 

“Are you so certain you can do all of this?” Thomas asked, for Dr. Kinsey seemed to be imposing himself on a single man mission. 

“I came here to help you.” Dr. Kinsey explained, “I’ve been here for several days. I arrived the same day you did.” He paused, smiling gently at Thomas, “Call it a pull of destiny.” 

It would be nice if he could. After eight months of Lawrence Gray, Thomas needed eight hundred years of Dr. Kinsey. But Thomas doubted the universe would be so kind. 

“Are you going to put me somewhere, like where all the crazy people go?” Thomas wondered, for Dr. Kinsey was a psychiatrist and he was technically holding onto a dead body for dear life. Omegas had been institutionalized for much less in the past. 

Dr. Kinsey didn’t seem as convinced. He cocked an eyebrow, “The Ascot Races?” He asked. Thomas snorted in spite of himself. 

“Don’t be an ass.” He grumbled. 

“Have you ever been there?” Dr. Kinsey asked. 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know I’m being an ass?” Dr. Kinsey asked.  
He supposed there was no true way to know. Dr. Kinsey smiled, understanding what Thomas had been truly trying to ask, “I’m a psychiatrist.” 

“That’s what you do though, isn’t it?” Thomas asked. 

“No.” Dr. Kinsey said. 

“Do you promise?” 

“Yes.” 

For a moment, Thomas simply sat back and observed Dr. Kinsey, this quiet gentle man who had been kind enough to sit and talk with him while he grieved his daughter’s premature death. He’d not pressed, he’d not insisted, but in his own simple way he had reminded Thomas that this moment with Ada would not be allowed to last. That, for better or for worse, he would have to find a way to grieve her passing without holding onto her corpse. 

He was so exhausted, so blinded by pain, that he decided the moment was over. He nodded, without speaking, and Dr. Kinsey popped his kneecaps again to rise up and help Thomas to his feet. 

It was a delicate affair. Thomas was all but immobilized in casts, and Dr. Kinsey had to be careful not to hurt Ada’s fragile corpse as he hoisted Thomas up by his one good arm. When Thomas was finally on his feet, Dr. Kinsey offered the kidney bowl in which Ada had been laid to rest. He did not force Thomas to relinquish her corpse. He allowed Thomas to go at his own speed as he carefully laid her little body back in the bowl. Dr. Kinsey then sat the bowl back atop the steel dresser, and covered it once more with its cloth so that it was almost like he was putting Ada to bed. 

Now came the hard part of walking away. 

Dr. Kinsey walked backward with Thomas, taking him about the waist and underneath his left armpit as they stepped backward one inch at a time.  
Dr. Kinsey wasn’t allowing him to pull away, to return to Ada’s side. He would not allow Thomas to dwell. 

But as Thomas stepped away again and again, he could not hold back one last call, “It’ll be alright.” He told his daughter. “I’ll make it alright.” 

Who was he talking to? The bowl? The universe? Himself?

“I’ll be right back.” Thomas’ voice broke. He would not be right back. Ada probably knew that. “I’ll see you very soon.” He would never see her again. “I promise.” 

Dr. Kinsey helped him from the room, and shut the door of the morgue so that the dead were allowed their solitude once more. 

Ada’s bowl lay in silence, an ungodly hush falling over it all. 

 

 

Thomas was returned to his room by the help of Dr. Kinsey, Dr. Clarkson, and one nurse who looked very shaken indeed. He was given a new frock, his old one covered in dried medical liquids that smelt sour. His room, true to Dr. Kinsey’s word, was on a private wing off the western hall of the hospital. Very few people wandered the halls, save for high up nurses and Dr. Clarkson himself. The usual hubbub of the medical facility was sequestered behind a thick wood and glass door, whose golden paint read ‘Intensive Care’ and demanded all pay respect to its call for silence and solitude. 

He was brought flowers, mostly lilies. They came from several people: the collective downstairs staff of both Belton House and Downton Abbey, Lord and Lady Grantham, and Lady Mary. They lay in a line along the windowsill, basking in the March warmth and enjoying the refresh from the chill outside. Several fat bumblebees ended up getting inside Thomas’ room through cracks at the top of the windows, eager to harvest pollen from such a beautiful array before their brethren could catch on any the wiser. Thomas could hear their hum, soft and dull, singing him to sleep through the laudanum that was given to him twice a day. His nurse was an older woman, with grayed hair in a large bun and an exhausted smile. She was cautious with Thomas, checking his bandages, changing his bedpan, monitoring his bowl movements, and fetching him cold flannels which she lay upon his forehead when he sweated in his sleep. She made him sit up, made him throw up, made him do all sorts of things that got him on the verge of screaming. 

He did not want to be touched. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to die.  
His daughter was dead and he wanted to die. 

Two days after his talk with Dr. Kinsey, Thomas lay in bed staring listlessly at the ceiling where a large rotating fan was giving hell to a few unfortunately bumblebees that had gotten lost on their way to the lilies. The current of the air would swing the bumblebees wildly. They would fly at the wall, only to right themselves on the very last second and drift aimlessly back down to Thomas’ bedside lamp where they would seek heat from the glow of the bulb beneath. Thomas watched one spread its wings, skin as thin as paper, and thought of his daughter who had been so small and fragile she ought to have been handled with velvet gloves. 

When his door opened, Thomas immediately thought it was his day nurse. Instead, he saw it was Dr. Clarkson, who looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Despite being exhausted, Dr. Clarkson was professional, and immediately checked Thomas’ chart before flipping it over to a new page and coming to sit at his bedside. 

He gave Thomas a tiny tired smile. “Thomas.” He said in way of greeting. 

Thomas had no greeting to give. 

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Clarkson asked, reaching out to lay his hand upon Thomas’ forehead where a cold wet flannel had slowly been turning hot and dry. He changed it, refreshing the flannel in a bowl by his bed and laying it once more upon Thomas’ head. 

“… Have you cremated my daughter?” Thomas asked in a croak. Dr. Kinsey had promised it would be soon. 

“It’s to be done today.” Dr. Clarkson said. So it seemed Dr. Kinsey had been a man of his word, urging for haste. “It’s going through Grisby and Sons. The Crawley family has used them for generations. A man is here to see you; Everett Grisby.” Dr. Clarkson said by way of explanation, “He’s come to talk to you about options. Dr. Kinsey said that you wished to be in charge of executive decisions.” 

Clearly Dr. Kinsey was aiming for top prize with Thomas’ trust. 

At Thomas’ word, Dr. Clarkson brought in Everett Grisby, who turned out to be a frail old man. It was slightly ironic that a man with a foot in his own grave should be in charge of funeral services. The man had a palsy look about his, his knobby fingers shaking constantly as he sat in Thomas’ guest chair and unclasped a large leather briefcase full of papers. Dr. Clarkson had decided to stay for the proceedings, perhaps not trusting Thomas on his own after Thomas had delightedly clutched a corpse to his chest the other night. 

“How do you do, Mr. Barrow.” Mr. Grisby was polite, but did not bother to shake his hand seeing as he was covered in IV’s with one and a shoulder long cast with the other. 

“Mr. Grisby.” Thomas accepted the glossy envelope that Mr. Grisby offered him. It contained a catalogue made of stiff waxed paper and testimonials from others who’d engaged their services. Thomas noted that one was from Lady Grantham: 

_“Everett and Eugene Grisby handled our family’s grief with the greatest of care, bringing dignity to our beloved dead and presenting us with a pleasant place for mourning.”_

“They say you’re the one to incinerate what remains of my daughter.” Thomas was shocked at the apathy in his own voice. How could he be so calm when he wanted nothing more than to burst into flames and vanish from the universe? “Will you do it with style?” 

Lady Sybil’s funeral had been tasteful, if not tragic.  
Tom had been unable to attend. He’d been too gone with grief. 

“All our cremations are done with greatest respect and dignity for the dead.” Was Everett Grisby’s automated response. He’d probably said that line a million times before. 

“You won’t have to aim for much.” Thomas was once again shocked at his own numb words, “They’ve had her in a kidney dish for the past three days.” 

Instead of being put off by Thomas’ callous attitude, Mr. Grisby seemed to have expected it. He nodded, solemn, and did not make to question or confront. The art of handling the bereaved was difficult to master. 

“The menu in your hands shows a list of our urns on hand for the more small subjects.” Mr. Grisby said. Thomas thumbed through the catalogue, noting that most seemed to have flowers painted on them. He crinkled his nose, “Given the fact that the subject is female-“ 

“Was.” Thomas glanced up at Grisby. He might have been trying to be gentle, but there was no point in skirting the truth. “She was female.” 

Once again, Mr. Grisby did not confront or question, “I’ve taken the liberty of showing you a selection of our more feminine urns. Of course, if you care for something different?” Thomas waved him off; he did not want this process to drag on. His chest was beginning to ache from suppressed grief. 

He paused as he flipped through the pages, noting a rather feminine urn that didn’t stray too far on the side of hideous. It had a bulbous shape, with a gentle floral pattern atop a white geometric hip trim. It had a background of lavender and black, or so the add claimed, and flowers of red and white. It was only six inches tall, and four inches around at the widest. It could probably sit on a table and be indistinguishable from an antique. 

It would do. 

“This one.” Thomas whispered, pointing to it with a blackened finger. Mr. Grisby leaned in to observe his selection. 

“A Rubian Chelsea.” He praised, “Very lovely.” 

He took back his waxy catalogue, before pulling out an order form and a ballpoint pen. For a moment there was only scratching, as Mr. Grisby filled in the more pertinent details: the date, client name, and ordered urn. Then he turned to Thomas, his pen perched patiently over the bottom half of his order form. 

“Would you like anything engraved upon the hip of the urn?” Mr. Grisby asked, “Many chose to have names, dates, even inscriptions from Litigo-“ But Thomas wanted nothing even close to Litigo going near his daughter. 

“Her name.” Thomas sniffed. Mr. Grisby waited patiently, ready to write whenever he spoke, “Lady Ada Elizabeth Gray.” He didn’t know why he added the middle name Elizabeth. He supposed he liked the sound of it. “And her birth date.” 

But then it hit him that he had no idea what that day even would be, and he chuckled weakly. 

“I don’t know what day my daughter was born.” Thomas spoke through numb leaps, meeting no one’s eyes, “Isn’t that something.” 

“The 21st of March.” Dr. Clarkson said. Thomas gave a long sigh, “Six days ago.” 

A week ago he’d been blissfully preparing for motherhood.  
And now, look at him. 

“March 21st… 1927.” What a wonder. What a wonder indeed. 

“I’ll have both the name and the date inscribed.” Mr. Grisby said. He fished around in his briefcase, pulling out a card and offering it to Thomas. “Here is my business card, should you need anything at all. I’ll have the work done by tomorrow evening and will bring her urn by personally.” 

Mr. Grisby closed his portfolio, rising up on wobbly knees. Christ, he’d better be careful not to fall into the pyre when he was building it. 

“How much will it cost?” Thomas asked, as Mr. Grisby shrugged on both his coat and black bowler hat. 

Mr. Grisby was tentative to answer. “Lord Grantham has been kind enough to take on the billing, Mr. Barrow. You needn’t worry-“ 

“Bill it to me.” Thomas ordered. The cold tone in his voice left no room for argument. Mr. Grisby tipped his hat to Thomas, not making to rebuke or deny. 

One had to hand it to Mr. Grisby. He was a man who knew his craft. 

“Until tomorrow evening.” Mr. Grisby said, and with that he turned to go. Dr. Clarkson saw him to the door, muttering something to him that Thomas could not hear. It didn’t matter anyways. 

Dr. Clarkson shut the door and returned to Thomas’ side, straightening up his guest chair only to sit in it himself. He looked… grim. 

“Thomas… I have some… news.” Dr. Clarkson was careful with how he worded it. “I… don’t know how you’ll take it but Dr. Kinsey has urged me to be emotionally honest with you.” 

Thomas waited, wondering how on earth Dr. Clarkson thought he had any news left in his arsenal that could further shatter Thomas’ psyche. 

“Your alpha, Lord Gray…” Dr. Clarkson paused, coughing to keep his tone soft and low. “He’s dead.” 

For a moment the only thing that could be heard was the gentle ticking of the wall clock. It was 9:31 in the morning. The lone bumblebee sitting atop his lamp picked up again, and headed towards the ceiling where it was once more drawn into the vortex of the ceiling fan. 

“From what I understand, he fell into a sort of depression after your accident, and locked himself away from his family.” 

The bumblebee was in serious danger of getting killed by the ceiling fan if it didn’t watch out. It would zip in and out of the blades path, determined to make it to the warmth of the light in the center. 

“He shot himself yesterday. It was instantly fatal. He didn’t suffer.”  
But the bumblebee suffered. It was suddenly blindsided by the swing of the ceiling fan, and was thrown completely out of orbit. It fell to earth, crashing to the floor where it buzzed pathetically only to fall silent. Dr. Clarkson didn’t seem to notice it. 

“…And did she suffer?” Thomas asked in a whisper. 

Dr. Clarkson said nothing for a moment. He bowed his head, and spoke with reverence. 

“No.” He said. “She was born without life. She never knew pain. She never knew anything, save for your love.” 

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it. She’d known her mother’s love and her father’s abuse. She’d kicked wildly when Thomas had fallen down the stairs. She’d known it would end her life. 

Thomas said nothing, staring listlessly at the dead bumblebee upon the floor. Its legs had curled up onto its stomach. 

Thomas couldn’t do the same in his casts. 

“You’re lucky to be alive, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson whispered. Thomas didn’t fully understand his words, but acknowledged they were passing through his ears, “You suffered extensive injuries. A broken leg, and arm. A broken collarbone. A cracked skull. Many people have died from falling down the stairs.” 

He wondered how many people had died from ceiling fans.

“Dr. Kinsey has told me that you don’t wish to be disturbed. I’ve made sure your ward is being guarded. There’s a police officer just outside the door. But people have been asking for you. I know you must feel overwhelmed, numb, but…” 

“It’s just, some months ago-“ Thomas spoke up, crossing out whatever the end of Dr. Clarkson’s sentence had been, “I forcibly miscarried. And part of me wonders if I ruined myself-“ 

“Thomas, none of this is your fault.” Dr. Clarkson was fierce in his compassion, just as he was in his stubbornness, “Not a single bit of it. It was a terrible, terrible accident and there’s nothing more that can be said. You are incredibly lucky to have survived. You have beaten the odds in more ways that you’ll ever be able to grasp. There is nothing innately wrong with your body, Thomas. You can have a healthy baby, and with luck you will.” 

“Luck.” Bumblebees did not have luck. 

“You can try again.” Dr. Clarkson said, but could the bumblebee try again? Could it crawl to its feet with broken wings and abdomen? 

“…Just leave me alone.” Thomas whispered, closing his eyes. 

“Thomas, this is not the end of your life-“ 

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!” 

A stunned silence fell in the wake of his scream. 

Dr. Clarkson did not leap out of his seat or make a mad dash to the door. Instead, he took his time and moved with slow forced calm. He rose up, took one final look at Thomas’ clipboard, then headed for the door. When he reached it, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. His eyes betrayed nothing in regards to anger or shock. 

“Should you need anything, ring the bell on your bedside table.” Dr. Clarkson said. He then left the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Thomas saw odd shadows move in front of the glass; perhaps it was the policeman. 

 

He lay there, as time marched on and the sun trecked its way across the sky to be overtaken by the moon. He did not eat. He did not sleep. At times, he did not even think to blink or breath. He simply lay staring at his high vaulted ceiling, watching it slowly grow darker as his mind was overtaken by the numb reality that his life was over. 

He’d thought that it would be so easy, so simple, to take on an alpha and be someone’s mate. He’d forgotten somewhere along the way that being a mate wasn’t the tag line for a job description. It was a relationship, fraught with perile and designed to fail. People were only parted through two ways, loss or death. For Thomas, it had been a combination of both, and it had rendered him incapable of going on. It had not just been his daughter to die. It had been Lawrence Gray’s innocence. The man who had been so captivated by Champion, who had gloated and fawned over a newly hatched peregrine falcon even though it was not technically his own. The man who had cried into his breast, overcoming a cocaine slip, had faded away slowly first through abuse and then finally through incest. Whoever that man had been, if he’d actually loved Thomas or not, it was impossible to say now. Lawrence was dead. Lawrence had shot himself with a gun. 

And Thomas had quite decided he wanted to do the same. 

But he was exhausted, and as he faded to sleep he found himself numb even to the breath in his lungs. 

When he woke again, it was three in the morning, and he’d quite decided that he wanted to die. 

He sat up in bed, much the same way as he had before. First he had to roll onto his left side, then he had to use his arm as a prop to become vertical. This time, however, Thomas didn’t mind his IV’s. Instead, he reached up, having to use his mouth to carefully pull out the needles resting in the veins atop his hand. Instantly, fluids began to soak onto Thomas’ bed, staining the mattress red and yellow only to drip over the steel rim and onto the tiled floor. Thomas paid it no mind, stumbling at a snail’s pace for the door of his room. His casts made it difficult to balance or walk, particularly without his IV rugger to hold onto. Each time he leaned upon his leg cast, he felt an ugly twinge shoot up through the heel of his right foot. 

He reached the door, and carefully opened it to look out into the hallway. 

It was quite dark, with only the dim light of the nurse’s station reflecting around the corner of the main hallway. There, right next to his door, was a police officer fast asleep in his chair. He was exhausted, with bags beneath his eyes, and was drooling slightly out of the side of his mouth. The poor man looked like he hadn’t slept right in a month. He was sagging, close to falling out of his seat… but there in his holster belt was his .45 Colt revolver. 

It would do. 

Thomas had to move incredibly slow, ears peeked for noise as he reached for the policeman’s belt. Twice he had to stop when he heard a nurse walking past, but the woman didn’t seem to realize a patient was out in the hall. Her head was ducked, scanning a clipboard; she walked to the medical cabinet on the east wing, then walked back to her patient room on the north wing. After that, there was silence. 

Thomas took another slow breathe, reaching out and carefully undoing the leather clasp that kept the holster belt locked around the Colt’s single action trigger. Then, it was all a matter of leveraging the handgun out of the holster without waking the policeman. God in heaven, the man looked like a bomb could go off and it wouldn’t trouble him. 

Still , when Thomas finally took the gun away the policeman shifted a bit on his chair, groaning in his heavy sleep. 

Thomas straightened up, wincing at the pain in his right leg, and then backed into his room, shutting and locking the door. 

~*~

Rob threw the cricket ball up into the air, catching it on the offhand as it descended back to earth. Leaning hazardously in Richard’s swivel chair while Richard drank his sixth cup of coffee. 

Rob sighed, looking down at his wrist watch to see that it was just after three in the morning. 

“Bloody hell, Dick!” Rob sat up carefully in his swivel chair; he’d fallen out of one once during med school and no one had let him forget it since. “It’s three in the morning.” 

“Indeed it is, Robert.” Richard did not look up from his paperwork, signing off each sheet with care. 

“Almost done?” Rob asked. Richard groaned in his chair, stretching obscenely and yawning before sipping more coffee. 

“Almost.” Richard admitted, flipping to the next file. “I’m cataloguing everything I can find on Thomas’ pregnancy. It’s so rare to see a male omega birth, and now that I’ve gone through two of them I want to compare notes to the late Crawley pregnancy.” 

Rob felt his stomach flip at the thought of Thomas. 

There had been something hauntingly beautiful in Thomas’ spirit. When they’d met the first time, Rob had been instantly smitten, determined to win the man’s hand if he could. To find out that Thomas already had an alpha was dampening. To learn that the alpha was abusive was like a kick to the gut. 

But to be called by Richard out of the blue, begging him to return to Downton and telling him that Thomas had just suffered a dangerous miscarriage as a result of falling down the stairs? That… that had been the worst of all. Like he’d been toppled down the stairs himself. 

Ada had not been beautiful, but she had been lovely and Thomas had deserved to hold his daughter. When Beth, the night nurse, had fetched Richard in a panic saying that Thomas was in the morgue, Richard and Rob had both agreed it was better if he go in and speak with Thomas. The whole time, Rob had sat with his heart in his throat… petrified of saying the wrong thing. 

“To think, his whole anal passage opened up and allowed an infant to pass through.” Richard blew out a long breath, amazed. “Incredible what the omega body is capable of.” 

Rob cringed, thinking of his own anus. He’d once had a rather challenging Christmas dinner that had resulted in him spending ludicrous amounts of time in the bathroom. He couldn’t imagine doing that again, but this time with a baby. 

“Not to mention the afterbirth.” Richard muttered, scribbling a note in the margin. “He hasn’t been bleeding much, which is a mercy. But his leg will take a while to heal.” 

“…So he’s dead?” Rob spoke up. “The alpha, I mean.” 

Richard slowly looked up from his notes, a dry and irritable expression upon his face. Rob raised his hands at once in defense of his innocence. 

“You need to go to church.” Richard muttered, returning to his notes. 

“I meant nothing by it, Dick! Honest!” Rob said. To be fair, he had been smitten by Thomas from the get go, but how on earth could he think of that now when Thomas was clearly in need and he was a psychiatrist? He had a duty to his oath, and not even beautiful cerulean eyes or soft red lips could sway him from his need to serve. Rob had never been the type of alpha to yearn for a rut or a mate. His life was his craft. There was nothing more to be said. 

For god sakes, in all respects Thomas was a patient! What doctor could think to fall for their patient? It was beyond disgusting. 

“Yes.” Richard took a sip of coffee, finishing off his sixth cup. He gave his old friend a gentle smile that assured Rob no offense had been taken. “Yes the idiot is dead, and good riddance.” 

Richard had written to Rob extensively on the subject of Thomas’ late alpha. The pair of them had gone before the Brigade, giving their testimony in a joint faculty. They were yet to see results of that investigation. What good would it do now, with the man dead? 

“And this… Crawley fellow.” Rob gestured with a hand, “What is he on about?” 

Richard didn’t speak at once, taking his time to think his words over. That was one of the reasons Rob had always been so fond of Richard. Even when they’d been in medical school, with Rob a student and Richard his teacher’s assistant, the pair of them had caught on. They shared a similar humor, with Rob using his wit to lighten the mood and Richard giving his thoughtful edge to keep Rob grounded. 

“I suppose he’s trying to do the honorable thing.” Richard admitted, “Lord Grantham is a man of good character, I can attest for that much, but Thomas doesn’t need an alpha right now. He needs to rest.” 

“He needs drugs.” Rob added, thinking of Thomas’ anus. 

“Lord Grantham is misguided.” Richard finally said. “I’m worried it will lead to trouble.” 

“Well, Thomas has got you and he’s got me.” Rob said, gesturing between the pair of them, “So that’s two better than he had before, yeah?” 

Richard smiled content. Between the pair of them there wasn’t much they couldn’t handle. 

But then a panicked knock came at the door, only to be opened by Officer Mills, the policeman who’d been posted to keep watch outside Thomas’ door. He was sweating, looking frazzled, with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. The slightest trickle of dried drool was still on his chin, yet to be rubbed away. 

“Dr. Clarkson- there’s been a- my gun- it’s gone!” Officer Mills couldn’t get out two words without tripping over the next three. 

At once, Richard and Rob were out of their chairs, coffee and conversation forgotten. 

“What do you mean it’s gone?!” Dr. Clarkson demanded. 

“I was at my post an- an I fell asleep sir- but only for a moment!” Officer Mills seemed close to tears. He was new to the force. This was his first post. “And when I woke up, someone had taken my colt revolver!” 

Richard cursed, raking his hand through his graying hair. So much for coffee; this had woken them right the fuck up. Rob immediately thought of Thomas, the most vulnerable person in the hospital- 

Oh.  
Rob groaned, closing his eyes.  
Then he bolted into action. 

“Do you know how many vulnerable-!?” Richard was going to start on a tirade, but they didn’t have time. If Rob was correct, then every second that passed was a second against them. 

“Dick!” Rob barked, dropping the formalities in front of a stranger in a rare show of panic, “Thomas! Thomas has got the gun.” 

Richard sagged, half his mouth still trying to fill a tirade while the other half sagged in a groan. He abandoned both attempts and ran with Rob out into the hall. The pair of them were making a mad dash for the western wing. Poor Officer Mills brought up their group, jiggling like Father Christmas from his keys and accessories. 

They barged through the western wing’s glass door, the barrier gap forcing them to move one move at a time. Rob skidded to a halt in front of Thomas’ door, reaching for the handle only to find it locked. Beyond the distorted glass, he could see a dark shape against an outline of gold; the bedside light was on. Thomas seemed to be sitting on his mattress. Richard was there in an instant, using his set of master keys to open the door. 

And there Thomas was, sitting on his mattress, with a handwritten note on his lap and a revolver in his one good hand. He looked about at the doorway, took in all his newfound company, and pointed the revolver straight at his temple. 

Rob froze each muscle taut as if pulled by a string. A hand held up to stop his accomplices from charging forward and taking matters into their own hands. 

Thomas was still tragically beautiful, despite his bruises, cuts, casts, and blank expressions. He was beautiful not in his physical appearance but in his spirit. Rob saw it, just behind Thomas’ cerulean eyes, screaming for help. 

So he would. 

“Robert-“ Richard hissed in his ear. 

“Not to worry.” Rob spoke as softly as he could, as calmly as he could muster. Strange feelings were beginning to pull at his chest, making him tense and frigid when he needed to be relaxed. Thomas inspired many emotions in him, “No matter what you hear, say absolutely nothing. All of you.” 

And with that, he took one gentle step into the room. 

Thomas tensed, the barrel of the gun still pointed straight at his temple. 

“I’m going to die now, Dr. Kinsey. So do stay back.” Thomas spoke with soft calm that was slightly disturbing. 

_Shock_ , Rob reasoned, _He’s mentally numbing himself. Anything could set him off. I need to get him to wake up to the reality of what he’s doing and fast. The sooner emotion takes over, the better._

“Are you going to kill me too?” Rob asked. There were certainly enough bullets in that gun to do the job. 

“If you attempt to stop me, yes.” Thomas whispered. Rob didn’t believe him. 

“Why are you going to die?” Rob asked, trying to redirect the conversation back to emotional topics.  
“Because I am going to shoot myself in the head.” Thomas explained calmly. Rob winced at his own stupidity. Wording… wording was everything! Wasn’t that what Professor Barnes had said?

“Why are you going to shoot yourself in the head?” Rob asked. 

Thomas’ beautiful blue eyes began to glisten with emotion, which Rob considered a personal victory at this point. His red lips quivered. A tear began to leak from his right eye, which was swollen shut from a bruise. “Because…” He sucked in a short breath, “I want to die.” 

Fair enough. 

“…Why do you want to die.” Rob needed him to say it out loud, needed him to get back in touch with the emotion of it. 

“Oh, can’t you guess?!” Thomas shrieked, gesturing wildly with the handgun. But that got the barrel away from his head, didn’t it? Though of course, Thomas wasn’t allowed to know that was the goal. 

“I could do many things.” Rob reasoned aloud. He kept his voice calm, though he was petrified, “but I’d rather hear your thoughts on the matter. You are, after all, the expert.” 

This prompted Thomas into a bout of hysterical tears. At first, Rob thought Thomas was about to bring the gun back to his forehead but instead Thomas just pressed his one good hand to his eyes as tears began to flow. It just so happened that his hand was still holding the gun. 

Thomas’ sobs were heartbreaking to hear, but Rob could not let the emotion show on his face. 

_“You will be tested,”_ Professor Downs had warned, _“You will see human trauma in more ways than you could ever conceive. But you will be their light in the dark, and you will bring them home. Do not ever lose sight of your objective due to empathetically pain.”_

Objective: Get the gun out of his hand. 

“She’s dead…” Thomas moaned, a broken omega, “She’s dead and wandering the universe! Wandering it without me! She’s all alone- how on earth will she ever be safe?! She needs her mother! I have to find her, don’t you see?! I have to!” 

Oh this was going to be a tricky one.  
Rob shifted from one foot to the other, cautiously examining his options. It was very difficult to refute claims over the universe because there was no tactical evidence either way. Did God exist? Fuck knows. Was Ada’s spirit actually wandering the universe, desperately calling for her still-living mother? Rob might as well ask the next man he saw on the street. 

He would have to use that lack of evidence to his advantage, but it could easily go sour. It would depend upon Thomas’ state of mind and frankly that wasn’t looking too stable. 

“You are an incredibly devoted mother.” Rob praised, “But I think you’re assuming a bit too much about the universe.” 

“Isn’t it a safe enough guess?!” Thomas demanded, “She’s just a baby, for God’s sake! Any lack of certainty can’t be tolerated! It can’t!” 

Rob took another step forward; Thomas pointed the gun at him.  
Oh. This was going pear shaped rather quickly. 

But Thomas was already starting to show panic and regret, fat tears spilling unchecked down his porcelain cheeks. He reminded Rob of a beautiful painted doll, like the kind you mind find in a toy shop window. The kind children would throw amuck and then pretend to voice tears through. 

“I’m sorry.” Thomas whimpered; Rob believed him, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t…” He swallowed thickly, “I swear I don’t. I’m not a bad person, I’m a good mother-“ But his words were dissolving into rapid sobs. Rob refused to move even a muscle, his eyes trained not on the barrel of the gun nor Thomas’ trigger finger but Thomas’ angelic face. 

“You are.” He assured Thomas. “You are a very good mother. Not many would go to such extraordinary lengths to try and protect their baby.” 

Thomas transferred the barrel of the gun back to his head; Rob had strayed too close to the ethics of duty. He shouldn’t have done that. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Dr. Kinsey.” Thomas whispered, closing his eyes. Two more tears slid down his cheeks at the same time, “But this is the only way.” 

“Why.” Robert demanded, sensing they were growing close to a dangerous edge. 

“Because I have to protect her.” He still hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

“But how will dying protect her?” How much time did they have left? 

“I’ll… I’ll…” Thomas didn’t have an answer, and it obviously scared him, “I don’t know, it just will!”  
“… I don’t think it will, though.” Rob tried. Thomas sniveled; face screwing up as he dropped the gun again into his lap. Rob still did not make to move, wary of being shot by accident. Thomas was fragile; any sudden movement might trigger him into panic mode. Rob paused, giving him a moment to drop in anxiety, “At this point, Ada is far from any danger. She’s at peace with the universe. In the trees, in the wind, in the stars-“ 

At the word ‘stars’, Thomas’ eyes opened. His face suddenly fell slack of emotion. Rob knew a breaking point when he saw it. He took it and ran with it. 

“She’s in the night sky.” Rob murmured, “She’s part of a living breathing cosmos that is so vibrant and alive, something as meager as a miscarriage couldn’t stop it.” 

“But… how do you know that?” Thomas asked, weak. 

Rob pointed to the window on the far side of Thomas’ room. “Do you mind if I open the window?” 

Thomas looked unsure. Rob noted there was a dead bumblebee on the floor. “Seems you’ve been making a few friends, but they’ll die if they’re inside.” 

Thomas drew in the tiniest breath. He nodded, as best as he was able to in a neck cast, and Rob walked with slow purpose across the room to pause at the dead bumblebee which he plucked up. It was beautiful to observe up close, with yellow pollen clustered upon its legs and a curled tongue. Rob finally made it to the window and carefully moved Thomas’ lilies aside to unlock the hanging clasp. The window began to groan, opening wide so that Rob could drop the dead bumblebee into the bushes below. The night sky was plainly evident out in the country with no lights. It was incredibly beautiful to look at, a lush pallet of blues and blacks, against a burning foreground of brilliant stars. 

Rob looked about, and found Thomas staring out the window as well. 

“There.” Rob said. “That’s all the evidence the universe can offer you but… it does the job nicely.” 

Thomas’ bottom lip quivered. He tried to clamber off the bed, and in doing so knocked his suicide note to the floor. It read in a messy scrawl _“Bury me with my daughter”_. Clearly Thomas’ dominant hand was his right. 

Thomas had a hard time standing up. Rob wanted to help him, but couldn’t without invading Thomas’ personal space. It seemed though that by moving a few feet from his bed, Thomas could better see the night sky. He didn’t have to go all the way to the window. Rob moved out of the way, so that Thomas’ view would be unimpeded.

Thomas still seemed unsure, fragile and fearful in lieu of the great night sky. 

“Do you think that could ever be stopped?” Rob asked. Thomas shook his head. “So what is there to protect her from, really? The way I see it, the one that’s still in danger is you.” 

Thomas looked back over his shoulder, at Richard in the doorway with the policeman. By this point two of the night staff were also there… Beth the nurse and an orderly Rob did not know. Both were clearly afraid. 

“I’ve been in danger for months.” Thomas said, and who could deny that? “No one gave a damn then! Why should that change now?” 

“Is that really true?” Rob asked, “When Lord Grantham began an investigation on your behalf? Both Dr. Clarkson and myself testified against your alpha. Dr. Clarkson worked very hard to save your life a few days ago-“ 

But that was a mistake, because suddenly Thomas had someone else he could put the blame to. Thomas raised his gun again, pointing it at Richard, causing Rob’s heart to leap into the throat at the sight of his oldest friend under fire. But the will to commit murder did not last long, and Thomas shakily dropped the gun again so that it trembled at his side. 

Rob stared at it, part of him selfishly wondering how easy it would be to just grab Thomas from behind and yank away the gun…. But that wasn’t the point. Forcing Thomas wouldn’t help him overcome his grief, nor ease his trust issues. 

Thomas had to drop the gun of his own free will. 

“You.” Thomas whispered. It was obvious he spoke to Richard. “You could have saved her. Why didn’t you save her?” 

Richard didn’t speak with anger, nor with unkindness, “She didn’t have developed lungs, Thomas.” 

Thomas sniveled. “Why? Why didn’t she have developed lungs? I loved her.” 

“Because she was too early.” Richard explained. “And no amount of love or care could have made her any more ready to face the world. Believe me, Thomas, if your love could have saved her… it would have.” 

Thomas made a pathetic noise in the back of his throat. Like he was too tired to cry anymore. 

“It didn’t matter that you loved her.” Richard spoke with lyrical quality, giving his damning words a softened edge, “It didn’t matter that I breathed into her mouth, that the nurses hooked her up to IV’s, that Dr. Kinsey called a specialist clinic in London to speak with four physicians, that Lord Grantham was ready to pay three hundred pounds on a surgery to open up her airways more… it didn’t matter. She just wasn’t ready. It just wasn’t time.” 

Thomas slouched, all the wind going out of his sails. 

“And nothing will ever change that.” Richard finished. 

Thomas wavered. 

At first, he put the gun to his head. But then he dropped it and let out a keening cry. He couldn’t decide whether to die or not. It was the final push or nothing. Rob took a bold move, stepping forward so that he and Thomas were side by side. Thomas was so distraught, he didn’t catch Rob sneaking up on him. But when he turned and found Rob there, he didn’t panic or cry out. Instead he just looked at Rob, miserable with trembling lips and tearing eyes. His facial expression seemed to say “Why did this happen to me?”. 

Rob unfortunately did not have an answer for that. 

“Thomas….” Rob whispered, praying that his emotional state was swayed enough to listen to reason, “I understand that the grief inside of you is tearing you apart, but you dying will not bring Ada back. It will only bring more pain and more nightmares. Please… No more.” 

Thomas looked down at the gun in his hand. 

“Please.” Rob said again. 

Thomas’ face screwed up. His raised his eyes to the ceiling, or as much as he could in a neck cast. He began to cry plaintively, broken hearted for the cruelty of the world. 

But it was with mercy, divine intervention, that he also dropped the revolver. 

At once, Rob kicked the gun, launching it across the tiled floor so that it slid cleanly away and back towards Officer Mills who scrambled for it. Thomas just stood there and cried, oblivious to anything save for his pain. 

Rob stepped forward, and Thomas (for whatever reason) leaned into Rob so that suddenly the man was sobbing in his arms. 

Rob held him, amazed at the weight of him. He was a slight, slender thing. Christ, how much did he weigh? He seemed so fragile and delicate that a good squeeze at the middle might snap him in half. So many bruises, so many broken bones. 

Who would do this to a human being? Who would stomach this abuse and think it decent or right? 

It was a last resort, but it came to Rob naturally in that moment. Exuding his scent was not something that he often did, save for when he was thinking intently and accidentally managed to cloud his dingy apartment with pheromones. Now, however, Rob pressed Thomas lightly to his body and let out just the tiniest bit of scent. Anything, if it might sooth him in his moment of crisis. 

It seemed to work. Thomas sniveled, but did not cry outright. He bowed his head, pressing his nose to Rob’s neck. His miserable huffing breathes began to slow. His one good hand clenched tight into Rob’s waistcoat. 

The oddest scent began to wash over Rob in return. Something… close to a ripe fruit. It was sweet and tangy. It made him salivate slightly; made him think of sumptuous feasts at his mother’s house and the occasional pear that he’d sneak up to bed late at night. 

_Thank god_. Rob thought, _Thank god he didn’t do it_. 

 

 

That night, despite Richard’s wariness, Rob slept in Thomas’ room, the pair of them side by side on his hospital cot. With IV’s reinserted and his casts properly immobilized, Thomas promptly passed out against Rob’s chest. His good arm was stretched out over Rob’s stomach by the end of it. 

Rob closed his eyes somewhere close to four thirty in the morning, and his dreams were full of a beautiful pale girl with black curly hair swimming in a sea of stars. Thomas was with her, as if on the shore of some strange galactic lake, waving to her and allowing her splash him with the water. 

Thomas on the other hand, dreamed of nothing, and was grateful for it.  
The day nurse let them sleep till noon. 

 

~*~

When Thomas awoke, it was to the smell of white tea and the sound of someone snoring. He peeked his one good eye to see Dr. Kinsey beside him, resting comfortably on the bed. An arm was slung over his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming in through the now open window. 

Dr. Kinsey was still asleep. 

Able to look at his face without question, Thomas did so. Even half hidden beneath his arm, with the thinnest trickle of drool seeping out the left side of his face, Dr. Kinsey was incredibly handsome. There was a youthful sweetness about him that reminded Thomas of the times when he’d been a footman and convinced of his importance. 

And then there had been the night before, when in the crux of his misery Dr. Kinsey had managed to remind him that not everything in life was bad. That not everyone in the universe was cruel or apathetic. He’d spotted the dead bumblebee upon the floor. He’d opened the window to show Thomas the night sky. He’d held Thomas… not like he was something to be possessed but something to be treasured. 

To say that he was solidly fond of the man now was a bit shy of the truth. Dr. Kinsey had forever earned a place in Thomas’ respect, right next to Mrs. Hughes and Baxter. 

Dr. Kinsey shifted, waking up. He groaned, rubbing at his face and checked his wrist watch only to sit up aghast. 

“Oh, thanks Dick.” Dr. Kinsey muttered nastily under his breath, shocking Thomas with his language until Thomas deduced that Dr. Kinsey was using a nickname and not insisting someone was a cock up. “Thanks a whole lot, just let me sleep in why don’t you-!” 

But he slunk from Thomas’ bed all the same. Thomas shut his eyes pretending to be asleep. 

Dr. Kinsey was quick to put himself to rights, ensuring his waistcoat was done up and running his hands through his hair. Thomas gleaned all of this by peeking out of the corner of one eye.  
Dr. Kinsey nearly ran into a chair, almost forgetting to jam his glasses on his face. Still looking thoroughly out of sorts, Dr. Kinsey took a deep steadying breath and then looked to Thomas’ welfare. 

Thomas’ heart ached with affection as Dr. Kinsey kindly pulled Thomas’ covers up so that he was better covered. He then dashed away as if being pursued by the devil. 

 

Thomas did not see Dr. Kinsey until later that afternoon. Although he was visited by several nurses, Thomas was allowed to rest in comfort and quiet save that he had a new police guard who was not nearly as easy to fool. 

For one thing, he chose to sat inside Thomas’ room instead of outside in the hallway. He kept his post by the door, and read the newspaper from cover to cover before starting on the crosswords and sipping a glass of offered lemonade. He was a handsome, older alpha, with a rugged jaw and a well-trimmed beard. He seemed to no-nonsense type, and Thomas noticed that he did not carry a gun on his belt. He did however own a baton that looked capable of cracking a man’s skull in two. Thomas wondered if the policeman’s gun had been taken away from him. 

Around noon, when a nurse in a starched frock came and brought Thomas and the policeman a beef stew and buttered bread, Thomas decided to ask. 

“.. Did they take your gun away?” Thomas whispered.  
The policeman paused, mid-bite of stew, then wiped the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin and shook his head. 

“No.” He said, then resumed eating his lunch. 

“… Is the other policeman in trouble?” Thomas asked, “Because of me?” 

The policeman once again had to wipe the corners of his mouth with a napkin before speaking. “He’s in trouble because he fell asleep and didn’t lock his holster correctly.” He paused, before adding, “I don’t sleep much.” And with that, he finished his soup. 

Thomas supposed this was the Downton Village Police’s way of warning him not to try his luck twice. 

Around four in the afternoon, Thomas’ nap and the policeman’s crossword were interrupted by the re appearance of Dr. Clarkson and Dr. Kinsey. Neither looked particularly happy, but Dr.Kinsey was holding a small lilac vase in his arms, bottomed in black and framed with a geometrical white hip. 

Thomas sat up carefully in bed, his heart pounding in his chest as Dr. Kinsey bid the policeman to abandon his post and shut the door behind him. 

“Thomas…” Dr. Clarkson gave him a tiny smile, “How are you feeling today?” 

“Better.” Thomas admitted. He felt more real, more inside his own body. 

“Good.” Dr. Clarkson was relieved to hear it, “One step at a time, that’s all we need from you. Dr. Kinsey and I wanted to stop by and speak with you about last night. And bring you Ada.” 

At this, Dr. Kinsey walked forward, and offered his daughter’s urn. 

Thomas took it, amazed at how light and small it was. The ad had proclaimed the vase was about six inches tall. In truth it looked more like five, with a gold dipped top and a slim neck. 

About its hips was the emboldened phrase:

**Lady Ada Gray**   
**March 21st, 1927**

Thomas ran his fingers over the gold paint. It had been lightly etched into the surface of the pottery as well. It was pleasant. Not overbearing. 

Dignified. 

“I am so sorry.” Thomas whispered, looking up at both doctors in great shame, “I am so sorry for what I did to you last night. I… I feel like such an idiot- I shouldn’t have pointed a gun at either of you. Not when you’ve been so kind to me.” 

“Oh for god’s sake, don’t apologize.” Dr.Kinsey waffled, “I had a patient once try and set me on fire.” 

Dr. Clarkson shot a sharp look at his colleague, clearly disturbed to learn that Dr. Kinsey had nearly gone up in flames. Dr. Kinsey gave them both a charming smile as if to say ‘not a bother’. 

“I must say, I do like that urn.” Dr. Kinsey said, gesturing to Ada in Thomas’ arms, “Very lovely. I like the color too. Purple is my mother’s favorite color.” 

In spite of the pain within him, Thomas could not help but smile. Dr. Kinsey always put him at ease, which was good, because things were about to get interesting. 

“I have the unfortunate burden of informing you that you have a guest.” Dr. Clarkson muttered. He looked sour, which made Thomas nervous as to who had come to call. 

“Who?” 

“Alden MacNaire.” Thomas’ heart sank into the pit of his stomach at Dr. Clarkson’s words. Dr. Clarkson didn’t seem too thrilled about it either. “He’s come with a man who swears he’s a doctor but I’ve yet to see a medical license.” 

“Nor will we ever.” Dr. Kinsey added. Dr. Clarkson nodded solemnly, the pair of them clearly in cahoots. 

“Calhoun.” Thomas whispered, for if Alden was going to drag around anyone to do his bidding, it would be one of his own lots. Dr. Clarkson nodded. 

“They wish to speak to you.”Dr. Clarkson said, “Are you ready to endure that?” 

Thomas shook his head. After the month he’d had, he didn’t want to deal with Alden for at least a year and a half. 

“I didn’t think so.” Dr. Kinsey said with an easy smile. “I’ll tell them.” 

“Oh this is going to be fun.” Dr. Clarkson followed his old friend out of the room, with Dr. Kinsey taking chair in a way that only he could. 

“Relax!” Thomas heard Dr. Kinsey say from the hall, “I’m a very charismatic man. They’ll understand.” 

 

 

But of course, they didn’t. 

Not even ten minutes later, Thomas was sat up in bed with Dr. Kinsey at his shoulders while Dr. Clarkson sat glowering at the foot of his bed. Before the three of them stood Alden MacNaire and Dr. Calhoun, both were obviously displeased that neither Dr. Clarkson nor Dr. Kinsey were leaving. 

Alden hadn’t changed much. He was wearing a brown traveling coat, and there seemed to be more gray in his blond beard. He seemed older somehow, angrier. Dr. Calhoun was just the same as ever, though it was obvious he was tired with bags beneath his eyes. Dr. Clarkson was glowering at Dr. Calhoun, as if the man were an obnoxious rodent attempting to scour a pantry. 

“… I’ve been hearing your name a lot lately.” Was Alden’s way of greeting Thomas. He was eyeing his casts and bruises as if he thought them all a rather elaborate costume. “Been in a bit of a way?” 

Thomas clutched Ada’s urn tighter to his chest, like one might to protect a living infant. 

“If you mean to ask has he been pregnant with an abusive alpha’s ill-fated child, then yes.” Dr. Clarkson snapped, “Yes, he has been in a bit of a way.” 

Alden eyed Dr. Clarkson warily, but continued on, “But it’s dead?” 

Thomas bristled, closing his eyes. At his shoulder, Dr. Kinsey squeezed his shoulder’s endearingly as if to say ‘I am right beside you’. 

“I caution you to watch your tone and words, Alden.” Dr. Kinsey said. Alden’s eyes snapped up to glare at Dr. Kinsey. “Thomas is very tired right now. You should respect his state as head of the Brigade.” 

Alden did not appreciate being talked down to, “What monkey box did you crawl out of?” He demanded. 

“The monkiest, I assure you.” Dr. Kinsey parried. Alden soured, beaten at his own game. Thomas felt strong with Dr. Kinsey at his side, like even Alden couldn’t touch him. 

“Well…” Alden huffed, “I’ve received new that Gray is dead; blew his own brains out while high on coke.” 

Yes, that was about the size of it. 

“Nice going!” Alden barked at Thomas. Thomas jumped, blinking bewildered at the man. “I don’t know what it is with you and alphas but you certainly seem to set them running. One tears out his own eyes and slits his wrist. One snorts coke and screws his own-“ 

“Excuse me!” Dr. Clarkson barked, shutting down Alden’s nasty retort. “Lieutenant Courtenay did not tear his own eyes out. He was blinded by mustard gas in service of king and country. You will respect his sacrifice!” 

Alden glared, but said nothing. 

“Thomas was able to improve the Lieutenant’s quality of life for many months before he eventually took his life. I will not have you demean Thomas or the late Lieutenant just to soften your pillow.” Dr. Clarkson carried on, “It is likewise far from Thomas’ fault that his late alpha was mentally disturbed.” 

“I suppose it’s a bit easier to place the blame on Thomas.” Dr. Kinsey added with a cool and calculated air. “Otherwise the blame might drift towards you and your inability to conduct a proper investigation.” 

Alden flared up at once, “My methods are none of your business, monkey boy!” 

“Monkey see, monkey do, monkey several months late to the party.” Dr. Kinsey quipped right back. Thomas snorted, unable to stop himself. Alden looked ready to throw a punch, his cheeks blistering hot with embarrassment. “Why is that, Alden? Busy schedule?” 

“This one’s got a way of exaggerating things, and the alpha that’s after him blew a lot of smoke the first time around.” Alden growled, jabbing an ugly finger at Thomas. Thomas shrank back a bit into Dr. Kinsey’s touch, wishing he could wrap the man about him like a shield. “Besides, I had a lot of interviews to conduct.” 

“I see.” Dr. Kinsey said in a mild mannered voice, “How exhausting for you. Well, no matter. I’m sure Thomas will be very willing to forgive you. He’s charitable in the extremes when it comes to abusive alphas. Isn’t that right?” He looked down at Thomas, who looked up at Dr. Kinsey with wide eyes. 

There was humor in the man’s eyes. He was dragging Alden through the muck for Thomas’ amusement. It was like his birthday come early. 

“If you don’t want to forgive him, we’ll completely understand.” Dr. Kinsey added. Thomas smiled in spite of himself, half his face aching from bruises. 

“I certainly wouldn’t be forgiving.” Dr. Clarkson added sourly from the foot of Thomas’ bed. 

“I don’t need his forgiveness!” Alden barked. Dr. Kinsey just winked. 

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Dr. Kinsey wasn’t afraid of Alden, or the glare that he received. 

“Who are you?” Alden asked, in a way that made it clear he was ready to fling Dr. Kinsey to the first rabid dog he saw. 

“He’s a shrink.” Dr. Calhoun spoke up. Alden was taken aback, clearly unsure of what the term meant. “A psychiatrist.” Dr. Calhoun added for Alden’s benefit, “Dr. Robert Matthew Kinsey… he’s well known in the London School of Medicine.” 

“I suppose you wouldn’t have happened to stop by there for a degree, would you?” Dr. Clarkson asked, icily. 

Christ, this conversation was about to go to hell in a handbasket. 

“Stop…” Thomas asked weakly, “Please, stop. I’m too tired for this.” 

Dr. Kinsey gently squeezed his shoulders. 

“Of course.” He said gently, before looking up at his fellow alphas, “So, is Thomas freed Lawrence Gray’s claim?” 

“Well, there’s the matter of the will.” Alden snapped, “But the toff over at Downton Abbey beat us to the punch and won’t let us see it.” 

Dr. Kinsey snapped his fingers in a pathetic attempt at looking sympathetic. “Darn.” He joked. 

Alden rolled his eyes. When he next spoke, it was as if from a script, “My interviews and investigations have concluded that the bond between you and Gray was forced. You’re free from all its ties. Lord Grantham has made his intent to court you clear to me… so I expect I’ll be back in a few months with reports that he’s out of his mind and screwing his dog-“ 

“Get out of my hospital-!” Dr. Clarkson was ready to have an aneurism. He jabbed his finger to the waiting door, furious, “Get out before I have you thrown out!” 

“I still have to examine him for my reports-“ Dr. Calhoun warned. Dr. Clarkson and Dr. Kinsey weren’t buying it. 

“We’ll have the files shipped over.” Dr. Kinsey said. 

“I have to conduct the session first hand.” Dr. Calhoun replied smoothly. 

“Show us your degree.” Dr. Clarkson snapped. Dr. Calhoun flushed at the obvious insult. 

“I have been knighted-“ Dr. Calhoun began, but Dr. Clarkson cut him off. 

“Show us your degree.” He repeated. It was clear that he didn’t give a fig about the king or who he chose to knight. Suddenly Thomas found himself wondering if Dr. Calhoun even had a degree. Was he lying, under the protection of the brigade? 

“Well I don’t have one on my right now. Is a man’s word sufficient?” Dr. Calhoun sneered. 

“It is not.” Dr. Clarkson crossed his arms over his chest. Dr. Kinsey squeezed Thomas’ shoulders in an endearing way, certain they were on the winning side. “I am the supervisor of this hospital, and I give the command for patients to be examined. Until I can verify that you are not a charlatan, you cannot touch my patient.” 

“If you go against me, you go against the rod!” Dr. Calhoun was just as embarrassed as Alden at this point, who was watching the interplay between the doctors as if viewing a public spectacle. 

_“Let not the way of lies be on their tongue, for an alpha who deceives his omega is a most vicious man.”_ Dr. Clarkson rattled off. Thomas blanched, amazed at his ability to recite Litigo from memory at the drop of a hat, “Litigo 12:19 I think? 12:20?” 

“12:19” Alden growled. A stiff silence fell across the room. “…Since you refuse to cooperate, we’ll make our leave.” But even as Alden turned towards the door, he paused and cast a withering glare back at Dr. Kinsey. 

“Watch yourself, monkey boy.” Alden growled. “I’ve got your number.” 

“Oh go eat a banana.” Dr. Kinsey said, in a way that made it clear he was in no way referencing to an actual banana. Alden flushed, but turned toward the door without another word. When the door closed behind the retreating pair, Thomas felt a bit like singing. He looked up at Dr. Kinsey, even more amazed with the man than he already had been. 

“There.” Dr. Kinsey was deservedly smug, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

“Absolutely disgraceful!” Dr. Clarkson, however, was still fuming from having to speak with a charlatan. “The arrogance! The impudence-“ 

“The testosterone!” Dr. Kinsey sing-songed, like a soppy maid delighted by romping footmen. Thomas could not help but laugh a little bit. It felt good to be amused. It felt even better to see Alden eat the dirt. 

“If you could refrain from making a joke out of everything?” Dr. Clarkson snapped. Dr. Kinsey threw up his hands in mock surrender, “I’d be most appreciative Robert.” 

It was interesting to hear Dr. Clarkson call Dr. Kinsey Robert. Thomas had almost forgotten the man’s first name. 

Robert… _Robert Matthew Kinsey_. It was a wonderful name. 

Dr. Clarkson sighed, gaining back his patience and sense of self. He cracked his neck, content. “So it seems that you’re free.” Dr. Clarkson murmured, though Thomas couldn’t agree. What was free to an alpha was still containment to an omega, “I suppose it’s better late than never.” 

“So what happens now?” Thomas asked, thinking of his belongings at Belton. Of Sybil and even Champion. Who would care for them now? As peculiar of an emotion that it was, Thomas couldn’t help but pine for his birds. 

“Dr. Clarkson and I have spoken with several people on your behalf.” Dr. Kinsey said, coming around Thomas’ bed and sitting down in his guest chair. “One of them is Lord Grantham.” 

Dr. Kinsey did not look happy. Dr. Clarkson was watching him carefully. 

“He wants you to return to Downton Abbey as soon as possible. He believes you can rest better there, and not be bothered by all this hubbub-“ He gestured about at the hospital room, with its gleaming steel appliances and cold tile floors. “Something less sterile.” 

Dr. Clarkson looked taken aback, “Does my sterility offend you?” 

“Oh you know what I mean.” Dr. Kinsey grumbled. 

“I’ll be sure to make the place more germy next time.” Dr. Clarkson was growing impatient. They were like children together, clearly old friends. Dr. Kinsey rolled his eyes. 

“Look-“ Dr. Kinsey focused in on Thomas again, turning so that the pair of them were facing one another, “Thomas… Everyone’s been so eager to say where you should go and what you should do that no one’s seen fit to ask you. But I genuinely want to know what you want to do. Do you want to go to Downton Abbey? Do you want to go somewhere else? You could even travel if you wished.” 

But he couldn’t. Thomas knew his place. He shook his head sadly, “As much as I’d like to be free of all of this… I have to return to Downton Abbey. Lord Grantham wants to be my alpha and… how am I supposed to turn him down?” 

“I should imagine with the word ‘no’.” Dr. Kinsey offered. But what did the word ‘no’ truly mean, coming out of the mouth of an unclaimed omega? No hadn’t stopped Lawrence from taking what he wanted, or Alden. 

“It doesn’t work that way, for us.” Thomas whispered, looking down at his thin coverlet which he picked at moodily, “It doesn’t matter if I don’t want something. It’ll still happen in the end.” 

Dr. Kinsey looked terribly glum in that moment. “That’s… horrible. I’m so sorry.” 

Thomas shrugged. “Lord Grantham is better than Lawrence Gray. He won’t abuse me or push me down the stairs. He doesn’t do cocaine… and he certainly doesn’t have vile thoughts towards his sister, Lady Rosamunde Painswick.” 

Dr. Kinsey blinked, “Is that all that matters?” He asked. 

Thomas shook his head, giving the man a tiny smile, “No. But it doesn’t matter either way. I don’t get a say.” 

“Yes you do.” Dr. Kinsey corrected. He was determined now, sitting up in his chair, “You absolutely do—“ 

But they were interrupted by a gentle knock upon Thomas’ door. It was opened to reveal his new police officer and a day nurse that he did not know. 

“A gentleman’s here to see the patient.” The officer said, “A Lord Grantham.” 

“Ah.” Dr. Clarkson held up a hand, turning to Thomas. “Would you like to speak to Lord Grantham?” 

But did he have a choice there, either? Thomas shrugged, and Dr. Clarkson nodded.  
Only to be stopped by Dr. Kinsey. 

“Wait-“ Dr. Kinsey was starting to grow slightly angry, glaring at his old friend, “Either you want to see him or not. If you don’t want to see him truly, then he doesn’t get to see you.” 

For a moment, the pair of them stared at one another. Thomas could see such fierce passion in Dr. Kinsey’s eyes, and it amazed him to know that the man was so vehemently in his corner. So ready to defend his rights and freedom. Men like Dr. Kinsey were incredibly rare; indeed, Thomas had never met another. He smiled, even though it made the bruises on his face ache. Dr. Kinsey winced at the sight of Thomas’ forced kindness. 

“… It’s okay, Robert.” Thomas used his first name. “Lord Grantham is a good man. Even if he isn’t the man I want.” 

Dr. Kinsey seemed ready to puke from stress. He shifted from one foot to the other while Dr. Clarkson waved for the policeman to send for Lord Grantham. 

Angry, Dr. Kinsey finally slumped into Thomas’ visitor seat. He seemed determined not to move. Dr. Clarkson looked aghast. 

“Robert, don’t do this-“ Dr. Clarkson urged, pained, “Lord Grantham is a generous contributor to the hospital. His mother, the Dowager Countess, by god she’s the sole reason it exists- his father founded the place!” 

Dr. Kinsey did not move, arms folded over his chest. 

“If you say something to make me lose his contributions, I swear I will make you pay his share.” Dr. Clarkson was practically sweating now, “And I’ll remind you, you’re living on loans!” 

Dr. Kinsey was stiff in the lip. It seemed nothing Dr. Clarkson said would make him leave. Thomas watched the man amazed. What was about to occur? 

And then, the policeman was back, knocking politely before opening the door and showing Lord Grantham in. 

He was wearing his black traveling cloak and top hat, still slightly chilled in the April air. In his suit and leather gloves, his wealth was incredibly obvious. He was wearing a purple tie; Thomas knew from experience as his valet that it was new. Perhaps he’d gotten it for Christmas. 

Lord Grantham took one look at Thomas, and flew into a state of despair. 

“Oh my god-“ Lord Grantham groaned, coming to Thomas’ bedside. He practically ignored Dr. Kinsey and Dr. Clarkson, instead swooping to Thomas’ side to take up his one good hand. He was mindful of the IV’s, careful not to cause him in pain. His fingers were gentle over Thomas’ bruises, fearful of how extensive the damage was. 

“God… my god…” Lord Grantham didn’t know how to express his horror any clearer; no matter where he looked there was more damage. The urn Thomas was holding at his side was all the proof he needed of his grief. Lord Grantham stared at the little purple vase somberly, but did not make to touch it. Perhaps he considered it Thomas’ private property, something that he could view but not ask about. 

He reached out and lovingly touched Thomas’ face, but Thomas wasn’t expecting it so he almost jumped at the sensation. Dr. Kinsey did not look happy about it. 

“Oh-“ Lord Grantham realized his folly, “Forgive me…only…” He made to sit down only to see that Dr. Kinsey was sitting in the chair. Dr. Clarkson seemed to be begging Dr. Kinsey to get up with his eyes. Dr. Kinsey didn’t budge. 

Lord Grantham coughed gently and turned his attentions back to Thomas. Thomas suddenly wished he could apologize for Dr. Kinsey but it seemed Lord Grantham was too focused on Thomas to be distraught about his lack of a seat. 

“…How will I ever forgive myself?” Lord Grantham was like a lost man, staring out over a sea of fog. 

“This isn’t your f-“ but Thomas couldn’t finish the sentence because honestly? This sort of was. 

Shit, if Lord Grantham hadn’t given Lawrence permission to court Thomas— but then again, Lawrence really hadn’t asked for permission in the first place. Thomas hung his head, feeling a headache coming on. 

“Thomas, I know you must be incredibly angry at me.” Lord Grantham paused, unsure of what to say next. Fortunately Dr. Kinsey was ready to lend a helping hand. 

“Well to be fair, you can’t know what he’s feeling.” Dr. Kinsey spoke up, “You’d need to ask him first. Why don’t you ask him what he’s feeling instead of assuming?” 

Lord Grantham looked about, shocked to be addressed in such a fashion. Dr. Clarkson was ready to vomit or scream, possibly at the same time. 

“I’m not angry at you, M’lord.” Thomas spoke up, trying to distract Lord Grantham from Dr. Kinsey. It worked for the most part. Lord Grantham was slightly put at ease, and even reached out to take up his hand again. Thomas allowed it, amazed that he could be touched by an alpha and not bruised. Dr. Kinsey pursed his lips. 

“I’ve… been told some very distressing news.” Lord Grantham looked over his shoulder again, at Dr. Kinsey sitting in the guest seat. “I’m afraid- might I sit down-?” Lord Grantham looked at Kinsey. 

Dr. Kinsey stared at him, “oh well I’m sitting-“ 

“Dr. Kinsey was just leaving.” Dr. Clarkson blurted out. Dr. Kinsey was scandalized. 

“I was not leaving!” Dr. Kinsey said haughtily. “I was content to sit right here; I want to hear this man’s distressing news. Please stop interrupting-“ 

“As a matter of fact-“ Lord Grantham ground out, starting to lose his patience. “This is rather personal. I’d like to speak to Thomas alone.” 

Dr. Kinsey looked to Thomas, “Thomas would you like me to leave?” 

Thomas waffled for an answer, unsure of how to say ‘no’ without insulting Lord Grantham. 

“I… It’s alright if he stays.” Thomas said to Lord Grantham. Lord Grantham sighed, slightly cross that he now had to share his alone time with someone who wouldn’t get out of the visitor’s chair. Dr. Clarkson was unsure if he should leave or stay. “It’s alright if everyone stays-“ Thomas added just for emphases. 

Lord Grantham was displeased. “I would rather I speak to you alone for other reasons.” 

Thomas had a feeling he knew what those other reasons were. Dr. Kinsey was growing sour. 

“Forgive me for speaking boldly Lord Grantham but Thomas has just gotten out of an abusive and toxic relationship.” Dr. Kinsey said, as if Thomas’ body casts weren’t obvious enough. “So if one of your reasons happens to include being flirtatious, I feel there could be a better time.” 

Thomas’ cheeks burned with embarrassment. Dr. Clarkson bowed his head in shame. Lord Grantham turned on Dr. Kinsey fully, glaring at the man like he’d just insulted Isis or Tiaa. 

“Who are you?” Lord Grantham demanded. 

“You know, you’re the second man to ask me today.” Dr. Kinsey said, pointing at Lord Grantham mildly while he chinned his hand with the other, “I wouldn’t necessarily consider that to be a good thing, either.” 

“I don’t mean to sound ungenerous but I would be most grateful if you could remember civilities in my presence.” Lord Grantham was unimpressed. “I am an Earl, and unaccustomed to being treated in such a familiar manner.” 

“Well I am a psychiatrist.” Dr. Kinsey said by way of explanation, “So I tend to see all men as equal.” 

“I don’t presume to the stature of moralist.” Lord Grantham was getting more angry by the second, “But I would hope that certain traditions hold, even in the face of the modernizing age.. such as referring to a member of the peerage by their respectable title, doctor.” 

Dr. Kinsey rolled his eyes. Lord Grantham glared. 

“I am Dr. Robert Kinsey.” Dr. Kinsey explained, “And I have been privileged enough to care for Thomas underneath Dr. Clarkson’s instructions. Thomas is in a very tender moment, where he is just beginning to flesh out what he wants from his life after being in an abusive relationship. This moment should be about his desires, not yours. M’lord.” Dr. Kinsey added, though it was clear he didn’t enjoy it. 

Lord Grantham grew cold, disdainful at being seen in an ungenerous light. “Thomas and I have an understanding Dr. Kinsey. His desires, I can assure you, are of great importance to me. They are also none of your concern-“ 

“I disagree.” Dr. Kinsey interjected at once. “Thomas’ desires are very important to me-“ 

“Are they? Or is it your ambition for serving a rare and illustrious client!” Lord Grantham challenged. Dr. Kinsey turned a shade of pink, rising up from his chair. 

“I hardly take on a client for the need of ambition. I have a sworn obligation to help the less fortunate in our society, and I do so with great pride!” Dr. Kinsey was about to climb on top of his soap box. Lord Grantham was riding his high horse into town. 

“Thomas has been through a horrific time, that much is obvious, and until I can see who will be abusive to him and who will not, I cannot afford to put his care into a stranger’s hands. No matter how well intended that stranger may be!” Lord Grantham spoke in a rush, “You claim to be in it for his best interests, but how can I know that when you speak out of turn and without respect? If you treat a member of the peerage with such contempt, how are you to treat the more vulnerable in our society who cannot fight back-?” 

“This is getting out of hand, Lord Grantham.” Dr. Clarkson protested, “Dr. Kinsey is an esteemed colleague of mine, and I can attest to his good character, but if you would care for Thomas’ welfare to be put into the hands of another-“ 

“But this is ridiculous!” Dr. Kinsey piped up, affronted. “This isn’t about what he wants-!” He pointed angrily at Lord Grantham, “It’s about what Thomas wants! If Thomas wants me to stay, then I shall stay! If he wants me to leave, then I shall leave! I refuse to bow to the whims of another, just because they were born an Earl! That is how Thomas was put into an abusive situation in the first place! If anyone can’t be trusted, it’s you!” Dr. Kinsey added. Lord Grantham did a double take, positively fuming at being labeled for a danger and a predator. 

“Stop!” Thomas couldn’t bear it anymore, “Please, please just stop! Stop it right now! I can’t take it-!” 

An ugly silence fell. Dr. Clarkson was aghast at how the conversation had blown up. Both Dr. Kinsey and Lord Grantham were livid. Between them was Thomas, shaking slightly on his bed though not from cold. 

“Please.” Thomas whispered. “I… I don’t want to listen to fighting. I just… no more fighting. Please?” 

Lord Grantham drew a long insufferable breath. Dr. Kinsey ran his hands over his face. 

“… I spoke out of turn.” Dr. Kinsey was the first one to apologize. “I in no way mean to insist that you are a dangerous or violent man, Lord Grantham, but I do feel strongly that Thomas is not in a position to begin the aspects of any type of courtship. He needs to heal and grow strong internally before exploring any type of external conflicts. You might have good intentions but they will end up destroying Thomas if you cage him within your abbey just for the sake of chasing a- “ 

“I don’t care what you think.” Lord Grantham cut Dr. Kinsey off, coldly. He clenched his fists, calculating each word before continuing on. 

“Thomas is as sacred to me as any member of my care or charge.” Lord Grantham drew himself up to his fullest height, though he had never been an incredibly tall or broad shouldered man. He still looked esteemed, in his top hat and fine coat. Honorable, even. “Downton Abbey has always been his sanctuary. It is the home of his family, his support network, and those that know him best. I was foolish to think that his care, as an omega, was better suited to the hands of a stranger… and I will not be making that same mistake twice.” He added with dark undertones. Dr. Kinsey pursed his lips, clearly holding in another angry rant. 

“I have always been his alpha.” Lord Grantham explained. “Before it was in title. Now it will be in other respects. I am the most natural fit for this position.” 

“Or are you just the most convenient?” Dr. Kinsey challenged. “Because I don’t believe you have a natural disposition for his care-“ 

“Why, because I’m not you?” Lord Grantham demanded. Dr. Kinsey flushed bright pink, shocked. 

“I- I’m not trying to be his alpha!” Dr. Kinsey scoffed. “All I want is to help him-“ 

“I’m sure you do.” Lord Grantham was cold again, “Though I shudder to think how.” 

Dr. Kinsey had had enough. He opened his mouth, clearly ready to fire off something nasty, until Dr. Clarkson cut him off. 

“Robert!” Dr. Clarkson cut across. Lord Grantham looked around, shocked, until he realized that Dr. Clarkson was speaking to his friend, and not to himself. “Please. For me. Don’t… don’t.” 

Dr. Kinsey didn’t. Dr. Clarkson was relieved, letting out a tiny sigh. 

Dr. Kinsey looked to Thomas, determined. “Thomas… I work out of London. Dr. Clarkson knows how to get into contact with me. I know the abbey’s address. When you are ready to continue with your progress forward, into a future that is yours- an independent future-!” He added angrily just for clarification, “I would be honored, and delighted, if you would give me a call. Until then, I can only hope that you look to your inner strength, and pull upon it instead of falling into weak solutions.” 

No prizes for what Dr. Kinsey considered a ‘weak solution’ to be. Lord Grantham narrowed his eyes, murderous. 

Dr. Kinsey reached out, and braced Thomas warmly by the shoulder. The smell of white tea and honey was calming to Thomas, allowing him to become centered once gain. He took a deep breath, eyes falling closed. When he opened them, he found Dr. Kinsey to be slightly more put together. 

“… Until then.” Dr. Kinsey urged. “Know that you can call on me, no matter what.” 

“Thank you.” Was all Thomas could think to say, for how else could he convey his gratitude for Dr. Kinsey’s understanding the other night? He didn’t want Lord Grantham to know he’d nearly blown his brains out. 

Dr. Kinsey smiled; it was a weak, sad expression. He squeezed Thomas’ shoulder carefully, then turned and strode from the room. He did not meet Lord Grantham’s eyes, or Dr. Clarkson’s. when the door shut, Dr. Clarkson immediately jumped into an apology. 

“Lord Grantham, allow me to apologize for my friend’s behavior.” Dr. Clarkson blurted out, “Dr. Kinsey is a man of good character and outstanding moral fiber-“ 

“And great conviction for our dear Thomas.” Lord Grantham said icily. 

“I’ve spoken to him about his intentions, M’lord.” Dr. Clarkson said, “He won’t be presenting any challenge.” 

“I fear he already has.” Lord Grantham did not make to sit in the visitor’s chair, even though it was now free. Instead, he stood at the head of Thomas’ bed, and laid his hand ever so carefully on Thomas’ far shoulder so that he was supporting Thomas in his sitting position. Thomas was almost flung into a shadow. “I can assure you, I’m far from understanding. After what Thomas has suffered, he should not be made to endure any more hostility from an alpha.” 

“I agree, M’lord… but please… believe me when I say that Dr. Kinsey is a good man, and that he would never ever put Thomas in a dangerous situation.” It seemed pertinent to Dr. Clarkson that Lord Grantham at least acknowledge this. Lord Grantham was stiff for a moment, but finally nodded his head in agreement. At the same time, however, he cupped Thomas’ shoulder close. 

“If I might be garnered some privacy with Thomas, I’d be most grateful.” Lord Grantham said, a bit too stiffly to be normal. Dr. Clarkson backed away at once, heading for the door and shutting it curtly behind him. Thomas bet that Dr. Clarkson was about to go track Dr. Kinsey down so that he could chew him out. 

Lord Grantham let out a long sigh, and turned back to Thomas.  
Finally alone with him, Lord Grantham gingerly perched himself on the edge of Thomas’ hospital bed and reached out to clasp his one good hand between both of his own. 

“…I apologize.” Lord Grantham whispered, “That was vulgar and brash. I hate that you had to witness it.” 

Thomas didn’t know what to say anymore. Suddenly, he couldn’t meet Lord Grantham’s eyes. The last time the pair of them had seen one another, Thomas hadn’t been but a few weeks pregnant and showing him around an aviary. Now, Thomas felt like a broken man, hardly recognizable from before. He wondered if Lord Grantham would agree. 

“…I want to… convey to you… how truly truly sorry I am that you have suffered such a horrific loss.” Lord Grantham carried on, in that same delicate tone as before. “I am heart broken that you have had to suffer in such a way. It was undeserved and brutal.” 

Thomas drew a shuddering breath. He spoke on the exhale, “Thank you M’lord.” He still did not meet Lord Grantham’s eyes. Lord Grantham stroked his knuckles patiently. 

“Are you in any pain?” Lord Grantham asked. Thomas wouldn’t lie. 

“Yes, M’lord.” He said.

“But the nurses are taking care of you-“ 

“Everyone’s been very good to me, M’lord.” 

“Thomas…” Lord Grantham ever so gently reached up and touched the bottom of Thomas’ lowered chin, raising it up so that eventually Thomas had to meet Lord Grantham’s eyes or be damned, “What have I told you? Call me Robert. You’re not a servant anymore.” 

Thomas swallowed. In spite of his determination not to fall apart his bottom lip was quivering. 

“It’s just-“ But Thomas didn’t know where to start, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”  
He was close to weeping, and cupped his mouth to hide any offensive noise. Lord Grantham was close to him in a moment, reaching out to take Thomas’ face in his hands. 

“You haven’t changed!” Lord Grantham protested, but Thomas couldn’t agree less. “Deep down, you’re still the same man who served as my footman and valet. You’ve grown, you’ve endured, but you are still the same in your core-“ 

Was he? 

“You have endured the whims of a violent and beastly man.” Lord Grantham praised, “And I swear to you, that I will take care of you, now. You’ll never have to afraid again. No one will ever hurt you again. You are safe, Thomas. You as safe as you could ever be. Lord Gray can never hurt you now. He’s…” 

“Dead.” Thomas finished bleakly. Lord Grantham nodded, somber. 

“Dead.” He whispered in agreement, “But you are alive.” 

Thomas said nothing. He fingered Ada’s urn, wondering if Lord Grantham would ever mention her, or if she would vanish into nothing but his memory. 

Lord Grantham looked down at the urn. Once again, he did not make to touch it. 

“A Rubian Chelsea.” Lord Grantham said. It didn’t surprise Thomas that the man could list design by name. Lord Grantham wore a bittersweet smile. “A beautiful urn for a beautiful little girl.” 

Thomas nodded. He was unsure of what to say anymore. 

“Thomas, I want you to come home.” Lord Grantham said. He looked almost pitiful, with round wide eyes, “You don’t belong here, all locked away by yourself. You belong in Downton, where you can be looked after and cared for. Mrs. Hughes is beside herself, and who can blame her?” 

Lord Grantham paused, and petted Thomas’ hand. 

“Do you think that you’re ready to return?” Lord Grantham asked. “Do you feel that you’re capable of leaving the hospital?” 

That was difficult to say. Thomas was certainly still in pain, and it was comforting to have the nurses close. But Thomas also remembered when Lady Sybil was close to delivering, Lord Grantham had had nurses and doctors parading through the abbey. Perhaps it would be the same for him. At the same time, Thomas also valued his privacy. It was hard not to want to stay at the hospital just to stay away from everyone’s nagging. 

“I… I think it might be best if I stay here.” Thomas admitted. “I don’t feel ready-“ 

“Do you say that because of the pain, or because of your need for privacy?” Lord Grantham seemed to understand Thomas’ line of thinking. 

Thomas couldn’t lie, “I just… I don’t want to be pestered.” 

“You won’t be.” Lord Grantham was determined. “I’ll see to it. You’ll be given all the space and time you need to recover.” 

Thomas still wasn’t sure. Even if he truly was given space, would it be better for him to recover at Downton Abbey? Part of him was ready to go home; part of him had been longing to ever since November when this whole nightmare had truly started. But now that he’d lost Ada, it felt… wrong. Like he wasn’t going home. Like he was running away. 

Lord Grantham kept rubbing his hand. 

“It’s all wrong.” Thomas admitted, close to tears, “It’s wrong to… to go home without her. I had this vision; she’d be here with me. But now she isn’t.” 

Lord Grantham couldn’t bend facts. “I know it seems a pale comparison, but it is what we are faced with. I want us to go forward in hope.” Lord Grantham reached out to gently touch Thomas’ chin again, urging him to look up again. 

Thomas didn’t know what hope there would be in the future. Lord Grantham seemed sure though, and that was something. Maybe Thomas could learn to put his faith in someone else again. Someone who didn’t snort coke and have sexual thoughts regarding their sister. 

Small steps. 

“… Thomas… when I heard…” Lord Grantham had almost grown misty eyed in his emotion, “I thought you were dead.” 

Thomas watched as Lord Grantham took his hand even tighter. He was careful not to touch the IV’s, though. 

“I was terrified.” he admitted. “And when I learned that you’d survived…” Lord Grantham smiled, “I felt like I’d been given a second chance.” 

Thomas didn’t know if he fell in for all that, but he certainly had been lucky to survive the stairs. 

“…May I kiss you?” Lord Grantham asked softly. Thomas looked up with a start. 

“But I’m…” Thomas shook his head, “I’m bruised all over.” Lord Grantham smiled, wistful. 

“I’m not a cad, Thomas.” He paused, “Regardless what Dr. Kensington thinks-“ 

“Kinsey.” Thomas corrected him, “And I don’t think he thinks you’re a cad. He just wants me to have more freedom and independence.” 

“And I agree!” Lord Grantham urged, slightly irritated to be seen in an ungenerous light, “I’m not trying to limit your freedom Thomas-“ 

“I know.” Thomas had no delusions about Lord Grantham being unkind. He was a far different man than Lawrence Gray. 

Lord Grantham stopped mid sentence, wearing a slightly sheepish smile. 

“Forgive me, you inspire a passion in me.” Lord Grantham admitted. “I tend to take my role as an alpha very seriously.” 

Thomas already knew that from watching him with Lady Grantham and Lady Sybil. He smiled, sad. 

“I promise you Thomas.” Lord Grantham cupped his hand again, “I will not bring you to ruin or sorrow. I will protect you, uplift you, and give you a happy home. My kingdom will be your shelter, for as long as you live in it… all I ask in return is that you open your heart to the concept of being a dutiful omega to me.” 

Thomas didn’t know if he could be much else, with half his body in a cast and the other half the color magenta. He nodded, absently staring out the window towards his lilies. Lord Grantham and Lady Grantham’s bouquet was by far the most flourishing, dotted with fat bumblebees that collected pollen before skirting out the open window. 

“… May I kiss you?” Lord Grantham asked again. This time it was a whisper. 

Thomas steeled himself, and nodded slowly. He closed his eyes, unsure if his shattered psyche could take the sight of someone invading his personal bubble. 

He felt the gentlest pressure of Lord Grantham kissing his lips. He froze, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. He shuddered in spite of himself, but he needn’t have been afraid. Lord Grantham did not deepen the kiss nor act in an ungentlemanly manor. Instead, he pulled back and kissed Thomas chastely upon the forehead. He then drew Thomas in close, and held him in his arms. Thomas’ broken arm was sandwiched comfortably between them, cosy and warm. He lay his head on Lord Grantham’s shoulder, feeling exhausted and relieved that the kiss was over. 

In the doorway to the hall, Dr. Kinsey stood watching just out of sight.  
His lips were pursed, his brow knitted with a fretting fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns do not hesitate to let me know. Have a safe and joyous holiday season.
> 
> Also, here is the urn mentioned if you would like to see what it looks like:   
> http://dementian.tumblr.com/post/154915285838/lady-ada-grays-urn-the-rubian-chelsea


	17. Cold as a Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas returns to Downton Abbey and receives some very shocking news.  
> Meanwhile, legalities turn into unlikely lifelines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's 2017, and unless the entire fucking world catches on fire I don't bloody well see how this year could be any worse than the last. I got to watch the Sherlock premiere of Season 4 online today. I wish I had the talent to write for that fandom... I have some ideas but I admit I'm just not technical enough to really get Sherlock's personification right. 
> 
> ... Not that that's stopping anyone else I suppose. 
> 
> Anyways, **Trigger warnings** in this chapter will include .... nothing really.  
>  Wow. It's been a while since bad shit didn't happen in a chapter.
> 
> Update: The incredible loccorocco has graciously blessed me with my first ever fanart. No one has ever drawn anything for me and I am incredibly touched by this generosity. I urge everyone to go look at her blog, and observe his/her/their artwork. He/She/they is/are incredible!  
> http://loccorocco.tumblr.com/post/155276366007/fanart-for-dementians-spare-the-rod-that-fic-was

_Litigo: 2:9-15: “An omega should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit an omega to teach or assume authority over an alpha; they must be quiet. For Alpha was formed first, and Alpha was not the one deceived; it was the omega who was deceived and became a sinner. But omegas will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love, and holiness with propriety.”_

Rob snapped the book of Litigo shut, bitter, and with unneeded hostility threw the dusty tomb against the library wall. It fell with an ugly thunk to the floor, and lay quiet as Rob crouched in the far corner listening to the chatter of nurses on their coffee break. 

He’d spoken out of turn, and knew that it would garner him nothing but trouble, but he couldn’t help feel angry at how Thomas was treated by Lord Grantham. He’d asked to kiss Thomas twice, and when Thomas had finally caved, Rob had watched horror struck from the crack of the door as Thomas had winced against the man’s mouth. Lord Grantham had not been vain or brutal in his kiss, but he had been woefully ignorant to the needs of his partner. Kisses should not be stolen, they should be given freely. Thomas had had to have a kiss pried from him with a crowbar. 

In an effort to hide from Dick, who was surely ready to chew him out like a possessed terrier, Rob had hidden in the hospital’s small but tidy library in the car corner of the east wing. It was pleasant, mostly home to medical texts and updated journals from around the world. There were, however, a few books mostly for patients to enjoy, such as books of poetry and classical fiction. Rob had found Litigo on a shelf of religious texts, and in spite of already feeling irritable had pulled the book out to get a good grip on ignorant Alpha mentality.

He would call it research. 

But the first page he’d turned to had been a sermon from an alpha preacher, who had made an entire list of what omegas could and could not do. Rob had been ready to choke on his tongue by the end of it, and had thus thrown the book at the wall just to get it away from his person. Dramatic it may be, but undeserved it was not. 

Rob closed his eyes and lay his head against the shelf behind him, trying desperately not to think about the way Thomas had looked when Alden MacNaire had been trumped. His beaming smile, though short lived, had put solid warmth into Rob’s stomach which boded nothing but ill in terms of ethics. Thomas was his patient. He could not allow any fleeting notions of romance to foster between them. That warmth was now fading away, leaving him feeling cold and empty as the smell of succulent fruit haunted his nose. 

He took off his glasses and polished them upon the tails of his shirt. Momentarily blinded, he did not see Dick approaching him. When he put back on his glasses, he was slightly startled by the sight of Dick glaring down at him. 

“Hiding?” Dick snapped. Rob did not acknowledge his misplaced anger. 

“Dick!” Rob smiled up at his friend, noting the heavy bags of exhaustion beneath his gray eyes, “Off the clock?” 

“Off the clock, yes. Off the hook, no.” Dick had always had a way with words, and folded his arms over his chest, “Are you completely out of your mind?” 

“Oh Dick don’t be like that-“ Rob rose up from the floor, dusting off his behind where a slight imprint of grit had been left behind. He walked away from Dick, wanting air, and relaxed against the far window which he opened to observe the hospital courtyard. There were several patients in the green, with a physical therapist on a stool at the front directing them in arm stretches. One of the patients wasn’t even participating, instead chatting up a very pretty nurse with curly red hair. Perhaps she was Irish. 

Dick came to stand beside him at the window, with a disgustingly sympathetic expression upon his face. Rob called him on it at once, “What? What is that look supposed to be?” 

“I’m worried about you!” Dick didn’t back down, “And can you blame me? Rob, you nearly cost me the patronage of the most important man in Downton village. Do you realize what that would have done to the hospital?” 

Rob wouldn’t indulge in such dramatic fantasies, despite having just flung a book at a wall, “I think you’re being a tad bit dramatic.” Rob warned, “If Lord Grantham is as honorable as you claim, then why would he pull out of his support from one simple spat?” 

But Dick wasn’t so sure, “Robert, this is not a simple spat.” He had a grave look upon his face, “You are challenging an alpha on his claim over an omega. That is dangerous- far more than you think!” 

But Rob didn’t hold out for all that nonsense. He was a man of science and progress. Neither allowed room for backward thinking. 

“Oh-“ Rob scoffed, turning away from the window to walk aimlessly about the library with Dick close behind him. 

“Try and put yourself in Lord Grantham’s shoes!” Dick urged, “Imagine that you had an omega, that you loved and treasured-“ 

But a flash of warm brown eyes in his inner mind made Rob feel a lurch of acid in his stomach. He could not think about April now; not when Thomas was in such danger. 

“But does he love Thomas?” Rob countered, his voice slightly aggressive until he reeled his tone back in. There was no hostilities, least of all with a cherished friend like Dick, “Does he truly love and treasure him?” 

“You cannot know a man’s inner thoughts.” Dick said, but Rob felt like he was being talked down to. He lectured on psychology for god’s sake! These sort of amateur discussions were better left to his undergrad students. 

“I looked into Thomas’ eyes, and I saw fear.” Rob admitted, turning so that the pair of them could face off intimately. Dick’s sympathy was starting to grow again, his gray eyes impossibly sad, “I can’t let that go, Dick. I can’t let him suffer.” 

Dick sighed, pursing his lips for a moment as he mulled his words over. When he finally spoke, it was with a soft voice to keep from being overheard, “Rob… I know you’ve had it hard.”  
And how could he not, when he’d known Rob through the scandal of April Olgate calling off their engagement and leaving him for another man? … Another alpha. 

“But Thomas is destined to be with Lord Grantham, now.” Dick was pained by it, “That is not a fight you can win.” 

“Why?” Rob demanded. He wanted to know the logic behind this exhaustive pairing, “Why is it destined? Because Lord Grantham wants him? Do Thomas’ wants matter at all? Even just a little bit?” He pinched his fingers in front of Dick’s narrowing eyes, “You’re an open minded man, Dick! You tell me!” 

“Robert-“ Dick tried to calm him down but Rob was off and running, his temper getting the better of him for just one moment. 

Complacency, complacency, complacency! All it bred was arrogance and ignorance! Rob couldn’t stand the word! 

“Thomas’ mind is beautiful!” Rob blurted out in a passion, “And I’m the only one that sees it, because I’m the only one that gives a damn and isn’t thinking with his co-“ 

Dick threw up a hand to try and cover Rob’s mouth before the offending word could slip past. The move startled Rob, and reminded him of his surroundings. 

Dick slowly lowered his hand, the pair of them gray faced and wary as they faced off. 

“….Robert, you’re getting too entangled with this.” Dick warned; what frightened Rob was that he knew Dick had a point, “You’re forgetting your place as a psychiatrist. You can only help people who are open to conversation. Lord Grantham is not. I think it might be better if you return to London until all of this has blown over. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful-“ 

“No…” Rob sagged, now likewise exhausted, “No, I know you’re not.” 

“It’s just that Lord Grantham won’t stand to be challenged, not when the last challenger abused Thomas so relentlessly.” 

“I can understand his paranoia.” Rob had to admit, Lord Grantham was being fiercely protective even by the normal standards of an alpha, yet he lacked the hostility and testosterone that made alphas so unappealing. Compared to Alden MacNaire, Grantham was quite tame. 

“Why don’t you go home… relax for a few days- you’ve been working very hard.” Dick offered. “Space might give you clarity of mind. If you still feel the same way after a few days, then we can talk about it.” 

“But Thomas-“ 

“Lord Grantham is having a nurse brought down from Glasgow.” Dick explained, “She has excellent credentials and good character. I think she will cheer Thomas immensely, but if there is any dip in his behavior I will alert you at once.” 

And the worst part was, Rob had to admit he was soundly thrashed by rationalism. It was a position he did not like to be in. 

~*~

The days passed, and Dr. Kinsey did not return. 

Thomas mostly read in bed, though he was commanded to stretch by the day nurses who heckled him relentlessly until he’d walked at least ten paces about his hospital room. His bowl movements were becoming more regular again, which was a mercy, and his skin was gaining more color. He no longer had to be on an IV drip, and was instead being made to drink the old fashioned way. 

He learned that his collarbone wasn’t nearly as damaged as his leg, and it would only be a few weeks before the cast could be taken off. His arm was somewhere in between, broken but not terribly so, and its cast would probably come off before his leg cast did. Dr. Clarkson had warned that Thomas might be dealing with a leg cast into the summer, which irritated him. 

Thomas was likewise put off by the fact that Dr. Kinsey seemed to have left without saying goodbye. 

Dr. Clarkson had assured him it was not for lack of affection or in a fit of anger. He insisted that Dr. Kinsey was a busy man, lecturing at the London School of Medicine, and had pushed the envelope by staying away from his post for so long. This resulted in Thomas feeling slightly guilty for nearly costing a man his job, but Clarkson once again assured him that Kinsey was far too much of a catch to be let go so easily. 

About five days after Lord Grantham’s visit, Thomas was once again approached by Dr. Clarkson who was making the evening rounds. He had a healthier glow to his face, which Thomas hoped meant the man was getting more sleep. He likewise was in a better mood and smiled when he walked through the door with a clipboard at his side. 

“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Clarkson asked. 

Thomas shrugged, as much as he was able to in his neck brace, “Tired.” Thomas admitted. The day nurses had just gotten through a regiment where they forced him to stretch in repeated motions until he was ready to vomit from strain. 

They weren’t so much physical therapists and they were physical terrorists. 

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.” Dr. Clarkson smiled, shrugging a bit. Indeed, it had been underneath his orders that Thomas was forced to get up and move. “I came to tell you that we’re ready to move you to Downton Abbey today, but to do it will require you being sedated.” 

Thomas groaned at the mere thought. How he hated being sedated! He always felt like he was out of his head for at least a few days after regaining consciousness. “Will it? I hate being sedated.” 

“You’re in a delicate way, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson chided him, “I’ve been making you stretch, but you’re not ready for the exhaustive travel of going from the hospital to Downton Abbey in one shot. Your bones are healing, and to take you by car over bumpy farm roads would be horrific to endure. I want to spare you as much pain as possible.” 

Sparing him pain, what a novel idea. “Is that a new trend? I wonder if it will catch on.” 

Dr. Clarkson snorted before regaining his professional composure. “Lord Grantham wishes for you to be cared for by a traveling nurse name Ms. Isla Reid. She’s just traveled from Glasgow at Lord Grantham’s biding. She’s a beta nurse, with experience healing omega males. She’s aware of the circumstances for your injuries, and will be staying with you at Downton Abbey while you heal.” Dr. Clarkson paused, gesturing over his shoulder, “She’s just outside, shall I fetch her?” 

Thomas nodded. Dr. Clarkson walked back to the door and poked his head outside before returning with a young woman in her early thirties wearing a flannel traveling cloak of green, white, and red. She carried an old canvas traveling bag at her side, bulging with her personals. The bag was hand stitched with the image of a rabbit, and bore her initials. She was a well-built woman, clearly used to a healthy lifestyle, and had brown hair wrapped in a bun atop her head. There was something about her which exuded calm authority. Thomas found her charming but not overbearing. 

“This is Nurse Reid.” Dr. Clarkson introduced them, and Nurse Reid stuck her hand out at once, careful to juggle her traveling bag as they shook hands with Thomas’ one good arm. 

“Nurse Reid.”  
“Mr. Barrow—“ She paused with a small smile, sitting her bag down on the floor so that both her hands were free, “You’re kind but I happily answer to Ms. Isla with patients.” 

“So you’re to help me return to Downton?” Thomas asked. 

“I am.” Nurse Reid explained with a cool and confident air, “We’re going to sedate you to spare you the pain of your bones shifting rapidly in the car. When you wake, you’ll be in Downton. Lord Grantham wants me to help you get back into gear, and move you forward in a positive direction. I want 1927 to be a year of hope for you. A year of good things,” She added. Thomas was glad someone was hopeful because he was certain 1927 was going to be a year from hell. 

“We’ll have to work together, though.” Nurse Reid warned him, though her tone was in good humor, “All the medicine in the world can’t heal laziness.” 

Oh goody. She was going to be another physical terrorist. 

“You’re not going to make me do jumping jacks are you?”  
“Not right away.” 

Dr. Clarkson chortled at the morbid expression on Thomas’ face, moving around his bedside to fiddle with something on a sterile tray. No prizes were to be given out for what the needle in his hands contained. Thomas knew laudanum when he saw it. 

“Shall we?” Dr. Clarkson offered, turning back around with the needle in hand. 

Thomas nodded. He doubted he had a true say anyways. 

Nurse Reid stepped forward, jostling with his pillows so that she could make him lay flat on his back. She took his pulse at his good wrist, timing his heartbeats with a weathered wristwatch before glancing up at Dr. Clarkson. 

“Pulse at ninety.” She murmured. Dr. Clarkson shrugged. 

“He’s always been anxious.” He said as way of explanation. Nurse Reid said no more, offering Thomas’ arm for Dr. Clarkson before tapping the thin skin in the crook of Thomas’ elbow. Thomas turned his eyes away so as not to see the needle plunging beneath his skin, but felt the sting before it turned into a soft dull ache. 

“I want you to count down from ten.” Dr. Clarkson said. 

“Ten, nine….” But Thomas didn’t even make it to eight. 

 

 

When Thomas next came to, the world was dark beneath his eyelids and he was in an incredibly soft bed. He was resting almost flat upon his back, with heavy covers pulled up this neck. The scent of flowers were close to his nose, and he could hear to women speaking softly to one another. He felt incapable of moving, still under the spell of laudanum. 

“—Of course, my father always took us to Glasgow on market day.” 

“My mother would save up the whole week.” 

“Mine too. It was the only place to get everything that you needed.” 

“Fresh and local as well. I had a rabbit growing up; my father brought it home from market and was going to kill it for supper until I begged him not to. You should have seen the look on his face when mother made him a meal of vegetable stew!” 

The two women tittered.  
Thomas groaned, wanting to call out to them. “… M….” He tried to move his arms beneath the covers, but couldn’t they were simply too heavy. Had someone injected him with concrete? 

But there were hands upon his face, wiping away sweat and the stray hair. “You’re safe, Mr. Barrow” It was Nurse Reid, laying a cold flannel upon his forehead. “You’re in Downton. Are you in any pain?” 

Oh yes. Yes he was. There were shooting pains in his leg. “M…leg…” Thomas managed to get out. 

He slowly opened his aching eyes, to see a dark world swimming into his field of vision. He could not tell what room he was in, or what time it was, but assumed that he was in Sybil Crawley’s old heat suite with the time close to supper. There was a person before him. As the wrinkles solidified and the bags beneath her eyes became clearer, Thomas suddenly realized it was Mrs. Hughes. She was sitting next to his bed, and had her hand atop his flannel clothe. She looked ancient and fretful, but was still so beautiful to him that Thomas almost wept for the sight of her. So many months, he’d dread of her kindness after episodes of Gray’s abuse. Now he was home again, but could hardly move for the weight and pain in his joints. She understood, showering him with kindness as she adjusted the edge of his covers to better lay over his neck brace. 

“…Hughes…” Thomas managed to get out. 

“Mr. Barrow.” Mrs. Hughes croaked out, practically close to tears herself, “I’ve missed you so.” 

She stroked his hair out of his face as Nurse Reid fished through some bundle or another to lift up what appeared to be a small cloth sack steaming with a heavy load of something or the other. The sound of shifting grain and the smell of wheat filled the air as suddenly Thomas felt something digging beneath his broken leg. Then a warm heat began to radiate up, easing the sharper stabs of his pain. 

He groaned to himself, closing his eyes.  
His last solid thought before sleep claimed him again was only that he was glad to have seen Mrs. Hughes. Whether she was a dream or not it didn’t matter… she comforted him all the same. 

 

Thomas then dreamed of rather bizarre things: flashed of super neon color and delightful squiggles that were possessed by the spirit of jazz. They faded slowly, and left Thomas feeling mildly buzzed as the colors of dreams faded away to soft afternoon light. He woke up feeling sweaty, and blinked rapidly as the ceiling of Sybil’s heat suite came into view above him. His heart was pounding, as if trying to wake his sluggish body up. His arms and legs felt like they were being pinched with sharp pins as sleeping limbs came back to life. The true sensation that woke Thomas up though was the feeling of fingers wrapped around his right hand. The fingers were careful but lovingly stroked his bruised flesh. They had to be careful, for Thomas’ cast ended at his wrist and included a loop around his thumb to immobilize his wrist. 

Thomas rolled his head to the right, his vision swimming for a moment until it cleared to show Lord Grantham perched at the side of his bed. He was not alone, for in the corner of the room Nurse Reid stood in a starched apron folding freshly ironed linens. Laying against Lord Grantham’s lap was Tiaa, looking to be in the middle of a nap with her eyes closed and her belly slowly rising with soft breathes. 

“….Hello.” Lord Grantham said with a warm smile. Nurse Reid looked around, pleasantly surprised to find Thomas awake. “How are you feeling?” 

To be fair, Thomas was clear headed which came as a great relief, but he was still slightly sore particularly in his back and broken leg. “Sore but clear headed, M’lord.” 

He tried to sit up, and found himself immediately confronted with Nurse Reid, who plumped his pillows and helped him to sit up straight. He had a slight head rush, but when it cleared he felt much better and was glad to be semi-vertical. His movements woke Tiaa up. She yawned and rolled onto her opposite side, little legs kicking for a moment before she fell back to sleep. Her swollen belly was telling of an afternoon meal recently had. Lord Grantham rubbed her tummy for a moment before returning his affections to Thomas’ hand. It was almost on instinct that Thomas’ fingers curled around Lord Grantham’s own. He had to admit, though, it wasn’t done through great depths of affection… Merely the need to be with another human being who was sane. 

“You’ve been asleep all day.” Nurse Reid explained, returning to her linens to continue folding. “It’s time to stretch and bathe.” 

That didn’t sound promising. Thomas grimaced, which made Lord Grantham laugh, “I’m afraid you’re to be on a bit of a regiment.” 

“I’ve been in the army before, M’lord.” Thomas said. Lord Grantham smiled. 

“Mrs. Hughes is grateful to have you home.” Lord Grantham said, which brought a warmth to Thomas’ aching heart. He remembered her as if in a vision, leaning over him and placing a flannel upon his baking forehead. She’d been like an angel, then. “I confess, Ms. Baxter has been beside herself-“ 

“Everyone wants to see you.” Nurse Reid spoke up. Lord Grantham was slightly taken aback, “His Lordship is determined that you be healthier before being tested by emotional reunions. First you’ll need a bath though, and I want to work on gathering up your strength again. Your hamstrings are in pitiful condition after nearly a month in bed.” 

Thomas didn’t even know where his hamstrings were located, but it sounded like he was about to find out. 

“How long until I’m well again?” He asked Nurse Reid. 

“You’re looking at about two and a half months of therapy, Mr. Barrow.” Nurse Reid warned. “Far from simple work.” 

Thomas groaned, leaning his head back on the pillows. At the sound of his agitation, Tiaa woke up and sat woozily against Thomas’ hipbone, leaning her head on his stomach. Thomas reached out and petted her muzzle, smiling when she licked his palm. 

“Now that you’re home, you don’t have to worry about anything but getting better.” Lord Grantham said, which was a slight relief after months of dealing with a cokehead. “You’ll see, Thomas. The days will fly by and you’ll be strong again. Soon you’ll be able to walk about, and take off your casts.” 

“What’s important is that you continue forward.” Nurse Reid added. Lord Grantham was once again taken aback that a lower class woman had spoken over him. Thomas could not help but find Reid endearing for her courage and outspokenness. “No lazing about. Results come with work.” 

“Have you met Carson, the butler?” Thomas said, with slight cynicism. “You two would hit it off.” 

“Mr. Carson has been kind enough to offer me room and board while I help you to recover.” Nurse Reid was smiling, sensing Thomas’ humor. “And if you must know, yes… we hit it off.” 

Why wasn’t he surprised? 

Lord Grantham watched Nurse Reid finish up folding, and when a moment presented itself he spoke to her, “Might I garner a minute alone with Thomas?” 

Nurse Reid was quick to acquiesce, collecting her linens in one haul and letting them rest atop her hip. 

“Of course, M’lord.” Nurse Reid marched to the door, “I’ll fetch my salts for your bath Thomas. When I return, you’re to have a wash and do your daily stretches. Excuse me.” And with that she left. Thomas felt like he was being confronted with a younger and less paranoid version of his mother in the woman. 

But the disappearance of Nurse Reid presented Thomas with yet another problem. He was now alone with Lord Grantham, with no one about to protect- 

Thomas shook his head to shake the thought out of his head. He didn’t need to be protected from Lord Grantham…  
… Right? 

Lord Grantham seemed to sense his trepidation, “You don’t have to worry, Thomas. I won’t bite.” 

“I suppose I’ve been bit too often, M’lord.” Thomas knew it was a pale excuse for behaving poorly in the man’s presence. Lord Grantham had been nothing but good to him. 

Lord Grantham took up his hand again, and with greatest care raised Thomas’ bruised knuckles up to kiss them gently. The action made Thomas’ arm ache, and he winced. At once, Lord Grantham allowed Thomas’ hand to lay slowly in his lap so that it would feel no pain. 

“Lady Grantham is grateful to have you home.” Lord Grantham said. “I’ve told her that you two can speak as soon as you’re well. I don’t want you to be pressed for recovery just to suit the needs of others.” 

Thomas appreciated the sentiment, but he still didn’t want to be smothered with velvet gloves. He could handle a bit of interaction, so long as he didn’t have to leap about. 

“Are you happy to be back?” Lord Grantham asked. But how could Thomas not be, when he was surrounded by the sights and smells of his first home. He felt cradled, protected, and safe from the violent world of Belton House. At times he wished Downton could be his tomb, that he could simply fall asleep in the attics and never wake up. But that kind of thinking had led to a suicide attempt before, and it needed to stop if Thomas was ever going to make any progress. 

“I am M’lord.” Thomas said, “I’m very grateful.” 

“Good.” Lord Grantham was pleased, “Everyone below stairs is grateful to see you home, and will be helping you to recover. When you’re well, we’ll focus on you stepping into your new role.” 

But that sentence made Thomas’ stomach turn to knots. What did Lord Grantham mean by new role? 

“M’lord?” 

“Ah, forgive me. I meant nothing ungentlemanly.” Lord Grantham assured him hastily, patting his hand, “I meant only that Lord Gray left a will and you were specifically mentioned within it. Murray is working on the details right now, but as soon as things are settled we’ll speak more on it. I don’t wish to get your hopes up before I know for certain what the outcome will be.” 

Hopes up for what? The idea of being involved with Gray’s affairs after death made Thomas feel exhausted. Couldn’t the man just be dead and the world be satisfied already? 

“Alden MacNaire said I was free.” Thomas said in dismay. Lord Grantham petted his fingers calmly. 

“And so you are.” Lord Grantham assured him, “But Gray’s will listed you in great detail. We’re handling the affairs of the Gray family, and make sure that the will is followed out. The squabbling is rather exhausting, even for me. I’m letting Lady Mary and Murray do most of the fighting. I suppose you’ll have to put your faith in us.” 

Thomas smiled, in spite of himself. The idea of Lady Mary tearing Anthea a new one was endearing to say the least. Declaring war on Mary Crawley was like declaring war on England’s navy. 

“I trust you, M’lord.” Thomas said, “You’re better for it anyways.” 

Quite suddenly, before Thomas was prepared for it or could rationalize how to react correctly, Lord Grantham leaned forward and gently kissed him on the forehead. Thomas froze, eyes wide as his heart began to pound in his ears. 

For whatever reason, his mind was wrapped around the image of Lawrence grabbing him by the throat, throttling Thomas until he’d had no choice but to crack a vase over the bastard’s head. Of blood and cocaine streaming down Lawrence’s face. Thomas shuddered visibly. 

Concerned, Lord Grantham pulled back. When he found Thomas gray faced, he seemed to realize his tactless behavior. “…Forgive me, Thomas. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” 

Thomas closed his eyes, trying to center himself. Lord Grantham was not Lawrence. Belton House was not Downton Abbey. He was safe here… very very safe. 

When he opened his eyes again, he found Lord Grantham watching him cautiously. 

Thomas swallowed, trying to ground himself. 

“It’s alright, M’lord.” Thomas whispered, “I just… I keep seeing his face. Feeling his hands on me-“ 

Lord Grantham grew passionate in his determination to calm Thomas, taking Thomas’ hand and pressing it gently to his own chest so that Thomas could feel his heart beating. The scent of Frankincense whirled about him, making Thomas feel slightly sleepy if not a little calmer. He closed his eyes again; falling into step with the beat of Lord Grantham’s aging heart and the smell of the desert sands. 

“…He will never hurt you again.” Lord Grantham finally spoke when the pair of them had sat silent for a few moments. 

But Thomas just wasn’t so sure. 

“I would never dream of frightening you, Thomas.” Lord Grantham assured him, “And I promise you I’ll tell you before I do anything untoward.” 

Once again, Thomas felt uncertainty gnawing at the pit of his stomach. It was easy to say such things now, but where was the proof behind the pudding? Just now, Lord Grantham had kissed him on the forehead. What was Lord Grantham’s definition of untoward and how did it differ from Thomas’? Was Thomas the one being unreasonable? At times, he felt so…. After all, Lord Grantham was kind and generous. Thomas knew this from years of being on Lord Grantham’s staff. He’d certainly seen his fair share of cruel lords over the years. From the stoic to the sadistic, they all had a different idea of fun when it came to those who couldn’t refuse their advances. 

Lord Grantham was unlike any of those men, but he still made Thomas nervous… and that wasn’t fair on either of them. 

 

Of course, the irritations didn’t end there. 

After months of being left to fair in the wilderness, Thomas found himself confused by the concept of care. Lord Grantham had single handedly decided that Thomas was too strained to deal with other people, resulting in the heat suite becoming barren of all life save for Tiaa (who could not be contained) and Nurse Reid (who would not be contained). Nurse Reid was a breath of fresh air for how she pushed Thomas, urging him to do stretches and muscle building exercises every morning and afternoon. It was difficult to move about in his casts, but Thomas managed it for sheer will power. Up and down the room he marched, stretching his cramped legs and shoulders till they were burning with strain. He would then take a hot bath to ease the aches in his muscles, which was a comedic sight with one leg, one arm, and his shoulders above water, before falling into bed and sleeping until dinner time. At first it was hell, and his body let its displeasure be known, but sure enough as the days turned into a full week he could feel the stiffness in his joints evaporate to be replaced by flexibility and strength. Nurse Reid might be one hair shy of a dictator but she knew what she was talking about. Thomas respected her authority. 

What he didn’t respect, was how after a week of being home Thomas had yet to see Baxter. 

It shouldn’t have bothered him so. Part of him felt slightly guilty for wanting Baxter at his beck and call when she was working hard and surely didn’t have time for him. The other part longed to hold her, to lay his head in her lap, and listen to her say what a wonderful person he was. He was a glutton for her kindness, and would not deny it. 

He found himself thinking often of the smell of her hair, the way her lavender soap made her emit an aroma of a light floral scent. More than that, he found himself thinking of her smile. How, when she’d locked eyes with him, the taunts and jeers of an unforgiving world had fallen silent. 

He’d lay in bed after a long day exercising, and stare up at the ceiling wondering where his bedroom was in correlation to hers. Was he directly beneath her? Was she closer to his footboard or his headboard? 

A week into his return, Nurse Reid took the day off to journey to London, having ordered a selection of herbal remedies and needing to pick them up in person in order to verify their freshness. Thomas had a feeling he was going to end up smelling like menthol and lemon verbena before it was all said and done; worst of all he was left to his own devices for an entire day, alone and somber in his room while the house existed like a hive around him. 

He passed the day by exercising, going so far as to do sit ups while using his footboard as a counterweight. He had a feeling he was pushing his luck; his neck twinged every time he curled his neck muscles. Afterwards, Thomas took a bath and lay until the water grew too chilly to be comfortable. When he was finished, he dressed and returned to his chambers only to find that there was a tray waiting for him on his bedside table. The maids had straightened his bed, and removed dying flowers from his coffee table. It irked Thomas to know he’d been ten feet away from company but had been naked and kept in a glass prison by Lord Grantham that forbade human contact. 

It was the last straw, and Thomas couldn’t stand it. 

Thomas shed his bathrobe, folding it carefully over his vanity stool before opening his wardrobe and fishing around inside for the only item of clothing he had left. Baxter’s dress meant more to him now than ever. It was the only item of clothing to have survived from his time before Lawrence, and was the dress he’d been wearing when he’d had his miscarriage. Until now, Thomas had been made to wear smocks and nightgowns, things easily shed and unimposing on his casts. It was almost impossible for him to force his arm through the sleeve, and when he did he had to roll up the elbow so that the cloth did not broach against the cast. He could not wear his corset (thank god) but put on his chemise all the same. Stockings were out, but the knickers were doable save that Thomas could barely tie the knot with his right arm so awkwardly bound. He had no shoes, and so would have to go barefoot. To make his appearance even more absurd, Thomas was forced to use a crutch, which had been generously donated by Downton Hospital a few days before so that Thomas could practice walking on it. 

He was going downstairs tonight, Lord Grantham and broken bones be damned. 

Thomas hobbled to the door of his heat suite, heading out into the hall to find it bare and quiet. By the time he made it to the false panel, he was feeling a twinge under his armpit from the stiff fabric of the crutch. At this point, though, he was going downstairs even if the crutch was busting with nails. 

Thomas pushed open the false panel and looked left and right. He found no one outside, though a soft murmur coming from the corner of Lord Grantham’s bed chambers indicated he was deep in conversation with Lady Grantham. 

Thomas headed for the green baize door, which sat in the corner of the gallery like a false corner. Once, a guest had accidentally slipped through the door by leaning on the corner and thinking it solid. Jimmy Kent had been the one to get run into, coming upstairs with shined shoes for Matthew Crawley. Thomas had smiled to his ceiling all night long, listening to Jimmy whistle as he cleaned the smudges from his breast plate. 

Lost in the memory, Thomas did not see Lady Mary walking down the gallery floor. She was in a deep green housecoat, clearly having gone to the nursery to bid George goodnight. When she saw Thomas, she was taken aback and opened her mouth to call out to him till Thomas pressed a finger to his lips, praying for quiet. 

Lady Mary blinked, closed her mouth, then walked up to Thomas so that they could speak to each other in a hushed whisper and not be bothered. 

“Barrow.” She eyed his crutch, “Whatever are you doing?” 

“Forgive me, M’lady. I felt cooped.” Thomas admitted. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” Lady Mary rolled her honey eyes, “I’ve told papa to give you more freedom, but he’s worried you’ll over exert yourself.” She paused, giving him a most somber expression, “Barrow… I’m so sorry for your daughter. More than you could know.” 

Thomas supposed she knew a thing or two about loss. He wondered what it had been like, to lose her omega mate on the day of George’s birth. She’d been inconsolable for months, screaming for God to kill her from her bedchambers. Dr. Clarkson had had to give her a sedative several times during those first awful few weeks. 

“Thank you, M’lady.” It helped Thomas to know that she truly meant it, unlike many who just repeated the words in an effort to be polite. The English were nothing if not proper. 

“Are you sure you should be walking though?” Lady Mary enquired, “Nurse Reid seemed to insist you wouldn’t be fully recovered for at least a month.” 

Thomas supposed that only the truth would do, “I need to see my family, M’lady.” 

“I understand.” She nodded, before pausing and speaking once again in a serious tone, “Forgive me for my forwardness, Barrow, but papa has spoken to me privately in regards to your future. What do you intend to do about the will?” 

“I know nothing of a will, M’lady.” Thomas knew very little in regards to the content of Gray’s will, only that it involved him to some measure. 

Lady Mary seemed shocked. She folded her arms over her chest, “Well you will soon enough. Papa will want to discuss it with you, I should think.” 

There was a noise from Lord Grantham’s bed chamber, like the door was about to be opened. Thomas took a few hasty steps towards the green baize door, “I don’t wish to be caught out, M’lady. I’ll slip away now.” 

“Barrow-“ Lady Mary took his arm before he could fully turn away. Thomas was amazed by her forwardness. She’d never touched him before in seventeen years, but there was a gentility and honesty in her eyes that automatically set him at ease, “Should you need anything from me… anything… know that I will gladly give it to you.” 

It helped to know she was on his side. Thomas smiled, faintly. 

“Thank you, M’lady.” He meant the words, and she let him go. Thomas headed through the green baize door, grateful when it shut behind him. For all his merging and forward thinking, Robert Crawley seldom traveled downstairs. 

The stairwell was brightly lit, but abandoned. A gentle murmur from downstairs was drifting up the center way; the sounds of pans being washed and dried, the clink of teacups being drunk. Thomas looked up at the attic, as best he could in his neck brace, and saw the tail end of Gertie the scullery maid going up the stairs. Clearly servants were making to turn in or choosing to stay up. 

Thomas headed downstairs, using the rail heavily to keep from falling over. He had to drag his crutch along, tucking it underneath his right armpit where it was squished between his ribs and his cast. One step after another, Thomas went. 

By the time he made it down to the bottom, he was close to tears from the pain of walking downstairs and the sensory overload of being plunged into a heap of memories. 

There was the kitchen hallway where he’d hidden many a time, shoving biscuits into his mouth or sneaking tricks with Jimmy Kent. He could see Daisy and Mrs. Patmore bending over the beater, the pair of them working out how to get its beaters free from their clasps. They were dripping with batter, probably a dish now cooking in the oven for tomorrow. 

“—If you press down, the beaters will come off and you can wash them!” Daisy explained, pushing down on a button atop the beater’s head so that (sure enough) the beaters popped out and fell into Mrs. Patmore’s waiting hands. Thomas was absolutely shocked to see that Daisy’s hair was cut into a bob. When had she become so fashionable? Mrs. Patmore had more gray in her hair, and was now staring at the beaters as if they were the tools of Satan. 

“But couldn’t you just leave it in a bowl of soap and spin it there?” Mrs. Patmore asked as Daisy wiped at the body of the beater with a damp cloth. 

“I think it would make awful foam.” Daisy said. 

Thomas heard murmurs from the servant’s quarters and went to investigate, his strength slightly recovered after pausing upon the stairs. He found the servant’s quarters almost abandoned, save for Mr. Moseley and Baxter who were sitting with their backs to the door close to the fire. Baxter looked distraught, her hand laying limp upon the servant’s table where it was clasped in Moseley’s own. He was clearly trying to comfort her; both their teacups sat abandoned and undrunk. 

“—But surely if the man was so evil, he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing something so kind.” Moseley whispered. 

“I don’t know.” Baxter shrugged glumly. Thomas was enchanted by the light from the fire as it played against the strands of her hair. How it almost seemed a bit like a halo. “What if it was guilt?” 

“He certainly had a lot to be guilty for.” Moseley said bitterly. It seemed that Coyle had written to Baxter again, though on what, Thomas dared not ask. 

Baxter bowed her head; Thomas spoke up, unable to keep quiet anymore in her presence when he so desperately wanted to be held by her. “Coyle write to you again?” 

She did not react quickly. 

Baxter stiffened in her chair, and then slowly turned around in her seat to see Thomas in the doorway. For a moment she just took him in, as did Mr. Moseley. Both of them gaped at the bruises on Thomas’ skin, the casts covering his body, the crutch beneath his arm. 

Baxter rose from her chair, her dark brown eyes shining with tears. Thomas saw that she wore her pearl necklace, though it was tucked beneath her black collar and hidden mostly from view. Thomas wondered if she ever took it off. 

She walked forward, her arms outstretched, and when they collided it was done softly in response to Thomas’ battered frame. Baxter buried her face in his neck, her chin resting against the stiff fabric of his neck brace as she clung to him about the chest and back. Thomas could hear her sniveling softly in his ear, not making a sound save for the shaky breaths that she drew every so often. It seemed she did not ever want to let him go, and Thomas returned the sentiment. 

So often, he’d needed her. He’d needed to hear her voice telling him it would be alright, needed to feel her touch warming him in the night when Gray had raped and left him cold in a defiled bed. He’d needed to see her ironing a frock or shining shoes, anything to make the day normal again. 

And here she was, and nothing would ever be normal again. 

“Mr. Moseley-“ Mrs. Hughes was walking up the hall, “If you have a minute, Mr. Carson wants to speak to you ….about…” but her sentence trailed off into silence as she saw Thomas and Baxter clasped in one another’s arms. 

Thomas couldn’t see it, with his back to the hallway, but both Daisy and Mrs. Patmore were watching too. 

 

 

It took a while for Baxter to extract herself from Thomas. When one would let go, the other would hold on, and so the pair of them stood hugging each other for what was surely over five minutes until they let go were able to stare into one another’s faces. Baxter was worried, sleepless, and teary eyed. Thomas didn’t want to guess what he looked like (shit, probably). 

They sat at the servant’s table in a group clustered about the head. Mr. Carson deemed it worthy to come out of his office, and even Mrs. Patmore decided to sit down for a spell while Daisy served them all tea. The brew was cold, and slightly stale, but it tasted sweeter than honey to Thomas simply because it came from a Downton pot. These were the chairs he was meant to sit in, stiff backed and rickety at the limbs. These were the cups he was meant to drink from, chipped at the rim and cracking beneath the repeated heat of the stovetop. 

The Bates had already gone home, as had the day maids. A quiet haunted their normally chatty table, all eyes upon Thomas’ bruised skin and the casts which stuck out oddly beneath the fabric of his work dress. 

Mrs. Hughes made the most of the lack of conversation, speaking to Thomas openly. “Your things arrived yesterday from Belton House. We didn’t want to bring them up because Lord Grantham asked for your privacy to be maintained. He said you were too unwell to have guests.” 

“Plus what if something in the trunk hurt you and made you upset?” Mrs. Patmore added, clearly in cahoots. 

“I’m fine.” Thomas told them all. “I had wondered why no one had come to see me.” 

“It wasn’t for lack of affection.” Baxter told him at once. 

“His Lordship has been speaking with Murray.” Carson said, after a momentary pause. “I suppose we’ll know the answer soon.” 

“He doesn’t talk to me about the will; it’s slightly annoying.” Thomas muttered. A quick glance around the table assured him gossip downstairs had been rife on the subject. They probably knew more than him! 

“You should put your faith in his Lordship.” Carson reminded him. Oh how Thomas had missed that grumbling tone… the way his thick eyebrows knitted together, “You’re too ill to be troubled with money matters.” 

“I quite agree.” Mrs. Hughes said. 

“I’m not ill!” Thomas protested, gesturing with his one good hand. He wasn’t ill, he was perfectly fine-! 

“You’re walking on a crutch.” Mrs. Patmore snapped. 

“It’s a broken leg-“ Thomas wouldn’t be put off. 

“And a broken arm, and a broken collar bone!” Mrs. Patmore added. Thomas scowled, knowing he was in a pinching corner. Mercifully, he had an ally in Daisy. 

“Well I think if you want to be up and about, you should!” Daisy piped up across from Thomas. Mrs. Patmore scoffed loudly, but Daisy just carried out, her short hair swishing about her chin and ears, “Lying in bed all day stiffens the joints. Work makes you well-“ 

“That’s not for him to do anymore, Daisy.” Mrs. Patmore chided her. 

“Why not?” Thomas challenged, for he wanted to get back to work very much. Anything to keep his mind occupied from the grief that threatened to swallow him at times. “I’m a workin’ class lad, aren’t I?” 

“That’s for his Lordship to say.” Carson reminded him before he could get heated on his soap box, “You were the omega of an Earl, Thomas. You are hardly a working class lad anymore.” 

“But I’m not one of their lot!” Thomas protested. “So what am I?” 

“Very lucky.” Mr. Moseley offered. Thomas glared at him, clenching his hand into a fist atop the table. An ugly silence fell on the table as Moseley suddenly realized his error and waffled to amend it. “I mean to say- not that what’s happened to you is in any way lucky—only that if the will turns out—“

“My daughter will still be dead.” Thomas bit out. Moseley was pale with embarrassment, practically sweating. 

A shadow by the hall caught their attention; it was only Peter the hallboy, looking very nervous at the door. Mrs. Hughes gestured for him so that he could come forward. 

“What is it Peter?” She asked, not unkindly, “Have you finished your work?” 

“Yes’m.” Peter bobbed at once, quick to answer the call of authority, “But only I had a question an’ me mates wanted me t’ask.” 

“If it’s about your half day, it’ll be next Wednesday.” Mrs. Hughes reminded him, “And I won’t be budged on the subject unless it’s an emergency-“ 

“Oh no ma’am, thank you ma’am.” Peter said hastily, “It wasn’t about that at all, it’s just that…” He was dancing from toe to toe, nervous of speaking his mind. Who could blame him when he was of the lowest rank. 

“Spit it out, boy.” Mr. Carson snapped. Peter fumbled over the words, talking so fast it was difficult to understand him as he sweated in his socks. 

“Only that me mate Harold works for Grisby n’ Sons an’ he told me that she looked like a fish but the others won’t believe it cause they say mermaids don’t exist so I thought I’d ask just t’make sure because if she did then they ought t’believe him.” Peter blurted out.

Mrs. Hughes was taken aback, confused. “What are you saying?” 

“Make sense, boy!” Mr. Carson barked, “You’ll never rise in rank if you tie up your words like shoe laces.” 

“Me mate, Harold!” Peter spoke slower, but there was a heat to his words. He was practically shaking for fear, “He’s a good mate an’ he wouldn’t lie but no one at the Dog and Duck believes him-“ 

“About what?” Mrs. Patmore asked. “You mean Harold Elston right?” Peter nodded his head emphatically. “Well what is he being called a liar over?” 

“…only…” Peter winced, his eyes falling on Thomas. Thomas raised an eyebrow. 

“He works for Grisby n’ Sons.” Peter said weakly. Thomas felt a knot of anger forming in his throat, making his breath come quicker. He knew the others at the table would be able to hear him breathing erratically, “An’… an’ he means no offense but… but he said that… she—your baby-- looked like a fish an’ no one will believe him. An’ all I’m asking cause I don’t know how your sorts work is… was she a mermaid?” 

An ugly silence fell over the table again. Even Mr. Moseley looked ready to faint. 

Thomas rose from his chair, his breathing labored and his eyes gleaming with anger. 

How dare they-?! How dare they even dream to insist, that his precious perfect child was a fish?! A damn fish, what did they think she was, a monster from a fairytale?! 

“Thomas-“ Mr. Carson rose from his chair, putting a hand out to try and hold Thomas back, “He’s just a child, he doesn’t understand.” 

“You-“ Thomas hissed, side-stepping around Mr. Carson in a wide stumble as he tried to make it about the table. Both Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore, and Ms. Baxter were on their feet to keep him back from Peter who looked ready to wet himself in terror. “You little insect!” He shrieked, before lunging forward to try and get at the boy’s neck. He stumbled and nearly fell, save that Carson caught him around the waist and kept his from sinking like a stone. Peter panicked, running back into the hall away from Thomas’ grip. 

“Peter Downing!” Mrs. Hughes barked, before he could flee, “You get back here and apologize or I’ll see to it you have no half days for a month!” 

Peter quailed, scared to approach but just as fretful about losing his precious free hours.

“He meant no offense!” Peter cried out, “Honest, sir, but it just got us thinkin’ that maybe mermaids do exist-!” 

“My! Daughter! Was! Not! A! Fish!” Thomas battled with Mr. Carson- and all of a sudden Tom Branson was there. Where the hell had he come from? The man was still dressed in his dinner tux despite the late hour, and threw out his hands to keep Thomas from falling away from Carson’s grip. 

“What on earth is going on?!” Tom demanded, “Thomas, you can’t be thrashing about-!” 

“A fish!” Thomas choked on the emotion. He was close to crying and knew it would sound in his voice, “How dare you- how dare you-!? You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about!” 

“But if she was a fish-! M’mate works for Grisby an’ Sons and he saw her before they put her in the oven! Harold even took a picture of her but everyone keeps saying it’s a fake cause she looks so odd-!” Peter protested, only to be cut off by Mrs. Hughes. 

“Peter!” She barked. “Apologize now!” 

“Don’t be an idiot, boy!” Mrs. Patmore added angrily, “She was as normal as any of us-!” 

“But her face was flat like a fish!” Peter was desperately trying to dig himself out of a hole, but was only succeeding in getting deeper, “She was blue like a fish an’ she didn’t have ears or a nose! Thas’ a fish, innit?” 

Thomas wrenched himself free of Mr. Carson, only to cry out in pain as something tore between his right shoulder and his neck brace. He gasped, staggering, and Mr. Carson caught him again as Thomas cupped at his neck where it hurt. Tom was glaring at Peter now, a dominant fire in his eyes. 

“She was underdeveloped, not a fish.” Tom snapped, “And she doesn’t deserve to be compared to one in death, no matter how different she might have looked. If your mate works for Grisby and Sons then he should have more respect for the dead.” 

“He meant no disrespect sir, honest!” Peter beseeched, wringing his hands, “An’ neither do I, but… but I just had to ask because everyone’s callin’ him a liar at the pub-!” 

“He’s not a liar, but he is an idiot.” Tom was peeved. “And you’re being incredibly rude to bring up such a sensitive subject. So apologize now!” 

Peter was beet red in the face, embarrassed, but bowed his head none the less and spoke with a gruff tone that made it clear he would be crying himself soon. He was only eleven, practically a child. 

“I meant no offense.” Peter mumbled, “An’ I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun of her. I just want people to stop callin’ m’mate a liar. So… M’sorry.” 

But Thomas’ heart was pounding in his ears and he did not accept the boys apology. 

“My daughter was beautiful.” Thomas snarled. “She was beautiful, d’you hear? So your mate is a liar! A damn liar and you tell him if he ever comes my way I’ll put him in the ground-!” 

“Thomas that is enough.” Mr. Carson chided, “He’s just a child-“ 

“And was my daughter not a child?!” Thomas demanded angrily, looking about the room. His chin quivered, and a tear slipped traitorously from his eyes. He wiped it up, furious, and snatched his crutch from where it lay resting against the table. “Let me go!” He spat, elbowing his way from Carson. 

He hobbled towards the door, resisting the urge to crack Peter over his swollen head, and started to try and climb the stairs. It was harder going up than it had been to go down, and Thomas winced every time he pulled at the stairs with his good arm. He’d torn something, and was certain Nurse Reid was going to skin him alive the moment she got back from London. 

But suddenly Tom was behind him, and halting him in his tracks. 

“I’ll carry you up.” Tom offered. Thomas scoffed, and took another step up the stairs. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Thomas griped, furious at displaying emotion. Peter was now getting chewed out thoroughly by Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson, and Mrs. Patmore all at the same time. 

“Thomas, let him carry you-“Oh great, now Baxter was on the stairs too. Thomas looked around as best he could, and found both Baxter and Moseley hovering on the steps behind Tom. Baxter took a step up so that she and Tom were side by side, while Moseley hovered by the railing unsure of how to help.

“I can walk up myself.” Thomas spat, sniffing angrily as he took another step. His crutch fell out beneath him by accident; Tom caught it and handed it over to Baxter. 

“Come here.” Tom offered, “I won’t bite, and you can’t walk-“ 

“I can to walk, get your hands off me!” Thomas cried out angrily. Tom stopped, hands up in self-defense. 

“I’m only trying to help.” 

“Then help me by staying out of my way!” Thomas spat in his face. Tom did not crumble in his composure, nor make for anger. Instead, he calmly stared Thomas down, and spoke with great sensitivity to Thomas’ wounded emotions. 

“I’m sorry.” Tom said, “Truly… I know that what Peter said hurt you deeply, even though he didn’t mean for it too. He’s just a kid, Thomas, he doesn’t understand… but he did wrong, and Mrs. Hughes will make sure he understands that.” Tom paused, offering his arms up again, “I respectfully ask to help carry up to the gallery floor. You’ve hurt yourself in the struggle and you shouldn’t exacerbate the injury. Nurse Reid will do your nut if you undo all your hard work.” 

Thomas’ chin quivered again, he looked away furious. 

“…My daughter…” He swallowed, his throat thick, “My daughter was not a fish.”  
God damn him, but he wanted to cry for the insensitivity of it all. It burned him deeply to know that a prig had gone so far as to take a picture of her. What was she, a side show freak? 

“We know, Thomas.” Moseley said. “No one here thinks she was anything short of lovely.” 

Baxter touched his waist, offering her silent support. “Please let Tom carry you?” She asked. 

But there was Carson, coming out of the servant’s hall, watching the three of them from the bottom of the stairs. 

“You cannot walk up to the gallery floor alone.” Carson would not even think otherwise, “I will carry you up-“ 

“No need, Mr. Carson.” Tom waved his hands, turning back to Thomas, “If you’ll consent, Thomas, I’ll carry you myself.” 

Thomas wiped his eyes hastily before anyone caught him growing teary again. By god, how far he’d fallen through the years. Long gone were the days when he was a proud footman stalking the shadows in the hallway. 

He sniffed, then looked back at Tom who was still offering him out his arms. 

“Fine.” Thomas whispered. 

He used his good arm to hold the back of Tom’s neck. That forest scent filled Thomas’ nose as he inadvertently rubbed against Tom’s scent gland. It oddly calmed him, making him feel sleepy as he lay his head on Tom’s shoulder. Tom scooped him up beneath the legs and behind the back, careful when he lifted him so as not to hurt his already injured shoulder. Baxter walked up the stairs with him, Moseley close behind. The rear was brought up by Mrs. Hughes, who’d met Carson on the stairwell and sent him off after Peter who was now bawling in the servant’s hall over being clipped behind the ears. Clearly Mrs. Patmore had taken personal insult to something or the other. 

“That boy.” Mrs. Hughes huffed and puffed as she climbed, “Honestly what got into his head?” 

“I can’t believe he thought she was a mermaid.” Moseley quipped. Baxter was close behind Tom, careful to watch his steps lest he miss one and doom them all to a heavy fall. Thomas didn’t exactly have the best reputation with stairs. 

“I told him he could forget about his half day.” Mrs. Hughes said, “The less time he spends with that Harold Elston the better.” 

“If he has a picture, then we need it back.” Baxter said. Mrs. Hughes agreed. 

“Mr. Carson is seeing to that now.” Mrs. Hughes said, “He’ll tell his Lordship in the morning and will speak to Grisby personally. I’m sure the man didn’t know about the picture, he’s a decent sort.” 

“Needs better employees-“ Tom huffed beneath Thomas’ weight. They reached the gallery floor, and Baxter took it upon herself to open the door. The hallway outside was slightly dim from lack of natural light. Moseley held the door open for Mrs. Hughes to pass, and the five of them walked down the gallery hall to the false panel by Lord Grantham’s bed chamber. Baxter once again took it upon herself to open the false panel and let everyone through, though Moseley brought up the rear made sure it shut properly behind them all. As they entered the heat suit, Tom looked about the room mournfully as if remembering Sybil’s once constant presence. She’d smelt of roses, and her taste had shown in the artistry of the room. 

“Oh Thomas, you didn’t even eat your dinner.” Mrs. Hughes tutted. His beef stew had gone cold, but Thomas wasn’t hungry. He was too miserable and dejected to eat. Regardless, Mrs. Hughes pulled down the covers of his bed, and allowed Tom to sit him by the pillows so that Thomas could relax against the mattress. Tom twisted, popping his back, and stepped back as Mrs. Hughes turned on his bedroom lamp so that the whole place was flooded with light. Moseley was by the vanity, staring at Ada’s urn. Baxter laid Thomas’ crutch against the wall and helped him to move his injured leg into bed. His shoulder hurt horribly now, and Thomas held onto it with his left hand as Mrs. Hughes pulled the covers up to his chest and picked up his dinner tray. 

“I’ll have Mrs. Patmore reheat your soup-“ Mrs. Hughes said. 

“M’not hungry.” Thomas whispered. Mrs. Hughes didn’t test him, but she gently set his tray aside to come back and sit carefully on the side of his bed. Moseley was the unlikely hero of the moment, speaking up despite the tense air. 

“I know it seems like an awful thing,” Moseley said, “But sometimes children can be cruel and not mean it.” 

And Thomas supposed it was true. Peter was an idiot, eleven years old and fresh from his mother’s apron strings. He didn’t know how the world worked. He didn’t understand why calling someone’s dead baby a fish—

But Thomas looked away, more emotion rising in his throat and stinging at his eyes. Oh, how it burned him! To think someone had taken a picture of Ada, like she was some kind of… of… 

_Dead deformed baby?_ His mind was in a treacherous place. 

Thomas’ lip quivered as he spoke, “They took a picture of her, like she was a freak. An’ I’ll see ‘em hanged for it-“ 

“Mr. Carson is going to handle that.” Mrs. Hughes assured him, “And Lord Grantham will take it from there.” 

Tom made a noise, clearly believing Lord Grantham was going to blow a gasket when he heard of Thomas’ emotions being abused. 

“…I want that picture back.” Thomas whispered. “Don’t let anything else happen to it. I want it given to me.” 

“I’ll tell his Lordship.” Mrs. Hughes said. Baxter carefully arranged his pillows so that it better supported his injured shoulder. 

“Try not to think on it.” Was Moseley’s advice, but he knew nothing about losing a child and was far from an expert on the subject of miscarriage.  
Baxter seemed to understand. She turned off his bedside light and reached out to clasp his uninjured shoulder in hand. 

“I’ll come and visit you tomorrow.” She promised.  
Thomas nodded, knowing it was the best that he could ask for. 

“Sleep well.” Tom offered, “Lord Grantham will take care of everything, you’ll see. I’ve a mind to ring the chump’s neck as well.” 

“I’m sure we’d all like to.” Mrs. Hughes grumbled, picking up Thomas’ bedside tray again. They were making to leave, all save for Baxter who had not moved from his side. As Mrs. Hughes crossed the threshold, she looked back in and beckoned for Baxter. 

“Let’s let him rest.” Mrs. Hughes said. “His Lordship wouldn’t care to have his disturbed.” 

“In a minute.” Baxter said. Mrs. Hughes nodded and left, gently closing Thomas door so that he could get some shut eye. Now alone with Baxter, Thomas did not hold back his tears. 

Baxter did not make to leave after a minute, nor an hour, nor even three. That night she slept side by side with him, too grateful to have him home and safe to think of leaving him wanting. 

 

That was how Nurse Reid found them when she returned to Downton after midnight; Baxter above the covers, Thomas beneath, the pair of them spooned about one another with red eyes. She did not interrupt their sleep. 

 

The next morning, however, Nurse Reid hounded him for his foolish blundering about. 

“Very good, and one-two-three-four-five,” She instructed Thomas to raise both his arms high above his head, which made him wince, “Now hold two-three-four-five, and slowly two-three-four-five-“ Thomas was made to hold his arms out stiffly at his side, “and hold two-three-four-five- gently drop?” Thomas did so, wincing as his fingers touched his sides. 

“Now roll, like a wave.” Nurse Reid stood behind him and gently pushed one hand on each shoulder to make his muscles stretch. Thomas groaned, his head lolling on his shoulders as his joints popped. “You nearly pulled your shoulder out. I ought to make you drink wheatgrass juice-“ 

“Please don’t.” Thomas muttered, for while he’d never tried it before he was certain it would taste disgusting. 

“Well either way you’re getting your neck brace off next Friday. So don’t be a goose!” She warned him, stepping back so that he could relax. She stepped around him, fetching her bag in the corner to pull out a brown glass bottle and a shot glass. Thomas watched her pour a goopy green substance. It smelt strongly of grass, and made Thomas’ nose wrinkle.

She offered him the shot glass. Thomas did not take it. 

“Please?” He tried for sympathy but found her wanting. 

“Take it” she ordered, “It’ll help your bones heal faster.” 

“I can wait.” 

“Take it!” 

But before she could choke him into submission, there came a harried knock on the door which opened to reveal Mr. Carson leading in Andy who was carrying a small trunk in his arms. Baxter was right behind him, helping to hold open the door so that Andy didn’t hit his ankles on the wood. 

“Ah, let’s put it here.” Mr. Carson ordered, gesturing at the foot of Thomas’ bed. Andy did so at once, grateful to set the damn thing down, and heaved a sigh when he straightened up again free of his load. Mr. Carson gestured for Andy to head out, which Andy did at once, but only before pausing to speak to Thomas. 

“I was ill last night.” Andy admitted, “I’m so sorry-“ 

“Later, Andrew.” Mr. Carson snapped, “Not in front of company.” 

Andy could not deny an order. He left, but not before giving Thomas a sympathetic smile which Thomas appreciated. Andy had always been a good friend to him; well…. Maybe at first there had been tension. But that was long past, and Thomas understood Andy’s stance. 

Baxter eyed the green juice with care, “What’s that?” She asked. 

“Wheatgrass,” Nurse Reid said, “I had to pick it up from London, and it must be drunk fresh. It’s ground in a mill like you would beef, and is excellent for health.” 

Thomas wrinkled his nose again, even as Nurse Reid forced the glass into his hand. 

“Take it.” She ordered. “Or I’ll have Mr. Carson at you.”  
Thomas wouldn’t put Mr. Carson to pinch his nose and force him to swallow it. Sensing danger if he disobeyed, Thomas threw back the shot much like one might a glass of whiskey. 

He promptly choked; gagging as he nearly spat the concoction out onto the carpet. 

“Ah!” Nurse Reid snarled, a finger in his face, “You swallow it now! I won’t have you soiling the carpet by being a child!” He wanted to wring the woman’s neck, pushing the mouthful down inch by inch until he could finally gasp for air. 

Christ, he wanted to vomit! 

“Oh my god.” He moaned in distress, clutching at his desk chair as he gasped for breath, “What… what are you… some kind of torturer?” 

“I’m the woman who’s going to get you well.” She reminded him shortly.  
Thomas disagreed, but kept his thoughts to himself. As he straightened up, he eyed the trunk warily. 

Mr. Carson folded his arms behind his back, even as Baxter tried to keep from laughing. “There’s no sense in fighting with your nurse, Thomas.” 

That was easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one that had to swallow blended grass. 

“Nurse Reid, might we garner a minute of privacy?” Mr. Carson asked. 

“Certainly.” Nurse Reid took off her apron as she walked to the door, “I’ll fetch you a cup of tea to help with the aftertaste.” 

Aftertaste? What about the before taste? Why didn’t he get a tea for that? As she left, Thomas scowled after her back until Carson caught his attention again. 

“His Lordship was called to London early this morning by Murray; I’ve spoken with him just now, and alerted him to the situation with Grisby’s. Needless to say he is greatly displeased with the lack of professionalism by Grisby’s apprentice, and is calling Grisby’s personally to have the matter dealt with.” 

“I want the picture.” Thomas demanded. The thought of it being handed around or destroyed put knots in his stomach. 

“His Lordship is aware.” Mr. Carson said, which made Thomas feel slightly more in control of the situation. “He said he would ring when he’d spoken to Grisby. He wished to speak with you when you were well enough to call.” 

“I’m well enough.” Thomas was tired of being handled like he was going to break at any god given moment. How was he supposed to get well when no one was letting him? 

“This also came for you in the mail.” Baxter offered a letter, which Thomas accepted at once, only to do a double take when he saw the return address was from a Robert Kinsey in London. He’d written! 

The joy must have shown on Thomas’ face. “Good news?” Baxter asked. 

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Thomas said at once, tearing open the letter as Mr. Carson waited by the side of his trunk. “It’s from a doctor who was very kind to me.” 

The script was tidy but slanted. 

_"April 20th, 1927_

_To Thomas B._

_Greetings from London! I hope you won’t think me intrusive for writing, but I wanted to catch up with you and make sure you’re not feeling too bad. The road to recovery can be long and harrowing, but the reward is sweet. Consider me like a friendly post along the pathway, offering you guidance as to directions. On second thought, that sounds incredible pretentious. All I want is to make sure you’re okay… whatever okay means. I’ve returned to London but can easily hop up to Yorkshire if need be. I am at your command!_

_Warmest_ ,  
_Robert Kinsey_

Thomas eyed his trunk, wary of what lay inside. After last night, he felt nervous to broach the subject of Ada again. He had a feeling he knew who he could call for support. 

So Thomas asked to use the telephone, and had to use Nurse Reid as an impromptu crutch as he traveled down the stairs. She wanted him to gain strength walking without the aid of his actual crutch, which she warned could lead to a lifelong limp if he wasn’t careful. 

Thomas knew from word of mouth that Dr. Kinsey worked at the London School of Medicine, lecturing on psychology. Armed with this knowledge, Thomas barricaded himself in the smaller library with a cup of tea and Tiaa (who was already napping on the couch by the fire) and asked the operator for the London number. 

He was grateful for his solitude, with even Carson letting him have privacy as Nurse Reid went to air out his bedroom and Baxter spoke privately with Moseley. Thomas felt a bit of a chill, and pulled a throw blanket over his lap which resulted in Tiaa wobbling over to him and collapsing atop his thighs as the phone began to ring. 

When it picked up, a woman with a nasal voice answered. 

_“London School of Medicine, Psychology Department, how may I direct your call?”_

“Dr. Robert Kinsey please.” Thomas said. 

_“May I ask whose calling?”_

“Thomas Barrow. He’ll know who I am.” 

_“One moment please.”_ And so Thomas was made to wait on hold again. Tiaa nuzzled his crotch; always an embarrassing notion with a dog. She seemed to be sniffing something, which unnerved Thomas. What did she smell, he wondered? 

Either way, it calmed her, and she fell back sleep with her nose shoved between his thighs. What a bizarre creature. 

The phone was picked up by Dr. Kinsey, who sounded delighted if not a little shocked: _“Thomas! I didn’t expect you to call!”_

“I hope I’m not imposing?” Thomas couldn’t help but be a little coy. Dr. Kinsey always seemed to make him flirtatious. 

_“No. God no. Anything but.”_ There was pause and a noise as if Dr. Kinsey was relaxing into a deep chair. _“Are you feeling a bit better?”_

“Not exactly.” Said Thomas, thinking of last night, “I feel trapped at Downton, and … last night something awful happened. I found out that the apprentice to Grisby’s took a picture of Ada and has been passing it around the village, calling her a mermaid… something about her looking like a fish.” Thomas sniffed, willing himself not to cry. He paused, noticing that Dr. Kinsey did not immediately make to speak or try and comfort him. Thomas appreciated it. “Anyways, I got a trunk today of all my stuff from Belton House, and sure enough Ada’s things will be inside it. It’s just… I think I need your help looking at things.” 

_“I see.”_ There was a scratching noise, perhaps he was writing, _“I can imagine such ignorance would be an ugly salt to rub in your wound. I would apologize but I doubt it would do much good.”_

“Not much.” Thomas sniffed, smiling. He petted Tiaa absent minded. 

_“Don’t push yourself Thomas. You’re not on a deadline for recovery.”_ Good to know because it seemed no one was letting him recover in the first place. 

_“Would you like me to come up? I could take the train on Saturday.”_ That was good to know. Saturday wasn’t far away. 

“That would be wonderful, yes.” Thomas said. 

_“I’ll make to come up mid-morning then. A train leaves from the station near my apartment around five, I should think. I ought to arrive close to ten.”_

“… We’ll need to keep this quiet from Lord Grantham.” Thomas murmured. “He’s… been a bit possessive. I don’t think he’d be happy to see you.” 

_“Well, I’m not there to see him, am I?”_ Thomas smiled at the implications. _“I’ll use the servant’s door if you like.”_

“Thank you.” Thomas already felt a bit better. “I’ll tell them to expect you. You’re a godsend.” 

_“Oh I wouldn’t say that.”_ Dr. Kinsey was chuffed. 

“Well, I would.” Thomas wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary, even if Lord Grantham was purple in the face, “I’ll see you Saturday.” 

_“Saturday it is.”_ And with that the pair of them hung up. 

For a moment, Thomas just sat there smiling on the couch smiling like a dope. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the comfortable leather behind him. 

Kinsey really was a dream. 

Those eyes, that smile, the way his hair gleamed in the light. Did the man know how much a heart throb he was? Was he completely oblivious to the way he melted every heart in the room? Men that good didn’t just walk around naïve. Someone ought to tell Dr. Kinsey before he set Thomas on fire by accident. 

But then the phone rang again and Thomas panicked from his daze, jerking upright and making Tiaa yip as he shifted without warning. The phone was picked up, but not from Thomas’ end, and he relaxed back into the couch as Tiaa got comfortable again. 

“Sorry.” Thomas whispered, letting her shift on his thighs. He closed his eyes, pulling his one good leg up onto the couch as he leaned back into the leather. For about five minutes, he got to revel in the stillness, but then the door to the library was opened and Thomas sat up to see Carson with a grumpy expression on his face. 

“His Lordship is on the phone for you.” Mr. Carson explained, before turning around and striding back out. Thomas looked at the phone and winced, reaching out to pick it up. He wondered if Carson was still listening in on the other end. Part of him doubted that Carson would dare invade his Lordship’s privacy… part of him imagined that everyone below stairs was getting a kick at Thomas being paraded about like a show pony. 

“M’lord.” Thomas said, relaxing back into the couch as much as he was able to with the phone in hand and the receiver cradled in his lap. 

_“Thomas… I’ve just spoken with Grisby and Sons. I’m so terribly sorry about the insensitivity the hallboy showed you the other night-“_

“M’lord, he’s just a child.” Thomas could imagine Lord Grantham had half a mind to fire the boy, but that wouldn’t do. He needed to earn his paycheck. 

_“Still.”_ There was a pause as Lord Grantham settled himself, _“Apparently Grisby took the picture himself; it’s part of a package where the dead are photographed in a peaceful scenery. But after developing the photo, Grisby felt that the subject matter was not well reflected and decided it would be better not to trouble you. Elston apparently found the picture in Grisby’s desk, and proceeded to take it to show to men at the pub. I’ll called the Grantham Arms, and they haven’t seen it. The Dog and Duck reported hearing a ruckus but they’ve since quieted the revelers. Elston’s been forced to give up the photo, and has been reprimanded. I hear that you want the photo yourself?”_

“Yes.” Thomas felt the familiar tightness returning to his throat. “Yes I… I need that photograph back.” 

_“And you feel that it wouldn’t alarm you too deeply?”_

“I need that photograph.” Thomas knew he was close to begging and it did nothing for his pride. “I’ll call Grisby myself-“ 

_“No, no.”_ Lord Grantham cut him off at once, _“There’s no need for that. I’ll take care of everything, you just rest and relax.”_

That solution was getting old. The more Lord Grantham told him to relax, the more tense Thomas felt. Thomas pursed his lips for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. Lord Grantham took it as an opportunity to talk some more. 

_“I know you’re upset with me, and I can understand why. I promise I’ll be home soon. By the latest, Sunday.”_

Thomas sighed, closing his eyes, “I just… Forgive my impertinence, M’lord, but I feel like you’re treating me as if I’m a child. I can make my own decisions.” 

_“Certainly you can!”_ Lord Grantham agreed at once, _“And I’m eager that you do so… but you’ve been through a terribly difficult time, Thomas, and I want you to get well as soon as possible so that you can get back to living your life. I’ve talked with Dr. Clarkson and he agrees that you’re better off under my care in Downton.”_

But the mention of Dr. Clarkson got Thomas up and running again: “Do you dislike Dr. Kinsey?” Thomas asked abruptly. Lord Grantham paused, unsure of what to make of that. 

_“Who?”_

“Dr. Kinsey, the psychiatrist that treated me at Downton Hospital… Dr. Clarkson’s good friend. Do you dislike him?” 

There was a long pause, in which Thomas was certain Lord Grantham was starting to sweat. It was interesting, having the shoe on a different foot. Instead of trying to please someone, he was now a person that people had to try and please. 

_“No.”_ Lord Grantham finally answered, _“I do not dislike him.”_

He said no more on the subject, a bit like a splash of water from an ocean. It got you wet, but you knew you could drown if you strayed just outside of your comfort zone. 

Thomas wondered how logical it was to get irritated with the ocean. 

 

As the days passed and Saturday came about, Thomas found himself growing incredibly excited. He missed Kinsey, particularly when he was left to his own devices for most of the day and was treated like some kind of a princess in a tower. Kinsey was real, solid, and gave him an emotional high that he loved to chase. The man made him think that things were possible, no matter how unrealistic or bizarre. Kinsey had once talked of Thomas traveling the world; why the hell not? What was stopping him… besides Lord Grantham? 

But that thought put a sour sensation in Thomas’ stomach. 

He sat in the servant’s hall, watching over Andy as he tried to fix a clock on his own. It was a simple London Mantle, nothing to write home about, but Andy was still getting the trick of winding a clock without over straining the dial wires which could result in them snapping if they didn’t receive a reprieve. By Lord Grantham’s command, Thomas wasn’t allowed to do any work, but he said nothing about Thomas watching while Andy worked right beside him. Lord Grantham was still in London, but would apparently be returning later on today with news on the will. Thomas didn’t much care, quite certain that nothing in Gray’s will would do him any good. The man would be as much a menace dead as he was alive; all Thomas could pray was that whatever the will drug up it would have no holding legal ramifications. 

Mr. Carson knew that Kinsey was coming; he wasn’t happy about it. He’d been stomping about the servant’s quarters all day long, barking orders with more vigor than usual. Even Mrs. Hughes had noticed it, but she said nothing. She knew Carson had a way of blowing off steam in the strangest of ways. Thomas wondered if Carson was angry out of loyalty to Lord Grantham, or if he was angry because Thomas was urging him to keep the meeting a secret. Carson was see-through at the worst of times, being forced to keep quiet was like stuffing a sweaty sock in the man’s mouth.

Andy was nervous, underneath Thomas’ eye. Thomas was having to use his own hand to guide Andy’s, and it became clear when their skin touched that something bizarre was occurring in the boy. He was moody, aggressive, and unable to focus. 

Thomas ignored it as best he could, and instead put his efforts towards showing Andy how to not break a clock. He laid his own hand atop Andy’s, and with the gentlest of efforts pushed Andy’s hands upward towards the noon position. The wires of the clock began to shift, tightening, and Thomas relaxed so that Andy was forced to stop. 

“See how tight that is?” Thomas murmured. A muscle in Andy’s jaw was jumping; what was wrong with him? “Andy?” 

Andy coughed, shrugging as if trying to release a muscle tick. “Nothing, keep going. Touch my hand again?” 

Thomas blinked, but put his hand back on Andy’s own. Andy focused on the clock like it might catch fire if he relaxed. “How do you know when you’re getting close to straining the strings?” 

“It’s easier in a quiet room.” Thomas explained, turning the clock around and showing Andy how the back opened to reveal a network of tightening strings. If one was careful, they could hear the wires tightening. “You’ll hear the strings tighten. The more noise they make, the more risk you’re in. If the springs squeak, you’re in trouble and need to destress the clock. Imagine if it were Daisy, crying out because you pushed her too hard.” 

Andy went pale, his jaw tight. Thomas suddenly smelled the oddest collection of cinnamon, and turned his head to notice Andy rubbing desperately at the juncture of his neck. 

Thomas opened his mouth, worried, but was interrupted by the sounds of voices coming up the hall and a strange overtaking scent of honey and tea. 

He jerked about, even before Mr. Carson called out to him. “Mr. Barrow, a guest for you-“ 

There in the doorway of the hall which would lead out to the servant’s common area was Robert Kinsey. He was beaming, brilliantly, and did not carry his coat nor his hat. Clearly he’d left both on the pegs in the hall, and was in the process of rolling up his shirt sleeves to the elbow so that he had a very relaxed air. Thomas was out of his chair in an instant, delighted, and in a moment of carried emotion he reached out for Dr. Kinsey to embrace the man. 

“Hello, Thomas-“ Dr. Kinsey was chuffed, laughing as he held Thomas close. That scent of honey and tea… it filled a dead aching wound in Thomas’ chest and made him content just to be. When he pulled back, he found Dr. Kinsey grinning from ear to ear. Mr. Carson looked slightly scandalized, but Thomas didn’t care. Mr. Carson didn’t understand his relationship with Dr. Kinsey; it wasn’t anyone else’s business how they connected. 

“Dr. Kinsey-“ Thomas’ face was beginning to ache for how much he smiled. “I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you.” Dr. Kinsey said, grasping him in a familiar manor by the elbow. Carson was turning an ugly shade of red, narrowing his eyes at Thomas’ obvious regard for their handsome visitor. “Shall we?” Dr. Kinsey gestured with a hand for the upstairs. Thomas was eager to go, but not without giving parting advice to Andy who still looked ready to chew on a tin can and spit out a nail. 

“Andy, don’t touch that clock anymore.” Thomas urged. “You’re in no mood to mend. You really ought to speak with Mr. Carson if you feel poorly.” 

Which, right on cue, got Carson focused on someone else and allowed Thomas to easily slip away. 

“Andrew, why are your cheeks so flushed?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Mr. Carson, leave me alone, please!” 

“I’ll remind you not to get fresh with me young man-“ 

But Thomas and Dr. Kinsey were already walking up the stairs, escaping the argument even as it began. Unlike Tom, Dr. Kinsey did not ask to carry Thomas nor even comment on his handicap. Instead, Dr. Kinsey held out his arm, and Thomas took it gratefully as they mounted the steps together. 

“Keeper of the clocks?” Dr. Kinsey teased. Thomas was awash with the sensation of their palms meeting. For some odd reason, their fingers had interlaced though it wasn’t particularly necessary. Dr. Kinsey’s fingers were longer than his, stronger, and it made Thomas shudder with queer anticipation. 

“Me dad was a clockmaker.” Thomas said by way of explanation. They had to step to the side to allow Amelia the day maid to pass. She glanced at where Thomas and Kinsey held hands, shocked at their open display of… whatever they were. “I understand clocks.” Thomas said as they continued on up the stairs, “They’re like little people to me.” 

“Oh, I have a mantle clock that would love you.” Dr. Kinsey said, with such a charming air that Thomas could not help but smile again,. “It’s a finicky thing.” 

“Are you being nice to it?” Thomas teased as they arrived at the gallery floor and exited out onto the halls. At this time of day no one truly home. Lady Mary and Tom both ran the estate out of Tom’s work in the village, and Mr. Talbot was always roaming about the estate or working on his cars. Lady Edith didn’t even live at Downton anymore; she now resided with Lord Pelham. Thomas had no idea where Lady Grantham was and frankly didn’t care. 

“Very nice!” Dr. Kinsey said in a mockingly hurt tone as if shocked that Thomas would insist he’d be anything but a gentleman to a clock, “I say good morning and goodnight, every time I pass. I even ask it to tea. Never responds to me! It’s finicky.” 

“Mmm, sounds to me like something is on its mind.” Thomas teased. 

“Many a conundrum I’m sure,” but there was no irritation in Dr. Kinsey’s voice. His open mind enchanted Thomas. 

They approached the false panel that lead to Thomas’ heat suit; it was only then that Thomas realized they were still holding hands. He did not comment on it, instead reaching out to push at the wall and reveal the hidden hallway. 

“A secret panel, eh?” Dr. Kinsey looked up at the hidden hinges, which normally were warped to the side of the wall, “I thought these only existed in books.” 

“It’s ridiculous.” Thomas said, leading Dr. Kinsey up the short hall to where his heat suite lay at the far end. The only other door on the hallway lead to Lord Grantham’s dressing quarters, where a spare bed was made up in false assumption that he and Lady Grantham slept separately. “I’m being kept in a heat suit.” Thomas explained, opening his door so that Dr. Kinsey could see inside properly. 

“Oh, I’ve heard about these.” Dr. Kinsey did not speak with ill intent, curious as he observed the high vaulted ceiling and the ventilated corners awash in white paint. “Ah yes, there’s the ventilation!” He pointed it out, and for the first time Thomas marked the dark slits against the corners that would surely lead to fresh outside air after going through several layers of scent screen which were hidden in the plaster. 

Dr. Kinsey looked about the rest of the wall, noting the pink wallpaper and the abundance of flowers sitting on every spare countertop, “Remarkable what architecture is capable of, now a days. But I never took you for one to dally in the rose colors… I don’t know why but I always pictured you as enjoying something more…” 

“Masculine?” Thomas grumbled, rolling his eyes. 

“I was going to say earthy.” Dr. Kinsey offered in fairness. Thomas’ mouth twitched into a small smile. He sat down at his side table in order to get pressure off his leg, which always ached after walking up and down the servant’s stairs. He was getting better at it but it was still slightly difficult on his heel and knee. 

“I hate sleeping here!” Thomas admitted. Dr. Kinsey sat next to him on the pink fainting couch that framed the southern corner near the fireplace; Sybil had often liked to lounge here when her stomach had cramped during heats. Dr. Kinsey was displeased at Thomas’ obvious frustration, but listened intently and made no imposition. 

“I want to be in my old room in the attics.” Thomas explained with a sigh, “But every time I ask, all I get back is ‘It’s his Lordship’s wish’. Over and over again… but what about my wishes?” He gestured to himself. 

“I quite agree!” Dr. Kinsey said enthusiastically, “If it’s your wish, you should sleep in whatever room you like.” 

Thomas smiled. How he’d missed Dr. Kinsey. 

For a moment the pair of them just stared at one another; lost in a spell of deep thought, Thomas could not help but be enchanted by Dr. Kinsey’s eyes. They were only warm, almost yellow, and reminded him of a warm hearth during the cooler months when chills came and went through the halls. His brown locks, curled at the edges, were in a messy halo about his handsome face. As he stared at Thomas Dr. Kinsey seemed to be lose himself. That warmth which usually made him so approachable and friendly melted into something different. Something more intimate and calm. It was like he was reading Thomas. Like he was deducing his entire soul which sitting next to him on the couch. 

But then Dr. Kinsey’s shifted ever so slightly to the right, and he saw the famed trunk sitting at the foot of Thomas’ bed. 

“…There it is.” He mused aloud. Thomas looked over his shoulder, sighing. 

“There it is.” He agreed by way of repetition. 

“How would you like to do this?” Dr. Kinsey asked, pulling up from the couch to walk calmly across the room and squat by the trunk. He fingered the golden latches, noting that a lock had once been in place to ensure safety during travel. 

“I thought…” Thomas tried to envision the perfect scenario, coming to stand beside Dr. Kinsey. The heat suit, much like the boudoir at Belton House, offered several places to sit. Perhaps they could sit at the tea table near his vanity. They could pull the chairs close; one even offered an ottoman. That would be better for going through the trunk. Thomas wouldn’t have to bend over so much. 

“Maybe I could sit using the ottoman, and go through the trunk.” Thomas said, gesturing to the seats behind them. 

“Very good.” Dr. Kinsey agreed, rising up and making to sort out the chairs so that Thomas could take his seat without having to trouble his casts. “Maybe I can sit in the chair if you like? I could look over your shoulder without bothering you.” 

But Thomas wanted to be bothered, very much. “But I want you to bother me,” He admitted, “Very much.” 

Dr. Kinsey was chuffed, scoffing a bit as if at a loss for words. When he glanced up again, there was a fresh sensitivity to his eyes. 

“… I confess…” Dr. Kinsey whispered. “I… would like to bother you very much.” 

Thomas took a shuddering breath, a bizarre sensation of hope filling his chest. Here was a man he wouldn’t mind dabbling in affectionate waters with. And if his feelings were returned-? 

But what even where his feelings? 

Just as Thomas opened his mouth to ask the question, there came a short knock on the door and both of them looked about to see Mrs. Hughes entering and carrying a tray. She looked fretful, and shut the door shortly after her to carefully lock it as if expecting an intruder. She’d brought them tea and biscuits, but she seemed alarmed for a reason Thomas couldn’t fathom. 

“Mrs. Hughes!” Thomas watched as she sat the tea tray upon their shared table, and carefully poured them both a cup. It was English Gray, a classic spring brew. 

“Andrew’s in a way.” Mrs. Hughes admitted, “Mr. Carson thinks he’s close to his first rut, so that’ll be our plates full.” 

“A rut?” Thomas knew next to nothing about them and so was without detail. 

“A sort of parallel to an omega’s heat.” Dr. Kinsey explained, “It’s a horrific process, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” 

“Oh as if you have enemies.” Thomas tutted, for who could hate such a man? Dr. Kinsey quirked a smile, tilting his head to the right. 

“I assure you I am a dastardly fellow.” He said with a low timbre. Thomas shuddered with delight for it all. Mrs. Hughes, however, did not seem happy. 

“I wouldn’t imagine either way.” She warned Thomas. “Lord Grantham won’t be happy if he comes home and finds you keeping company.” 

“Not everything I do is to please Lord Grantham.” Thomas protested. 

Mrs. Hughes didn’t comment straight away, merely finishing with their tea and giving him a knowing look. 

“I know you’ve had a terrible time,” Mrs. Hughes said, “And I promise you, no one is expecting you to jump right back on board the train… but Lord Grantham cares greatly for you and will give you a good life if you let him.” 

“I don’t want a good life.” Thomas said, “I want a life that is mine.” 

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say. She merely dipped her head and made her way back to the door. 

“Mr. Carson is having Dr. Clarkson fetch Andrew.” Mrs. Hughes said, “So he’ll be out of the house shortly, but I want you to keep the door locked until he’s gone.” 

“Andy would never hurt me.” Thomas said defensively, think of how stiff Andy’s posture had been only minutes before. How a wave of cinnamon had practically smacked Thomas in the face when Andy had rubbed at his scent gland. 

“No, of course not.” Mrs. Hughes waved her hand. She was distracted by something, and seemed very sad in that moment. Thomas wondered what was bothering her so. Maybe Andy truly was in a bad way. 

Maybe she was just realize that Thomas’ situation was far from settled. 

Either way she left, shutting the door behind her. Thomas did not make to lock it. 

He turned, and looked up at Kinsey. Like Thomas, Dr. Kinsey seemed worried about Mrs. Hughes. 

“She cares for you.” Dr. Kinsey mused. “I’m grateful to her.” 

Thomas could not help but agree. He sat back down, taking the chair opposite Kinsey’s and offering him a few raspberry biscuits sprinkled with powdered sugar. They were by far his favorite snack. 

“Tea?” Thomas offered. 

“Please. Honey and lemon.” Dr. Kinsey said. Thomas added both and stirred it dutifully, feeling a jolt of pleasure at knowing both he and Dr. Kinsey took their tea the same way. He handed over the cup, and watched as Dr. Kinsey dunked one of the raspberry biscuits into his cup to nibble on its softened edge, “How do you take yours?” 

“Honey and lemon.” Thomas said with a small smirk. Dr. Kinsey smiled coyly, offering his cup in mocking toast. Thomas followed suit, and the pair of them clinked edges before taking sips. 

“To good taste.” Dr. Kinsey toasted, before swallowing a mouthful of tea. Thomas was captivated by watching the man’s throat muscles move. The way that his veins colored but did not bulge. It was practically erotic. “But I do believe we are getting off track.” 

“Oh let me dawdle a bit longer?” Thomas said, for in truth he did not want their visit to end and was eager to draw it out as long as possible. Dr. Kinsey obliged him, smiling as he took his tea. 

“So you teach?” Thomas offered, as way of starting up conversation. Dr. Kinsey murmured around a mouthful of tea, setting his cup back down with a clink. Thomas put more biscuits onto his plate, and made sure to refill the doctor’s cup while he spoke. 

“I teach.” He said, “Psychology, both advanced and general, along with specific studies in omega and alpha behavioral dynamics.” 

“That sounds like a nightmare.” Thomas muttered, imagining a classroom full of Brigade-to-be’s, all strutting and jostling for position. 

Dr. Kinsey shrugged, silently thanking Thomas for his refilled tea as he took another sip. “I like to help put aside any pre-instated discriminations, particularly in alphas and betas. It’s important that we harvest intelligent thinking in upcoming minds. With luck it’ll destabilize the Brigade.” 

“Destabilize the Brigade?” Thomas had never heard such sweet words, “Oh, you tease.” He grinned, munching on a biscuit. Dr. Kinsey had the nerve to wink at him, which made Thomas want to scream like a child. 

“I’m not teasing.” He said, though his tone remained flirtatious, “One day, it will be so. I’m certain of it. And even if it doesn’t happen in our own lifetimes, there will always be those around who disagree with MacNaire.” He paused, setting down his cup again, “I know I do.” 

Thomas reached out, and took Dr. Kinsey’s hand from where it lay on the table. Without beckoning, their fingers interlaced again. Thomas squeezed his hand, smiling sweetly. “You’re one of a kind.” He praised. 

For a moment there was just silence, as the pair of them sat together and pondered the trunk between them. Their tea cooled, and eventually stopped steaming, but neither of them minded. They talked when needed, and didn’t feel a rush. It was positively pleasant. 

“The train didn’t bother you?” Thomas asked after a long moment had passed in comfortable quiet. 

“Oh no.” Dr. Kinsey shrugged, running his broad thumb over the bumps of Thomas’ knuckles. They were only faintly yellow now, no longer garishly bruised, “I’m used to traveling… I have to say, you look much better.” 

“My bruises are going away.” Thomas agreed, “And my eye is much better. I’m even getting my neck brace off on Monday.” 

“Excellent.” Dr. Kinsey said. “I’m sure you’ll be grateful to be free?” 

“It’ll be so wonderful to roll my head on my pillow at night.” Thomas sighed; truly one didn’t know the meaning of constriction until they were forced to lie still and flat in bed. 

“Well you have a very lovely neck.” Dr. Kinsey said, but then he blushed and opened his mouth as if to take the compliment back. Thomas cut him off, determined. 

“Don’t take it back.” Thomas urged. Dr. Kinsey closed his mouth again, listening. “Only that… I’m terribly fond of you. More than I really should be. So I like it when you say I have a lovely neck.” 

Dr. Kinsey seemed to be working up his nerve to say something. He drummed his thumb upon the tea table before finally licking his lips and hesitantly saying, “If that’s how you feel, then perhaps you might be agreeable to….” 

Thomas held his breath in anticipation-  
But then, Dr. Kinsey seemed to lose his nerve. 

“To trust me with the matter of this trunk.” Dr. Kinsey finished lamely. He sounded just as disappointed as Thomas felt. 

Thomas sighed, all the excitement draining out of him. 

“I trust you with a lot more than just that.” Thomas said. “For the record.” 

“Well, for the record…” But Kinsey just couldn’t seem to say what he wanted to say, and turned to eyeball the trunk like a dangerous animal at the zoo, “I’m glad to hear that. So. Let’s open this bloody trunk.” 

He paused, grimacing, “Excuse my language.” 

He needn’t have bothered with an apology. Thomas could swear with the best of them, and moved from his chair to the ottoman at Dr. Kinsey’s feet so that he could fiddle with the latch of the trunk. 

“Don’t fucking apologize you mankey twat, you’ll just cock it up.” Thomas said by way of explanation, grinning over his shoulder. Dr. Kinsey nearly choked into his teacup, coughing rapidly as he tried to gain back his composure. 

“Open the trunk you little shit.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do you son of a bitch.” 

“Shit-“ 

“Cock-“ 

“Fuck-“ 

“Fuck-“ 

“Would you please be quiet I’m trying to focus here. Arsehole.” 

Dr. Kinsey laughed aloud, a gay and delightful laugh, before leaning over Thomas and rubbing at his shoulders as Thomas undid the final latch and began to lift the lid of the trunk. Like most traveling trunks, it featured a wooden top slat that could be lifted up by two ‘o’ rings and pulled away. Atop this layer, though, was a letter addressed to Thomas which he picked up and opened: 

_“Dear Thomas, I’ve put together all your things, and a little something to remember us by. We will always think fondly of you and hope that your future is full of bright and beautiful things. Remember that you have friends in Belton… with Warmest Regards, Mr. Edgar Wallace.”_

It lacked any formal script, but it was kind and it touched Thomas deeply. He showed Dr. Kinsey the letter, who took it and read it over his shoulder. 

“Mr. Edgar Wallace?” Dr. Kinsey asked. 

“The butler of Belton House.” Thomas explained, “He was very kind to me.” 

“That was very kind.” Dr. Kinsey said. Thomas set the letter aside. 

“He’s a good man.” Thomas said, opening up the wooden front slats to see a leaf of tissue paper blocking entrance. 

Such a thin barrier, and all the pain it contained underneath. Thomas took several breathes, just trying to take a moment and sum up all that he’d been through in the past months. The horror. The abuse. The heartbreak. The fear… so much fear. 

There were times when he felt sorry for Lawrence Gray. There were times when he felt the tiniest remnants of affection. But at all times, he hated the man. He would hate the man till he died. 

Dr. Kinsey put his hands on Thomas’ shoulders and rubbed them comfortingly.  
Thomas’ fingers trembled upon the paper. 

“… It all fit in this trunk.” Thomas whispered. “How could my pain fit in this trunk?” 

“It’s difficult to say.” Dr. Kinsey admitted gently. “But the good news is that you can go through it at your own pace, and no one will force you to go any faster.” 

That was good to know, and it put Thomas at ease. He reached out and grasped the tissue paper in hand, pulling it back. 

The first thing he saw were his dresses from his wardrobe. All of them were overly feminine, pastel colored, and made Thomas want to vomit. In particular, the the pink dress with the diamond… the night that Anthea had gone over the top and he’d vomited into a vase. 

_“The baby is the diamond.”_ Lawrence had said. Thomas touched the diamond.

“Are these yours?” Kinsey asked. 

“Unfortunately.” Thomas muttered, standing up and pulling out his dresses one at a time. He laid them over his arm, transferring them to his bed so that Kinsey could see them all. Thomas took it as a compliment that Kinsey winced. “Aren’t they pretentious?” 

“Well…” Kinsey waffled, reaching out to touch the pink dress with a diamond, “If you don’t like them you shouldn’t have to wear them, but this isn’t really what I picture you wearing. I thought you liked to wear trousers?” 

“He wouldn’t let me.” Thomas explained. “I’m going to order new clothes; I hate wearing these. I probably still have a bit left in my bank account. It’s not like I’ve been spending money in the hospital.” 

“I’m sure you’ll look fetching no matter what you wear.” Dr. Kinsey said. Thomas grinned, returning back to the ottoman. Dr. Kinsey helped him to sit down with his cast on, his broken leg poking out awkwardly as he began to dig through the trunk again. There were shoes, jackets, even ridiculous gloves and shawls that Lawrence had been determined to buy him. All of it was overly feminine. All of it made Thomas want to scream. He laid them down without care on the floor; Dr. Kinsey picked up the shawls and gloves to fold them carefully and put them on the table. 

Then Thomas got to the end of the clothes, and reached the real trouble. 

He pulled out the last layer of tissue paper to reach a layer full of wrapped items. Thomas picked up the first one at random, and opened it carefully to see it was the little silver bird cage Lord Grantham’s dove had come in. Thomas put it aside, and pulled out a velvet box. 

He didn’t own a velvet box. 

Thomas paused, fingering the single silver clasp, “This isn’t mine,” He admitted, before opening it carefully. Inside was the silver spoon that Mrs. Patmore had given him for Christmas, laid against a plush drop. This would have been Ada’s feeding spoon, and Thomas immediately felt his throat close up.

“…This…” Thomas coughed to loosen his throat, “This would have been her spoon.” 

He didn’t know what else to say. He let the spoon sit on his lap and reached into the trunk again. He wasn’t crying; should he be? 

Thomas pulled out a leather box, inside of which lay the Bates booties and the christening gown that had been given to him by the Carson’s. 

“These were her booties.” Thomas admitted, showing them to Kinsey. Kinsey was enraptured by the christening gown. 

“What is this?” Kinsey asked, fingering the lacy edges, “A doily?” 

“A christening gown.” Thomas almost felt like laughing. Such a silly man… 

“Ah. I didn’t realize you were religious.” Dr. Kinsey sounded slightly put off.  
Thomas looked around as best he could in his neck brace. He smiled at Dr. Kinsey, with a warmth that didn’t feel like it fit naturally in their current scene. 

“I’m not.” He told Dr. Kinsey. Dr. Kinsey beamed again. 

“Thank god.” Kinsey said, “It’s a thoughtful gift but… I’m not religious myself.” 

Thomas set aside the christening gown feeling oddly lighter. This was easy, this was fine. He would be completely fine. 

He pulled out Daisy’s mittens and the hat she’d knitted. It was such a sweet and thoughtful gift of hers. 

But then Thomas saw Baxter’s jumpers, and paused.  
The one on top was his favorite. It had little fish embroidered into its frilly sleeves, and was… 

But Thomas’ brain began to lack the capacity to form thoughts as he slowly pulled the jumper out. 

The other gifts had been thoughtful, but none of them had meant as much to him as these jumpers. He’d dreamed of Ada wearing these jumpers, of watching the little fish flash on her arms as she’d toddle about and get into all sorts of trouble. Jumping up the stream like a salmon returning to its breeding ground… swimming just out of sight…. 

Just… just out of… 

And suddenly Thomas couldn’t breath. 

“No.” He blubbered. “No, no, no- not my baby- oh please-“ But all his pleading could not bring Ada back. 

He burst into noisy, inhuman tears, groaning like an animal belly up in pain. He clutched the jumper to his face with one hand, the other arm useless bound in a cast. 

But Kinsey was holding him from behind, pulling Thomas up and onto his chair so that Thomas could bury himself in Kinsey’s arms. 

“Let it out.” Kinsey whispered in his ears. “She’ll hear you.” 

And so Thomas wept, oddly comforted by the fact that his daughter would know she’d been loved by her mother. That had she but lived, Thomas would have been devoted to her eternally. 

“Fish-“ Thomas knew he wasn’t making any sense, “Stupid fucking fish- I’m such a fool-“ 

“No you’re not.” Kinsey was fiercely passionate on the subject, holding Thomas as close as he could. Thomas was so incredibly grateful to have Kinsey close; he felt like if the man were to vanish he would fall away from the earth entirely. Like he would be lost to the universe in a soup of stars with nothing but the cold corpse of his daughter for company. 

He wept and wept, but Kinsey did not begrudge him or urge him to go any faster. 

And maybe that might have been the end of the story, with Thomas crying himself cold and Kinsey allowing it had it not been for the door opening. 

“Thomas, I don’t mean to bother you but- what the devil?!” 

Oh of course; of fucking course. Robert Crawley would come back early today wouldn’t he? Just as eager as a bee to get back to pollenating his unwilling flowers. Thomas tried to stop crying, tried to sit up, but it was impossible. The grief within him was just too strong, and Robert’s presence was only making it worse. 

“What in god’s name are you doing here?” Thomas hadn’t opened his eyes, but Robert sounded truly furious, “Who let you in?” 

“Your butler.” Was Kinsey’s calm reply, “Thomas asked me to join him today when he went through his things from Belton.” 

“But-“ Robert was aghast, all the wind out of his sails. Thomas tried to sit up and Kinsey let him, though Thomas could do little more than rub his eyes and snivel. “I wanted these things kept from him until he was ready! Who gave him permission to do this?!” And now he was truly angry again. Thomas tried to summon up the words to explain himself, to say anything, but all that came out were huffs of air. His defense would rest with Kinsey alone. 

“No one.” Kinsey said. “ He decided to take action himself. I came here to support him.” 

Robert made several noises like an angry cat swaddled in a sack. Thomas heard him huff several breathes, clearly trying to pull himself together as he realized that Thomas was far beyond his supposed control. He coughed, regained his composure, and then leaned forward so that Thomas suddenly felt another hand upon his back. He jumped, almost expecting to be slapped or punched. Instead, Robert Crawley gently rubbed his back in what was obviously a soothing gesture. Whatever anger he felt, none of it was for Thomas. 

“…Thomas-“ Robert urged him to look about. Thomas did so, knowing that he face would be akin to a devil all steamed and tear streaked. Ada’s fish jumper was wet beneath his fingers. Robert was in his traveling clothes, he most assuredly had only just gotten back. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his outer coat. He seemed baffled by the fact that Thomas would bring Dr. Kinsey here. That Thomas would want to experience such pain and not need an alpha to—

Well, okay, Dr. Kinsey was an alpha, but he was different. He made Thomas feel safe. Thomas needed that security while tackling these bigger issues. 

“I didn’t want this for you.” Robert was lost, unsure of how to best respond, “I hope you can see why now?” 

And Thomas supposed the man did have a valid point. Who wanted to endure what Thomas had just endured? But the fact of the matter remained- 

“But eventually, he would have had to open the trunk.” Kinsey offered; Thomas’ point exactly. “Isn’t it better that he do it when he says he is ready?” 

“But he’s not ready! For god’s sake, look at him!” Robert gestured at Thomas’ tear streaked face. 

“…Crying does not make you weak.” Kinsey challenged. “Thomas is incredibly strong.” 

Robert waffled, angry at being made out in a less than positive light, “I don’t mean that he’s weak- but he’s only just gotten home from the hospital and he’s already underneath enough strain as it is. I care for him! You do not!” Robert added angrily, pointing a finger vindictively at Kinsey’s angry face, “And I assure you that your presence here is unneeded and unwanted!” 

Instead of addressing Robert, Kinsey looked to Thomas. He smiled, as if he was not being insulted, “Thomas, would you like me to leave now?” 

No. He didn’t. But Thomas knew from experiencing that riling an alpha to anger in his own house would do him no good. It would only be a matter of time before Robert popped off like a poorly lit firecracker and actually struck him. 

Thomas slowly got of Kinsey’s lap, and winced at his crestfallen expression. He clarified at once, “I want you to stay.” Thomas sniffed, setting Ada’s fish jumper aside only to be seized by a sudden angry urge to throw it into the open trunk. He did so, with more strength than necessary, and grabbed the folded shawls upon the tea table to throw them next. They all landed in the trunk with soft noises, barely covering up the odd noises Robert was making as he watched Thomas suffer a miniature meltdown. 

“But it doesn’t really matter what I want. Does it?” Thomas snapped angrily. “No, no that would just be silly. Silliness and bother!” He stormed to the bed, a difficult task with a leg in a cast, and grabbed up the dresses and throw them next. 

“I mean to say- if I should want to sleep in my own bed, or be around my family, or wear trousers because dresses make me feel open and exposed, or have a moment alone with a doctor that saved my life why should that matter?” He rounded on Robert, furious. “Why should it matter what I want?!” 

Robert was lost for words. He looked ashamed. 

Thomas put a hand to his mouth, swallowing several times. It was all he could do not to scream and rant some more. Kinsey, however, looked inspired. He rose from his chair, taking off his glasses to wipe them on the bottom tails of his shirt. Robert looked at him with disdain, probably irritated that Kinsey didn’t use a handkerchief like a toff might. 

Kinsey put his glasses on his face. “Sleep in the bed you want. Wear the clothes you want. Talk with the people you want.” Kinsey said. “But know this Thomas Barrow…” And when they met eyes, there was such conviction in Kinsey’s that Thomas was frozen on the spot. “None of it will make you nearly as happy as getting the life you want. And you have to make that happen. I believe in your strength. I know you can do it. I know you will become the person you want to be. If you need me for any reason-“ 

“But I do need you!” Thomas blurted out, emotionally, “I need you even now!” 

“Then you have me!” Kinsey did not back down, “But first you have to lay down the law. Not the law of Downton Abbey, or the law of its master… your law. Lay down the law, and if they can’t walk the line… then they don’t get to have the reward of your company.” 

Robert looked ready to hit Kinsey in the face: “Get out of my house.” He spat, “And never return to it.” 

Kinsey bowed his head. When he looked up again, he was glaring at Robert with such animalistic ferocity that for the first time Thomas could see the flashes of an alpha on Kinsey’s handsome face. 

“You’re afraid of me challenging you.” Kinsey warned. “But its Thomas’ challenge that will shake you to your core.” 

Kinsey left, and when he did he slammed the door. Alone in the room with Robert, Thomas slumped onto his bed, rubbing his hand all over his face to try and wipe away his tears and anxiety. 

Kinsey spoke with such conviction and Thomas believed him thoroughly. He was right; nothing would give Thomas as much pleasure as making his own life. This sham he was existing in now was hollow and bare. There was nothing it worth salvaging or holding onto. Ada had been his reason for pushing through the abuse. Ada was gone now. What was he to do? Wait to be impregnated by another rape baby? 

He didn’t think Robert would rape him but sometimes… sometimes it was hard to know. Robert, at the moment, looked grave and pale with unseeing eyes. 

 

“And what is your law in regards of me?” Robert finally spoke up, his voice unnaturally soft. “What would you have of me?” 

Thomas rose from the bed, snatching his crutch from the wall. He glared at Robert, though it put a twinge of guilt in his stomach. He felt a bit like his younger self, lashing out at everyone. 

“That’s the fucking point, Robert.” Thomas spat. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”  
He left Robert there, in his room. He did not even notice the letter in Robert’s hand, addressed from Belton House. 

 

`~*~

Thomas found himself so lost in a miasma of grief and anger that the weekend slid seamlessly away. when Monday came, Thomas went down to Downton Hospital with Nurse Reid, if only to have his neck brace finally taken off. As the plaster and cloth was cut away, Thomas felt like a free man and turned his head slowly to the left and right until he felt his vertebra pop. By god, what a time to be alive! His skin was slightly purple at the base of his neck, and he’d picked up a rash at the edges of his collar, but that could be mended with time. What mattered now was that there were only two more casts to go, and his arm would surely be better by the end of the month. 

Well… hopefully. 

After getting his neck brace off, Thomas walked on his own while Nurse Reid stayed behind and talked shop with Dr. Clarkson. She told Thomas to take a bus back to Downton Abbey, but Thomas would do no such thing. He enjoyed the open air; the weather was pleasantly warm today as the temperature picked up for summer. It was slightly overcast… there might be rain tonight. But for now there was only a cool breeze which stirred the hay and trees as Thomas walked through the churchyards that marked as a final barrier before true English countryside. 

A lone figure was at prayer today, keeping watch over the erected tomb of Sybil Crawley in a top hat and cane. 

Thomas paused, watching as Robert Crawley laid a hand upon his daughter’s tomb. He was carrying a white rose, which he might have picked up from Moseley senior’s many garden shops. 

Thomas was torn between wanting to approach and wanting to walk by, but Robert made up the decision for them both by lifting his head and sniffing the air. 

“The white rose is the county flower of Yorkshire. Sybil loved it more than any other.” Lord Grantham proclaimed. Thomas knew whom he spoke to. “We use it in all our ceremonies… a sort of tip-of-the-hat to local gardeners.” 

Robert Crawley turned about. He was solemn but reserved: the typical picture of an Englishman in mourning. 

“I have a letter to deliver to you.” Robert said, fishing through his coat pocket to pull out a stiff yellowing envelope. He offered it out to Thomas, a sort of olive branch if ever there was one. 

Thomas walked forward and took the letter.  
It was addressed to him from Belton House, but did not mention its writer. Un eager to open that can of worms again, Thomas put the letter in his coat pocket. He still had no trousers or vests to wear, and was once again in his black work dress with a large coat over it to try and hide his casts. It was one of Carson’s many hand-me-downs, and easily fit over Thomas’ broken arm. 

“I spoke with Murray this morning. The details have been finalized.” Robert said. Thomas didn’t care. 

“I don’t care.” Thomas said. 

“Well you should.” Robert’s tone was clipped, “Because I’ve gone to a great deal of effort to make sure that the will of your alpha was maintained. It has presented you with a rare opportunity and I made sure that it was followed through.” 

“What rare opportunity?” Thomas grumbled. 

Robert looked back at the tomb of his daughter, laying a hand tenderly upon the marble. 

“… I suppose you won’t find it surprising that Lawrence Gray went into a sort of tailspin after your departure.” Robert began. He did not talk to Thomas directly, instead looking out over the English countryside which framed his family’s historic land. “He went into a sort of… seclusion. He locked out everyone, even his valet. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t sleep… but he never touched a drop of cocaine. Instead he spent his final days writing, or so they say. He wrote his will, he wrote to you… and then he put his pistol in his mouth.” 

Robert looked back around. “You see Thomas, Gray’s original will proclaimed that in the event of his unfortunate demise, his money and property would go to his sister and mother. But in his final days, Gray re-wrote that portion of the will and listed you his sole heir. All his money, all his property, all his titles, were to be given to you as his omega and mate.” Robert paused, “Naturally the Dowager of Lincolnshire fought hard to have the will revoked, stating that Gray was mad when he wrote it… but Gray listed a man named Hugheford Brammish as the executor of his will. Apparently they knew one another-“ 

“They were business parters.” Thomas whispered, for Hughe Brammish had been kind to him over the disastrous peach-dress dinner. 

“Yes.” Robert agreed, “And unbeknownst to anyone, Lawrence Gray confided in Brammish during those final days. So we were able to testify rightfully that Gray was not mad. That his suicide was done out of guilt for destroying his omega… and his child.” 

Thomas swallowed around the knot forming in his throat. 

“The fact of the matter is that you have come into a large sum of money.” Robert whispered, “And you should care, because I daresay you will never have to work again.” 

“How…” Christ it was bright out here. “How much?” 

“Well I can’t give an exact amount-“ 

“For god’s sake Robert, how much?” Thomas snapped, “Ballpark it for me.” 

Robert pursed his lips, but did not refrain from the truth nor try to paint a calmer picture. “If you add in the property, the titles, the net worth of his legal deeds and investments…. You’ve inherited close to a million pounds.” 

Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know. 
> 
> I am applying to graduate school, so the next chapter might take longer than usual for me to churn out. I really have to focus on getting my submission together before the deadline (February 15th) so if that becomes an issue I will let you know. I appreciate your understanding.


	18. Never Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert Crawley and Thomas Barrow both do something they shouldn't.  
> Kinsey struggles with barriers he cannot overcome.  
> Ada has her final say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this chapter. I've completed my submission for Grad school, so now I just have to get it ready and post the actual application. I think I should be able to post on time next Sunday but if there are problems I once again ask for your patience and understanding. It's hard for me to divide my time between work, family, writing, and grad school.... I am doing my best. 
> 
> **trigger warnings** for this chapter will contain **nonconsensual bed-sharing** , though there is no actual sex that occurs. If this upsets you, please be aware of its appearance. 
> 
> Also there will be a **picture of a dead baby**. If that upsets you then... yes. 
> 
> I wanted to once again thank the incredible **Loccorocco** for all the beautiful fanart that she has drawn for this fic. I have never experienced this joy before and I confess it's filled me up with happiness.

_Litigo 3:3-4: “It was not fancy hair, gold jewelry, or fine clothes that made an omega beautiful. It was the beauty from inside; a gentle and quiet spirit. Let the alpha bask in such a sight, and remember why they are sworn to protect… that they may never know a day without their omega’s beauty and light.”_

 

He supposed, all things considered, there had been no easy way to explain to Thomas that he was now an heir.

Robert had felt rather foolish in hindsight to have told Thomas such shocking news in public, particularly when there had been nowhere to truly sit down and think. Thomas had all but wobbled home with Robert right behind him, fearful that he should sink one way or another when Robert was losing strength in old age. But Thomas was strong, and so he’d made it back to the abbey only to collapse in the library and take tea by the fire. He was lost within himself, on the verge of going into shock.

Robert hadn’t known what to do; he’d called upon those he trusted to help him through this trying time.

His mother had come over at once, eager to stick her nose into places simply for the sake of getting a sniff. Cora, naturally, wanted to be present and sat next to Thomas on the couch though he didn’t seem aware of her presence. He didn’t seem to be aware of anything, save for the enormous fire which he stared into. The flames licked at the ancient marble, captivating Thomas’ interest as his tea slowly cooled.

Tom and Mary had initially been out wandering the estates, taking in damage from the winter on rotting houses that would eventually need repairs. When they returned, eager to take tea, they’d found the library already occupied. Robert was grateful for their presence. He was grateful for anything that might help Thomas soften towards him. It was selfish, but Robert so longed to court Thomas. To take him into his arms and heal his heart.

He knew he looked imposing and overbearing. Stiff and full of hot air. Robert detested being viewed in a less than generous light, particularly when it was undeserved. He had been a fool to let Thomas go to Gray. He ought to have kept the lad for himself, and claimed him as a second mate. If only he’d been wise, thought ahead, Robert might have seen how the House of Usher was to fall. He might have been able to spare Thomas from the pain of an abusive alpha. Robert had lain awake too many nights, twisted with guilt and burned with grief at the thought of little Ada in her casket while Anthea Gray was condemned to seclusion.

Thomas still did not know that Anthea was pregnant. Robert did not plan to tell him.

Indeed, there were many things Thomas did not know, such as the fact that Robert had visited Grisby’s shop to demand Ada’s funeral picture before berating Harold Elston in person. The nerve of young men these days, to be so brazen about the dead! It was a miracle he still held a job; had it been up to Robert, the fool would have been let go so that another lad might take his place… someone more aware of the dead and how they ought to be treated.

Robert had been too worried to show Thomas the picture upon returning home. Grisby had been right to hide the photograph; Ada had been laid out in a makeshift lace gown, placed upon a crib swaddled in wildflowers. While it had been a pleasant and personal touch, even the nicest of intentions could not hide that Ada was obviously deformed. the photo had been taken from above, shooting straight down into the crib. Ada’s flat, malformed face was haunting to look at. Robert had tried to see images of Thomas in Ada’s face… but could not. Thomas was beautiful. Ada was hideous (though it sickened him to think it).

She was by no means a fish, but she was by no means a baby either. She remained something in between, like a clay doll mushed in a fire before its paint could dry.

“This…” Thomas spoke up, but sounded hollow and grave. It was like he’d been condemned with cancer instead of being given a fortune, “This can’t be right.”

“I assure you, it is.” Robert wondered why Thomas was so morbid on the subject. Surely he ought to be celebrating? “I wouldn’t have told you otherwise.”

The pair of them sat across from one another. Cora was still at Thomas’ side, trying to be as supportive as she could. It was a mark of Cora’s flawless character that despite now being confronted with the fact that Robert was hoping to take another omega she did not become jealous or vindictive. Instead, she tried to summon the hope in her heart that she and Thomas could get along. Robert did not know how it was possible that the world had granted him with such a wonderful omega. She seemed, in these moments, to be made of an angelic and divine touch.

“…A million…” Thomas could barely form the words. “I can’t… that amount doesn’t exist.”

But this was just folly, for greater fortunes were easily secured and indulged. Mary set her teacup aside, fixing Thomas with a slightly stern look.

“It does, I assure you.” And how could she deny it when her own fortune was just as grand, “And it’s hardly a large amount compared to others.”

This was quite accurate. Gray had only been an Earl. For heaven’s sake, Bertie Pelham was a Marquis. His own fortune was even greater. Downton’s fortune was about the same as Belton’s but it was still a matter of estates and investments. Downton’s fortune was made from land. Belton’s was made from patents and name tax.

“You must also consider that a great deal of the fortune is wrapped up in Belton House.” Robert said. Thomas suddenly grew gray at the prospect, “Almost half of it.”

He turned to look at Robert. Those lovely cerulean eyes were haunted by the cruelty of life poorly lived, “Are you saying that I own Belton House?”

“Indeed.” Robert said. There could be no way around it.

“Oh God-“

As if overcome by a wave of grief, Thomas buried his face in his hands. Cora reached out and placed a hand upon his knee, trying to console him. Thomas did not seem to acknowledge her, too lost in a miasma of a fortune newly claimed.

Robert felt spoiled in that moment. He had known from his birth that he was a lord. He’d been raised with money and servants to do his bidding. It hadn’t bothered him in the slightest to take over the reins of his father. Thomas, however, had been born the son of a shop keeper (a clockmaker, he was almost certain) and had worked as his servant for the past sixteen years. He’d been poor all his life, never owning more than two pairs of shoes, and had all but taken his life over the fears of losing his job and security. Now to possess a fortune, Thomas’ entire world was to shift. He’d no longer have to be worried about money. Robert was determined he should flourish, and enjoy his fortune. Perhaps Thomas might travel, or take up a hobby. He had such a brilliant mind, and Robert knew that in time he would be able to shed his past life and take up the reigns of another. It was just a matter of shrugging off the shoes of a servant to step into the shoes of a noble. Tom had done it, so Robert knew it was possible… it would just take time.

“I know it seems like a lot,” Tom said, “But you don’t have to act on it.”

“Tom’s right.” Mary agreed; they shared a look, sitting next to Robert on the opposite couch. Robert’s mother watched them all, wary, taking up the grand armchair and looking like a vulture in a dark navy feathered hat.

“You could easily have the estate be managed like we do with Downton.” Mary said.

Thomas stood up, shrugging off Cora’s helping hand. She seemed slightly dismayed, but did not let it show for long on her face. Instead, she straightened up and kept her expression calm as Thomas paced between the couches. He seemed close to pulling out his own hair. His swan neck was now exposed, no longer hidden by a cast, and while he was bruised his skin was regaining a healthy glow. His cast thumped against the floor with each drag of his right foot.

“But what about the Dowager?” Thomas demanded, fretful at the sudden responsibility being thrust on his shoulders, “What about Anthea?” His head shot up, his eyes round as coins in horror, “The staff!” He cried out, “And the birds-!” He groaned into his hands, “the birds, I have to save the birds!”

It was oddly charming, how loving and gentle Thomas could be with animals. Perhaps they could have an aviary built on the grounds of Downton? Robert made a mental note to look into the concept, determined that Thomas might be allowed to bring his prized falcons home.

“Birds mind to their own business, Barrow!” His mother said abruptly. The entire conversation shifted to her presence, with her seniority giving her top rank. She glared at him in that dour withering way only she could possess a wrinkled hand firm upon her ivory cane, “It is your concern now to think about your alpha and your future.”

Robert rolled his eyes, exasperated. This was hardly public conversation!

“Forgive me, M’lady.” Thomas still kept to civilities even though by now it was hardly necessary, “But I do not have an alpha. And it’s precisely my future that has me worried.”

“It is difficult to swallow impertinence from you, but I’m a good mother so I’ll try.” The Dowager said. Robert did not know if the title ‘good mother’ had ever been labeled to a less deserving person. She’d hardly been affectionate to him as a child, though to be fair she had bought him Tiaa. Perhaps he ought to be more understanding.

“The fact of the matter is, this whole affair has become scandalous and must be put aside immediately.” She said. Robert knew she was right; if the papers got wind their house would be thrust into an unpleasant spotlight. “Robert, you’re to go down to London straight away and have it put under the rug until the press is off the scent. If they get word that Barrow has inherited, there will be salesmen at the step bursting to get through the door. Tradesmen in the living room, what is our world coming to-?” She was dazed by the sheer insolence of it all, practically faint upon her chair. Robert scowled, unwilling to go back to London just to quell his mother’s frayed nerves.

“But I only just got back!” Robert said in dismay; he so hated traveling to London. It was exhausting to spend all day on a train, “I told Murray to keep it quiet; he’ll do as I ask.”

“And I highly doubt we’ll have tradesmen in the living room if they don’t know where Barrow lives.” Mary added. Robert was grateful for his daughter’s wit; it had saved him from his mother many times before.

“Maybe they don’t know now!” The Dowager was close to paranoia, eyeing them all like a hawk from her perch, “But they’ll know soon enough! An omega inheriting their dead alpha’s fortune always sells papers, and Barrow’s already tragic enough. No, no, the sooner that this is put to rest, the better-“

“I cannot accept it!” Thomas blurted out.

Robert was amazed to find Thomas so frightened, shaking and pale as if he was being pursued by the Brigade. Why was he so upset? Was it really so frightening to be presented with money? He’d never even have to see the fortune if he so desired! Perhaps Robert was just too dulled to the sensation of gaining and windfall. After all, Downton had seen its share of the golden days before. If Thomas’ fortune were to be joined to his own… by god the estate would be glorious again. Robert could do renovations. Could give greater charities to the county! He could install new technology in Downton Hospital so that the poor could have better chances and longer lives. He could offer his estates lower rent, and benefit his farmers. It practically put a spark in his step, to imagine such a wonderful world.

But Thomas was terrified where he was mesmerized. “The money has to be returned to the estate. All of it. That’s what I want-“

“Absolutely not!” The Dowager was horrified at the mere thought, “Refusing money might be fine in Asian dinners, but this is England where the crown is king! If you refuse the money, they’ll promote you to a Madonna status!”

She had a point, though. Robert could practically see the papers now: _“Thomas Barrow: The omega of piety and charity for a dawning world.”_

“I’m not trying to be a Madonna M’lady!” Thomas was close to losing his temper with the Dowager, which would not end well for either party, “I’m a working class lad, and it’s not for me to have money! Not like this-!”

“I know how you feel, Thomas,” Tom spoke up at once. He certainly was the most qualified on the subject, “But this isn’t going to be easy to put aside. Money has a way of following you when you try to run.”

The word inspired him. Thomas turned from their gathered group, and began to hobble towards the door to the main hall. “It’ll have to catch me first.” Thomas spat, clearly needing time to brood on his own. If there was one thing to be said about Thomas Barrow, he did love to lurk in corners.

“Thomas-!” Robert called after him, rising off the couch. But Thomas had already brushed past Carson and left the library. As was so often in the wake of a temper tantrum, Carson seemed miffed. The pair of them had a difficult relationship, or so Bates swore.

As the door shut, the Dowager huffed and turned to the fire. She drew in its warmth, but still continued to scowl: “If you’re truly intending to mate him, you’ll have to get him under control.”

But the words made Robert lose his temper, “Mama, I won’t discuss my affairs in such a crude light. Thomas is hardly out of control, he’s upset, and he has every reason to be.”

“Honestly Granny.” Mary tutted, “You can’t truly believe Barrow is acting out of turn?”

“In my time, omegas did as they were told and without a fuss!” His mother snapped. “Your grandfather put money matters on my head till my hair curled; I didn’t let it bother me.”

Robert could remember being small and watching from the stairs as his mother had stormed from the library. She’d been arguing with his father, her auburn hair flaming in the light of a thousand candles as she’d made to head for the door. His father had stormed after her and grabbed her by her slender neck, squeezing at her abused scent gland until she’d crumpled and wept into his arms. It had been a garish sight, to realize that alphas could make omegas turn back to their abusers simply by pushing on a muscle. Robert had retained that memory all through his childhood, and had clung to his mother’s side in an attempt to give her affection. Why did there have to be pain, he had wondered. Why did omegas have to suffer?

“I’m going to take this calmly, slowly.” Robert told them all. It made him feel in control, to say the words aloud. “Thomas is damaged. He’s been through a horrific relationship.”

“And with a horrific alpha.” Cora added softly. Robert couldn’t agree more. He walked over to the couch and took Thomas’ place, sitting beside Cora so that he could gain some warmth from the fire. Cora was saddened, “He’s lost his baby and that won’t be easy to get over.”

It brought back memories of their own lost baby. Cora had wept and wept, inconsolable. Damn that slippery floor! Damn that simple misstep! It had happened so suddenly, swept away so much hope and joy from their lives! Even O’Brien, who had always been sharp in the mouth, had been gray and frail in the light of Cora’s miscarriage. She hadn’t spoken for days, tending to Cora day and night until she’d recovered.

“I suppose we’ll have to watch him until he settles down again.” Cora sighed. Robert petted her hand lovingly, clasping it between his own.

“Routine will make it easier,” Tom said. Once again, he probably knew best, “So will time. He’s got friends in the house even if he doesn’t want to believe it.”

“Baxter is terribly fond of him.” Cora agreed with a small smile.

“I think the best thing to do would be to let him breath, have a taste of freedom.” Mary said, but this was typical to her line of thinking. Matthew had been allowed to do whatever he wanted.

“I agree.” Robert said, mind full of golden ideas with Thomas basking in the sudden wealth of his empire. They could go to Europe, or even to India-!

“Well I do not!” The Dowager said haughtily. She seemed to think them all mad. “What is the matter with you all? Freedom and friendship… This is not a Robert Louis Stevenson book! What Barrow needs is to be mated, and the sooner the better-!” She turned her eye on Robert, her gaze withering, “So if I were you, I’d set a date.”

Robert would be doing no such thing. Gray had done the same, running Thomas through the steps of courtship like he were intent on beating a marathon. Thomas did not deserve to be hassled up the aisle. Robert would take their courtship slowly and allow Thomas to grieve and to blossom into his new life. When Thomas was ready, Robert would know. They would move together in synchronization, like swans in a courtship dance.

“Should I wait until the casts come off?” Robert said cleverly.

“Don’t be clever with me, Robert.” The Dowager snapped, “It doesn’t suit you.”

But that pressed on an old wound; Robert had always been the one to be called dull, even when at Eton.

_“Don’t be clever, Robert!” Rosamunde had once said haughtily when they’d sat in their father’s library and tried to read big books, “I’m the clever one!”_

“Why can’t I ever be clever?!” Robert demanded of them all. Cora was close to laughter, but kept her humor to herself, merely petting his hand and releasing a bit of her scent to calm him, “I’m clever!” He grumbled to himself, turning away.

“Of course you are.” Cora agreed. Robert smiled warmly; he was glad to know that even if only in her eyes, he was wise.

“The only time you are clever is when you read quotes from the papers.” The Dowager said coldly. Robert scowled again, hating how true it was. The Dowager rose up, slightly wobbly on ancient knees, “No, no- I don’t want to hear any more of it.” She sighed, straightening her feathered hat atop her head, “I’m afraid you and I are doomed to differ on the subject of omegas. But what would I know? It’s not like _I’m_ an omega or anything-“she said scathingly, heading towards the library door.

“Oh what a sad fate it is that we must not agree.” Robert muttered to himself. When had they ever agreed on anything, though?

“Mark my words, Robert!” She warned from the coffee table, her grip on her cane like iron, “You’ll regret not mating him when he runs off with some younger man!”

But that made Robert think of Kinsey.

It was wrong, he knew, to feel so jealous and vindictive of a perfectly normal gentleman. Kinsey was hardly wealthy, but he was wise, and it was obvious even by simple interactions that Thomas was utterly smitten with him. And why shouldn’t he be? Kinsey was handsome, young, whole, everything that Robert was not. To say that Robert was jealous of the young doctor was a far cry from the truth. At times, he loathed the man with an ungodly passion. This bitter jealousy watched war inside of him with his conscience. He knew it was wrong. He knew Kinsey was a good man, and eager to be a positive impact on the world. But he was almost obviously in love with Thomas and would surely steal Thomas away. Modern views were all good and fun, but they failed in one area where Robert surely succeeded: Family. Robert had a sinking suspicion that as soon as a relationship with Thomas turned serious, Kinsey would panic and flee. Kinsey was obviously working towards some professional goal… he wouldn’t want to be saddled with a mate and children. He wanted to push freedom, but could he give up his own? Robert didn’t think so… and he couldn’t bear to watch Thomas get hurt again.

“Mama.” Robert snapped, “If that’s all you have to say then perhaps we should not bandy words on the subject.”

“I quite agree.” She scowled, “Mary, come walk me to the door! There’s something I want to talk to you about. Carson, ring for my chauffeur.”

And so that was the end of that, with Mary taking his mother’s arm and Carson giving a swift bow: “M’lady.”

Robert had a difficult time viewing it all, still too wrapped up in the thought of Kinsey with Thomas upon his lap, holding him as if they were already mated and bound.

He couldn’t hurry the courting process. He couldn’t push Thomas past the point he was comfortable. But what if Kinsey did? What if Kinsey asked Thomas to mate him, to come away to London and be ‘free’? What if Thomas accepted, and Robert never saw him again? What if Kinsey used up Thomas’ fortune, youth, and vitality only to spit him out? What if Thomas ended up pregnant and alone lost in some cold abandoned ally way with nothing but a tattered coat to his name and blisters on his feet? What if he died in the sewers of London, with Robert none the wiser? What if the world went on without him… and Robert one day forgot his name?

Longing turning to loneliness… turning to loss.

It was thoughts like that which made Robert’s blood go cold.

~*~

Longing turning to loneliness… turning to loss.

Thomas lay in a bed that was not his and stared up at a ceiling covered in antique designs. An asbestos paste, carved into roses blooming in full spread.

Those words kept tumbling over in his mind. They would not let him be: Longing, loneliness, loss. His mind was screaming at him, warning him that something big was coming. Something awful. That if he did not run soon, he would lose everything…

…Again.

The wailing of an infant, dim in his cluttered mind, made him clench his fists from where they lay beside his head on the pillow.

He closed his eyes. Willed the sounds to diminish… but they did not.

He opened his eyes again, and sat up in bed.

Fetching a housecoat and tying the belt about his waist, Thomas wandered the halls of the gallery floor, wondering at his sudden turn of fortune. Or was it fortune at all?

The idea of being in charge of Belton House made him want to be violently ill. Those halls would be forever imbedded in his mind as the scene of an unending nightmare where he ran from a psychopath high on cocaine and craving incest. Ada’s grave would be those marble stairs, long and steep… waiting for him to stumble

The sounds of the infant, however, were far from a dream. Indeed, they were issuing from the nursery ward.

Thomas carefully stood at the door, his eyes lingering in the crack of the frame where he could see into the room beyond. There was a crib, close to a low fire… something was stirring inside of it.

A beast, unlike anything Thomas had ever known, flared to life within his chest. He needed to see what was in the crib. He needed to love, nurture, and protect an infant. In being denied his own, his body had become curved in on itself… dying for lack of affection.

Thomas opened the nursery door and found the room quite bare. In the next room over, Thomas saw the nanny passed out asleep in her rocker, snoring so obscenely loud it was a miracle she’d not woken the other children. A book lay draped over her knee, open to a random page where she’d left it mid-read. Thomas felt a slight jab of irritation poke at him, but paid it no mind. He was much more interested in soothing the baby he found in the crib, a tiny but plump little thing with rosy cheeks and a wide gaping mouth that wailed like a siren as it waved its fists wildly in the air.

“Hello-! Who are you?” Thomas was taken aback for the sheer voraciousness of the infant. Goodness, it was in a temper! He plucked the baby up from its bedding, and cupped it close to his body. He smelt at its skin, and noted the hint of musk in the baby’s downy blonde hair.

It was odd… like incense but… not. Thomas sniffed deeply, and felt some odd ache in his chest begin to numb. Peculiarly enough, the baby seemed to be sniffing him back. Whatever the exchange, the pair of them seemed to grow calm from each other though the baby still whimpered in a most pitiful fashion.

“Oh, now now…Shh…” Thomas whispered, rocking the baby back and forth.  
The nurse gave a particularly loud grunting snore. Thomas rolled his eyes, and walked determinedly out of the nursery if only to get a better moment alone with this squalling anonymous infant. Whose baby was this? Surely this wasn’t the Bates baby… wouldn’t he be in the cottage? Why would he have been left here?

“There now.” Thomas whispered, jiggling the baby a bit against his chest in what he hoped was a soothing rhythm as he walked down the hall back towards his room. This called for a bit of privacy, “Don’t cry now…shh.”

But even as Thomas reentered his room and sat up against his headboard to relax into his pillows with the infant, Thomas felt a bizarre sensation of the baby’s stomach gurgling. It burst into another round of wailing again, clearly starved. No wonder it was so upset!

“Oh, you’re hungry.” Thomas groaned, wondering what on earth could be done to feed it. Perhaps he could go down to the kitchens and find milk? But would the baby even be able to stomach milk? Thomas suddenly felt… helpless, horribly helpless as the infant wailed and rooted against his chest. The baby wanted milk, but what could Thomas give him?

He looked down at his own chest where the baby rooted against him, searching amid Thomas’ night frock and housecoat for where his nipples lay. They were swollen, sensitive to the touch, chaffing from lack of stimulation. And here this baby was, lips quivering for milk and being denied by an unforgiving world.

Thomas’ eyes flickered for a split second to Ada’s urn, sitting upon his vanity. His eyes then came back to the baby, whimpering in his arms. Its tiny panting breathes were warming Thomas’ skin beneath his thin night gown.

He closed his eyes: “I cannot believe I am about to do this.” He swore to himself in that moment that he would never reveal this secret, not even to a true alpha if one should ever find him. He might not even tell Dr. Kinsey.

He shifted the baby to his right arm, balancing the baby in its swaddling blankets against the stiff backrest of his cast. He reached up and carefully undid the shoulder clasp of his nightgown, letting the right side fall to temporarily cover up the baby’s face. Thomas pushed back the fabric, looking at his puffy breasts. They were slightly more large than usual, and tender to the touch; Dr. Clarkson had mentioned his miscarriage would wreak havoc on his body’s already temperamental hormones… but what if..?

He so longed to care for a baby and this one desperately wanted food.

The baby wailed, angry at being ignored. Thomas rocked him close, unsure of what to do next save to let the baby take charge. He was close to sniveling again, fat tears rolling down his plump red cheeks as his gaping mouth desperately sought a nipple to latch onto.

“Please don’t let this backfire on me-“Thomas whispered, teeth grit tight for what he was certain would be awful pain. The baby gummed and pawed, rooting desperately till he finally found Thomas’ sensitive breast and latched on eagerly.

Thomas gasped.

The sharp needling pain was unlike anything Thomas had experienced before. For a moment the baby sucked desperately with no sense of relief for his hunger. But then, just as Thomas thought he might pass out from the awful pain resonating in his right breast, he suddenly felt a trickle of milk give way.

He let out the tiniest breath, overcome with a sudden awful wave of emotion.

He had a feeling this was the Bates’ baby, which meant that the true omega to this baby’s hunger was Anna. But Thomas wanted his own baby so badly he could die from the weight of it. He needed to give. He needed to love. Anna was asleep in her cottage; if this was her baby, why wasn’t he with her? Why had Anna left the baby in the nursery of the abbey instead of taking him home at night? It didn’t seem right to Thomas, but maybe he was just… oversensitive…

The baby was latched contentedly, suckling away. His little chest, heaving and huffing, slowly began to thin out till he was breathing calmly and close to the edge of sleep.

“Shh….” Thomas whispered, caressing the baby’s plump cheek with a curled index finger. “Such a sweet boy. Such a sweet sweet boy.”

Thomas was almost close to tears. How easy would it be to slip into a fantasy where this baby was his. Where this baby was Ada—

But Ada had had dark hair, and skin as pale as her father’s ivory cane. This baby was reddened with rosy cheeks and had a thatch of blonde hair as thick as a bundle of hay.

And Ada was in an urn on his vanity, goddamnit.

 

Thomas did not return the baby to the nursery that night. He let the baby eat its fill, and when he was finished Thomas rested him against his shoulder and patted his back. The baby was fussy, but only for a few moments, and then he slowly began to slip into sleep.

Thomas let the baby rest on his shoulder for the rest of the night.  
He fell asleep there, his lullaby the huffing of his baby’s breath.  
Well… not really… his baby…  
But maybe for the moment, yes.

 

He slept so calmly. Like he was bathed in a warm light. He half wondered through it all if the baby woke up and started crying again, but it seemed that neither of them were willing to put up a fight. Thomas had the half decency to tidy up his nightgown before closing his eyes, a mercy which saved him come morning when he was woken by four irate women.

 

 _Thomas was lying in bed, with Ada in his arms. She was warm, healthy, and whole, snuggled up tight against the crook of his neck where her pert pink tongue stuck out between her chubby lips. She was lost in sweet dreams, completely adrift on a lovely sea, and Thomas sailed right beside her_.

_But then, a dark shadow rose up amid their perpetual twilight. A figure of a man, an alpha, Lawrence-! He reached out, and grabbed Ada from Thomas’ arms-!_

 

He panicked on instinct alone, and clung to the baby tighter with a fierce “No!”. He breathed heavily, startled, and only paused in his panic when he realized that his infant was not being snatched away by the hands of his dead alpha but instead the wetnurse who seemed shocked at Thomas’ fierce motherly display.

Mrs. Hughes, Anna, and Nurse Reid were all surrounding his bed, each of them perplexed by Thomas holding the infant who was now quite awake and squalling again, furious at being played like a football between two divided teams.

Thomas sucked in breath after breath, the images of Lawrence rising up out of the mist pure nightmare fuel for the next twelve years of his life. Even worse was the realization that Ada was not really in his arms. That instead, it was merely Anna’s baby whom he had secretly breastfed the night before. It was wrong, so terribly wrong, and Thomas couldn’t meet Anna’s eyes as he sat up a little bitter in bed.

“Thomas, you gave us quite a scare.” Mrs. Hughes said. She seemed shocked, as if before waking Thomas had done or said something in his sleep that had disturbed her.

His heart was still pounding. Thomas clutched at his chest, wincing at the tenderness in his breasts. His nipple was swollen and chaffed beneath his nightdress, though none of the women could know.

“I woke up and found the baby gone!” The wetnurse was ready to skin a cat, lips quivering in anger at the thought of her charge being swiped, “I thought he’d been taken!”

“Finally woke up did you?” Thomas did not attempt to hide the bitterness. He sat up, and jostled the baby upon shoulder, pulling back so that he could address the infant face to face. The rude awakening had not gone over well. It seemed he wanted to go back to sleep, but Thomas doubted that he would be able to comfort him now. What was more, Anna was clearly itching to hold him. She kept opening up her arms, silently asking for the baby back.

Thomas gave him over, there was no other way. Furious, he crawled from bed and stormed into his washroom. He slammed the door, garnering him a bit of privacy. He opened up the neck flap of his night gown, pulling it back down over his shoulder to see that his right breast was horribly swollen and his nipple was bruised dark purple. He winced, pushing tenderly on the sensitive tissue. What was worse, his breast was beginning to leak something blue and thin, a bizarre liquid that put a stab of panic in his heart. What if he’d done something terrible? What if he’d doomed Anna’s baby to poisoning or death? What if there was something wrong with his breast milk-? God, the mere thought of it was about to make him sick.

“Thomas-?” Mrs. Hughes was at the door. Thomas hurriedly splashed cold water onto his face, desperate to shock his system. “Are you alright-?”

“I’m fine!” Thomas barked, though in truth he’d never been farther from. He looked pale and sickly in the mirror, sweating like a criminal caught in the act. Surely any minute now Anna would realize… and what would she say when she did?

God, what if the baby got sick? Thomas had to swallow down bile at the thought, gripping the sink like he might fly away from the earth if he dared to let go.

 

“His Lordship wants you to eat breakfast with the family- “

But Thomas would be doing no such thing. Not even bothering to turn off the sink tap properly, Thomas flung open the bathroom door and glared down at Mrs. Hughes who shrank back a bit in reproach at Thomas’ vulgar expression.

“No.” Thomas put as much venom as he could manage into the word. “D’you hear me? No.”

The wetnurse was gone, as was Anna. Now it was only Nurse Reid and Mrs. Hughes, both of whom were clearly in cahoots. With the bathroom untidy, Nurse Reid swooped into action and turned off the taps. Thomas stormed to his wardrobe, flinging it open to find that the only garment available to him was a mint green dress that he didn’t want to wear. He pursed his lips and slammed his wardrobe doors closed before reasoning that there was really no way around it.

Angry, he opened the wardrobe again and pulled out the green dress to throw it angrily upon his bed.

“I will not have breakfast with the family. Nor lunch. Nor dinner-“ Thomas hobbled back over to the bed to shuck off his housecoat, turning away from Mrs. Hughes so that he could dress for the day. “I’m going to London. Today. I’m going to speak with Murray. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

“Oh, Thomas-“ Mrs. Hughes fidgeted with the hem of his dress, forcing it down around his leg cast so that it didn’t catch on the plaster, “Please don’t be angry with his Lordship. He only wants what’s best for you and-“

“What he thinks is best for me!” Thomas corrected, for that was the worst part of it, wasn’t it? It was all about what Lord Grantham thought. It was all about the alpha; always the alpha!

Hell, why not make a point here?

“Mrs. Hughes,” Thomas ruffled up his hair, irritated, “D’you know what I think would be best for you?”

She was baffled. Mrs. Hughes blinked several times before stuttering, “No.”

“I think you should leave Mr. Carson and find an alpha who isn’t such a big hot bag of air. But that’s not what you think is best for you—“

“Is there a point you’re trying to make with all this?” Mrs. Hughes pursed her lips tight, irritable at having her cherished alpha tarnished.

“Only that the true authority on what is best for us is us!” Thomas jerked a thumb to his chest with pride. “and I know what’s best for me, better than Robert Crawley!”

“And what is best for you?” Mrs. Hughes asked, watching as Thomas tugged on one boot to lace it up as best he could. He could not put a shoe on his broken leg, not when the cast went all the way down to his heel. The best he could do would be to layer his foot in several socks and hope for the best.

“I’m going to get me some trousers!” Thomas said with pride, “I’m going to go to London, and sort all this nonsense out!”

“Thomas, you can’t go to London!” Mrs. Hughes put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stay seated lest he (quite literally) stomp out the door, “Your leg is broken, and you’re walking with a boot and a crutch! Your arm is still in a cast!”

“I’ll manage.” Thomas brushed her hands off, and pushed himself out of his chair to wobble precariously before grabbing his crutch.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Nurse Reid demanded from the washroom, poking her head out to scowl at him.

“I’m going to London!” Thomas barked, “Don’t wait up!”

“No need, you’ll be back in five minutes. You won’t get far with your leg in a boot.”  
In a moment of anger, Thomas gave Nurse Reid a very rude hand gesture which went unanswered giving that she couldn’t see through walls. Such a shame, really.

“Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes hissed, batting his offending hand down, “What’s gotten into you? Yesterday, you were so happy when Dr. Kinsey came to visit. Now you’re acting like it’s 1912 all over again!”

But the mention of the past only made Thomas angrier. That was the point- precisely the point! He wanted to return to the past. He didn’t want to be an omega with a fortune; he wanted to be a beta with a footman’s livery. Why was that so hard to grasp? Why was that so bizarre? Was it truly so unbelievable even in this day and age that a man should want outside of his gender barriers? That he should have independent ideas?

Thomas deflated, putting his face in his one good hand. Mrs. Hughes guided him back to the chair, forcing him to sit down if only that she might sit down beside him.

For a moment, Thomas did nothing but sniff and regain control of his expressions. He wiped his eyes, furious. “S’just that everything’s gone to hell, hasn’t it. I just want my life back-“

Mrs. Hughes grasped his knee fondly, and took his hand to stroke at his weathered palms. “Thomas, I know this is a difficult change… but change is the nature of life, and you’ve adapted so beautifully.”

“But I want to be a footman again!” Thomas was furious for his lack of control; god what would he give to go back in time! “I want to be a beta-“

“But that’s not who you are-“

“It’s who I want to be!” Thomas had to regain control of his voice; Mrs. Hughes did not deserve to be shouted at even if she was infuriating sometimes. He took a long insufferable sniff, feeling close to a migraine.

Mrs. Hughes took a moment and did something that Thomas could never fully understand. She exuded her scent, a gentle aloe scent that reminded Thomas of all the soothing creams his mother had rubbed on his skin as a baby. It calmed him, centered him, and Thomas took a deep breath.

“How do you do that?” He muttered, glancing at her.

“Do what?”

“Make the air smell.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Hughes dithered, patting his hand, “It’s not something you do on purpose. You do it all the time, you know. You did it with Dr. Kinsey the other day.” She squeezed his hand, “The whole room smelt like a peach when you saw him. Your eyes lit up like stars.”

“Did it?” Thomas was amazed. “I wonder why.”

“I think it’s because you were happy, dear.” Mrs. Hughes gave him a teasing smile, “Try to get used to the feeling, if you can.”

“Oh bugger off..” Thomas muttered, looking away. “And I’m not eating breakfast with the family so you can forget that too. I’m a workin’ class lad and I eat downstairs! End of subject!”

Mrs. Hughes was used to his cheek. She squeezed his hand again, “Then let’s you and I go downstairs and have some breakfast. Mm? We’ll eat together.”

And Thomas supposed he could agree to that.

 

The pair of them went downstairs, leaving Nurse Reid to put the room to rights. Thomas used Mrs. Hughes as an impromptu crutch; it was difficult to navigate the servant’s stairwell when you had a broken leg. By the time they got to the bottom floor, the smell of kippers and baked beans was making Thomas salivate. He’d missed breakfasts around the servant’s table. They were by no means grand, but they were warm and hearty like the meals he’d eaten as a small child. They even got to have leftovers from the family’s breakfast if Mrs. Patmore was in a good enough mood. Thomas’ hope, however, evaporated as he walked into the servant’s hall only to hear a cacophony of scraping chair legs as everyone stood to attention. Thomas looked around, expecting to see one of the family over his shoulder, but instead he only saw Mrs. Hughes.

He looked back around, then realized that everyone had stood for him.

“Sit down!” He barked, horrified at the servant’s blank which he saw on Carson and Bates’ faces. “Sit down right now, are you all insane!? I’m one of you! Sit down!” He even pushed Baxter back into her seat, forcing her to act normally.

With apprehensive looks scattered amongst the crowd, everyone slowly began to sit back down. Mr. Carson was the only one left standing, a strict look upon his face, “Is there something we can do for you s-“

“If you call me sir, I will vomit. Right now.” It was far from an empty threat with bile in his throat. “So please sit down, Mr. Carson. You’re the butler here, you hold top rank.”

Mr. Carson gave a long, withering sigh but finally sat back down. Thomas came around the table, taking up his old spot next to Mrs. Hughes. He even pulled out her chair for her so that she could sit down first. She sighed, reaching for her cup of tea even as Mr. Carson poured her a hot one.

“Thank you,” She murmured into her cup, drinking deeply. Thomas sat beside her and poured his own cup, garnishing it with honey and lemon just like old times. He sighed, allowing the blistering heat to sooth his aching throat.

“His Lordship told me that he wanted you to eat breakfast with the family now.” Bates spoke up. Thomas glanced across the table to find that Bates was wearing his most ‘holier-than-thou’ expression which immediately set him on edge, “Maybe now you’ll see how Gwen felt.”

Thomas glared at Bates, wishing he could shove a knife through the man’s eye socket.

“Well I don’t intend on lying my way to the table and making a fool of Lady Mary.” Thomas sneered.

Bates sighed, insufferable as always, “Only that if he’s to take you as his omega, you really ought to do as he says-“

“He’s not taking me as his anything.” Thomas barked. “And I’ll remind you that we are not on familiar terms, so perhaps we should stop talking about familiar things.”

“No need to remind me.” Bates rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his kippers, “You wear it like a badge of honor.”

“Maybe because it is-“

“Thomas Barrow, if you could please eat your meal in a sensible and kind manner, we would be most appreciative.” Carson warned. Thomas heard snickering down at the far end of the table where the day maids were clustered. Thomas threw a haughty glare at them.

After a moment’s hesitation, Anna changed the subject to a less hostile territory. “I’m worried about William… he won’t eat his breakfast and usually he’s ravenous.”

Thomas paused mid-bite of his kippers, thinking.

“William is the baby you rescued last night.” Mrs. Hughes explained. “Wasn’t he sweet?”

Thomas bowed his head so that no one could see the blush growing rapidly across his cheeks. The last thing he needed was everyone finding out about what had happened the night before. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Did he sleep alright?” Baxter asked; Thomas suddenly realized everyone was looking at him.

“Fine.” Thomas muttered, not catching their eyes. “Fine.”

“Is his forehead hot?” Moseley asked.

“Not any hotter than usual…” Anna was stumped, “If he doesn’t eat soon, I’m going to take him to the doctor-“

“Oh don’t fret.” Mrs. Hughes gave her a kind smile, “Babies go through spots of bother. They can be finicky in their early stages. And he’s only just a wee thing, he’ll probably be hungrier than ever come luncheon.”

Suddenly Thomas was caught up in the realization that William was Anna’s baby, not his own, and that he would never know the sensation of holding his own baby to his heart. That he would never wonder about his baby’s eating habits or coo about how sweet they were to the others. At most, he would live motherhood through a muslin gauze, watching as others partook in what he could never have.

It burned him. Deeply.

“He’s such a sweet dear too.” Anna tittered. Bates gave her a gentle smile. “You know, the other day I was feeding him and a bit of my hair had come undone. He reached up and grabbed it and wouldn’t let go. It rather hurt!”

“That’s my boy.” Bates chuckled. Anna snorted, accepting her teacup as Bates refilled it. “He’s got a strong grip.”

“I imagine he’ll be a sportsman if he can.” Moseley added. “He might even play cricket.”

Thomas suddenly imagined Ada, learning how to throw a cricket ball. But she wasn’t a sportsman, he could tell. He knew implicitly that she would have been more for the arts. She’d have learned piano on his lap, held a paintbrush with his guiding hand. She’d have painted him pictures of her father’s birds, and he’d have kept them forever as beautiful mementos of her talent.

He swallowed. His throat was dry and tight.

“I don’t know.” Anna sighed after swallowing a bite of toast, “He’s much too sweet to fall in for all that rumbling and tumbling. My boy’s going to be a scholar.”

But Ada would have been smarter. Thomas had felt it from the start; she was a girl destined for greatness.

But that was over now. Over and past.

Thomas rose up from the table, setting his napkin atop his unfinished breakfast.

“Thomas-“ Baxter looked worried; she must have seen his face change expressions.

“S’fine-“ Thomas shot her down before she could comment, hobbling around the table and out of the hall towards the stairs. “Just remembered something I need to do.”

But the only thing he needed to do was cry. Alone.

 

 

Thomas took shelter upstairs for the rest of the morning. He shied away from Nurse Reid, instead hiding in his washroom while pretending that he needed to soak to sooth his aching joints. Instead, Thomas lay crouched in the tub, hiding from the world as he held Ada’s urn in his arms. It wasn’t healthy, he was certain… but he just needed a moment to be with her. A moment to hold her close like he’d held William last night. God, he prayed the baby would eat before luncheon. What if Anna took him to Dr. Clarkson and learned that he’d been breastfed by another? How would Thomas ever explain himself?

When Thomas was called to luncheon, he feigned a headache and took a tray in his room. He knew he couldn’t hide forever, but just for today he wanted to be left alone. He knew it would be impossible to go to London, but he kept his head down and hoped for the best. Maybe in a couple of days it would be easier to walk up and down stairs.

He left his room after luncheon, deciding he would take a walk around the grounds. He didn’t get far, though; as he rounded the gallery floor he was suddenly confronted by Lady Mary. She was wearing her tweed two piece suit, a cream blouse tied loosely at her lily white neck. She seemed surprised to see him out and about.

“Barrow.” She called out to him.

“M’lady-“ They met at the top of the stairs, but neither made to walk down.

“We missed you at breakfast.” Lady Mary said. “Papa said you were ill?”

“Not particularly, M’lady.” Thomas paused, “I can’t eat with the family, it’s not my place.”

“Barrow, you mustn’t call me, M’lady now. And it’s certainly your place to eat with the family. After all, papa is very interested in your future now that you’ve inherited.”

“It’s hard to break the habit, M’lady.” Thomas said with a small smile, but suddenly Thomas found himself recalling how Mr. Matthew had been in possession of several suits. He wondered if they were still around the abbey; perhaps he could borrow one? “As a matter of fact, I need your help M’lady.”

“Then you have it gladly.” Lady Mary said at once.

“I need to order some clothes that will fit me.” Thomas explained, “Suits, made for omegan men. Mr. Matthew used to own several; do you know where he ordered clothes from?”

“I know more than that.” Lady Mary said with a smug smile, “I know where his clothes are kept now.”

 

And so Thomas was taken to Lady Mary’s room, to her dressing chambers which were only used for formal occasions such as dinner parties or elegant affairs in York. Inside a second wardrobe, usually kept locked to keep out moths, Thomas found several suits hung inside wax paper, and opened each of them amazed at the pristine condition they’d been kept in. By god, he could almost smell Mr. Matthew upon the clothes; one even had a blonde hair on the shoulder. It was unnerving, like Thomas had found a skeleton instead of a wardrobe.

Lady Mary, however, took it in her stride. She rang for help, and when Anna answered she asked specifically for Moseley. It was only natural, since Moseley had once been Mr. Matthew’s valet and therefor knew his wardrobe best. Moseley was baffled to be called to the old dressing room, and even more confused to suddenly be helping Thomas into clothes. He did as he was told though, and didn’t make a fuss.

Thomas doubted that Moseley had the mental capacity to make a fuss.

“You know best, Moseley.” Lady Mary sat, legs crossed at the ankles as she observed Moseley rifling through Mr. Matthew’s wardrobe. “What do you think Barrow should wear?”

“Well…” Moseley seemed close to sweating, as he always did when the pressure was on, “You’re slightly taller than Mr. Matthew, so I may have to take these out in the ankles-“

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Thomas snapped; it was rather insulting to have someone insist he wasn’t capable of sewing trousers, “I was his Lordship’s valet for years. I’ll do it myself.”

Moseley gave him a dark look, which Thomas ignored. It was standard procedure where the man was concerned.

“Would you care for me to pull out any more of Mr. Matthew’s items, M’lady?” Moseley asked, ignoring Thomas back. “I can fetch his ties, his cufflinks- I think Mrs. Crawley still has his old corset. The fine ones-“

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Lady Mary gave Thomas a small smile. “What papa won’t know won’t hurt him. I hardly think a corset is needed. Do you, Thomas?”

“I quite agree, M’lady.” Thomas said, unable to hide the smugness from his voice. Once again, Moseley gave him a dark look.

“Mr. Matthew’s shoes are still in the boot room, M’lady.” Moseley’s voice was growing tense. “Shall I fetch them?”

“Yes, do.” Lady Mary agreed. Moseley left without another word; Thomas could tell the man was ready to complain to the first person he saw. It gave him a dark sense of satisfaction, to know he’d gotten underneath Moseley’s skin. He didn’t approve of the man for Baxter. She deserved much better.

As Moseley left, Lady Mary rose from her chair and fished through the wax paper in Matthew’s old wardrobe. She fingered one suit fondly; it was steel gray and made of wool… probably for hunting. It seemed to inspire an old memory in her.

“I wanted to talk to you alone for a moment, Thomas. May I call you Thomas-?” She asked, abruptly.

“Certainly, M’lady.” Thomas said, though he wondered at the familiarity. To be fair, Lady Mary was one of his closest acquaintances in the family. Indeed, she seemed to understand him the best.

“You mustn’t call me that now,” She said with a teasing smile. “I want to hear you call me Mary just once in my life before it’s all said and done.”

Thomas bit back a small laugh, “..Mary.” He finally said, just to give her the thrill. Lady Mary smiled.

“Papa has spoken to me about your future. He hopes that one day the two of you might join. I find myself thinking that that isn’t who you truly are… Granny agrees, you know.”

Thomas nodded, unsure of what to say. It was a tense subject.

“…What I ask, I ask for both my son and myself.” Lady Mary said with a tentative pause, “It’s true that I’ve married Mr. Talbot, but as a beta he will never give me children. George will be my only child, and I am content with that… but you love George dearly, and he’s so terribly fond of you. I feel the pair of us could do well together… save for one small problem.” She gave him a tiny smile, “And if you refuse, I completely understand. I won’t hound you.”

It was an intriguing prospect, were it not for the tiny fly in the ointment. Lady Mary would no doubt be the perfect alpha for him if only he were interested in women. It would be an honor to be George’s parent… to care for him intimately. But that wasn’t to be, and nothing short of God’s movement could change it otherwise.

“… I’m flattered, M’lady.” Thomas said, and he honestly meant it, “But…”

“But I am not a man.” Lady Mary finished. Thomas nodded.

“If you were, I confess it would be a terribly tantalizing offer.”

“Alas, we cannot have everything.” Lady Mary chuckled. “…I wish you weren’t so divided. If only you could see the good on my side of the pitch, I think you might like the view.”

“If only.” Thomas agreed. “But that’s not really up to me.”

“Nor I.” Lady Mary agreed. She seemed wistful, and Thomas suddenly felt quite sad. If only he did have an interest in women… if only.

Lady Mary sighed, and retook her seat. The silence between them was somber and unbroken.

But then Moseley returned with the shoes, and both of them resumed their normal expressions if only to hide their conversation from him. Indeed… Thomas told no one of Lady Mary’s proposal.

Not even Baxter.

 

Matthew’s clothes fit him well in the shoulders and chest, which was a miracle because most clothes in Thomas’ experience had had to be mended in one or the other before they could fit him. His real problem was in the hips and ankles. He was taller than Matthew, and more slender. It meant that he had to take it up in the waist, and extend the hem before he could truly wear the suit about the house.

Thomas relished the meditative work. Lady Mary was gracious enough to give him all of Matthew’s clothes, and for that he was incredibly grateful. He now possessed ten suits, four pairs of shoes, and even a riding suit which Lady Mary urged him to keep. Thomas had never ridden a horse in his life, but Lady Mary seemed content in the fact that he one day would.

“I shall take you hunting when the season comes.” She’d proclaimed. “I heard you were quite good with a gun from papa.”

As Thomas finished mending his fourth suit, he heard the telltale sounds of William crying from the nursery. For a while, Thomas merely sat and listened, desperate to ignore the ache it put into his heart. But as the minutes passed and William did not sooth, Thomas felt he simply had to check on the babe and make sure he was alright. Dressing in one of his tailored suits, Thomas ventured to the nursery with his right pants leg rolled up all the way to his knee in order to accommodate the girth of his cast. As he approached the nursery door, he found a day maid inside practically jiggling William in an attempt to get him to stop crying. It was only making the babe cry harder; if she wasn’t careful she was going to dislodge his neck, the idiot girl!

“What are you doing?” Thomas demanded, intercepting before the situation could get any more out of hand. He took William from the girl and held the babe close to his chest, shushing him softly as he rhythmically patted his back.

“He’s hungry again.” The maid seemed close to tears with frustration. She was only just a girl herself, close to Gertie’s age, “Nanny went out to get some baby powders; Anna is running an errand for Lady Mary and won’t be back for hours. I don’t know what to do-! He won’t stop crying!”

“Of course he won’t.” Thomas snapped, “You nearly broke his neck didn’t you-?” William sniveled into his neck. The girl was close to tears.

“I’ll take him.” Thomas muttered. “Get back to your work.”

He left the nursery, not trusting himself to be able to keep his mouth in check. The fact of the matter was, he was at war with himself as he rocked William against his chest. If the nanny had gone out for powders and Anna was on an errand, William was up a creek without a paddle.

But Thomas had a canoe; how convenient.

He secluded himself back in his room, rocking William sweetly against his chest as he took his seat by the fire and began to hurriedly unbutton his vest. William was red in the face, tears streaming in a constant line down his fat cheeks.

“Okay, okay….” Thomas whispered, knowing he was an idiot for caving so easily to sentimental desires, “Okay it’s alright… I’m only doing this because it’s an emergency. Your nanny’s out of food and your mummy’s….”

Your mummy’s not me.

“Your mummy’s gone to town.” It was ridiculous for Thomas’ voice to be so hoarse. Emotions wouldn’t change the facts.

“So it’ll just have to be you and me.” Thomas sniffed. He raised William to his chest, and waited for William to root on his own. The poor thing was so ensconced with crying that he didn’t seem to realize he was near food for a second. When Thomas’ nipple brushed across his bottom lip, William seized with a start and began to feed ravenously. By god, it hurt!

Thomas winced, unable to hold it in. Goodness, could he eat. It was like his navel had been touching his backbone.

Thomas relaxed as best he could, trying to give William better support so that he could feed without feeling a rush. Eventually, William slowed his pace and his little chest began to rise and fall in a gentle pattern. Thomas found himself stroking William’s beautiful blonde hair, trying desperately to conceive in his mind that William was Anna’s baby. That he was only doing this out of charity and not out of a desperate need to be a mother.

 

When William finished, Thomas lifted him upon his shoulder and rubbed at his back. William was making odd snuffling noises, like he was close to falling asleep. He wondered if William might go down for a noon nap. The smell upon William’s brow made Thomas feel calm; it was easy to put his reserves aside when he didn’t think about it too hard. Anna would never find out, William was no longer hungry, and Thomas could love a baby… why did it have to be such a negative situation.

But suddenly a knock came at the door, and the fear was back in Thomas’ heart. He looked around, hastily yanking his shirt over his bruised and swollen right breast. The door opened to reveal Robert, who seemed surprised to find William on Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas stumbled to his feet, using his broken arm to cover up his opened shirt. His heart was hammering-!

“Ah-“ Robert didn’t seem to realize he’d almost caught Thomas in the act of feeding Anna’s baby. Thomas continued to hide his open shirt with his broken arm, “Mary told me that you’d taken Matthew’s wardrobe. I wanted to see how you looked.”

“I suppose you don’t like me wearing suits, M’lord?” Robert gave him a small smile.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t but obviously I won’t force you.” Robert explained. Thomas could tell that Robert was trying to appeal to his better nature, but refused to cave. The minute he gave Robert an inch, Thomas was certain that the man would attempt to court him. It had seemed like such a good idea at Belton but now…? Now it was making him sick to his stomach.

William gurgled, and spit up. Thomas felt a warm wetness on his left shoulder, and patted William’s back to encourage him to spit up more.

“Your shirt-“ Robert flushed, looking away. Thomas realized that Robert could see it was open and panicked.

“Oh, a button came off-“ Thomas said, hurriedly turning away and laying William carefully upon his bed. He fetched a wet flannel from the washroom, wiping at the shoulder of his three piece… it was stained but still manageable. “Well I suppose that this outfit ruined for the day.” He muttered. He flung a flannel over his shoulder and returned to William, wiping his face tenderly and raising him back up on his shoulder to jiggle him a bit. William burped loudly, but did not spit up again.

“Forgive me-“ Robert muttered, still looking away. Thomas realized that Robert was trying to give him a sense of privacy with part of his shirt open. It was oddly touching.

“It’s fine.” Thomas mumbled. “I’ll get Moseley to help with it-“ He didn’t mean it, of course. He could mend the shirt himself.

“Shall I hold him for you while you change your shirt?” Robert offered. Thomas supposed it was a good idea as any, and gently passed William over so that Robert could hold the baby in his arms. He cooed, nestling William in the crook of his arm so that William could play with his free hand. William had a strong grip on Robert’s ring finger, and seemed entranced by his golden wedding band.

Thomas hurriedly snatched a random shirtsleeve from his wardrobe, changing in the washroom so that Robert could not see his bare skin. His right breast was inflamed, swollen; his nipple was bruised purple. Thomas winced, touching the skin tenderly. He used a wet flannel to wipe at the moisture which collected beneath his touch, and shrugged on a new shirt. He buttoned up his vest, fixed his collar, and then returned to his room to find Robert shushing William who was making all sorts of queer noises.

“Fiery little tyke.” Robert joked softly, “An alpha too. He’ll do his father proud… and he’s as beautiful as his mother.”

Thomas offered his arms, and Robert handed William back over. Thomas hummed in Williams’ ear, patting him gently upon the back.

A sudden pain flitted across Robert’s face. “Thomas… I know that you’re hurting terribly, and that it must feel difficult to hold a healthy baby in your arms when your own was taken away from you. But you must remember, William is Anna’s baby-“

“Yes, I know that.” Thomas snapped, bristling. He turned away so that Robert could not see the pain upon his face. “Is there anything else that you need, M’lord?”

“I wanted to ask you to come to dinner tonight. I know that you have reservations-“

“I cannot dine at the family table, M’lord. It is improper.”

“But I wish for you to, and so that makes it proper.”

“Yes, but I do not wish to.” Thomas snapped, rounding on Robert with a new fire in his eyes, “And it is my wish that I shall follow. Not yours. You are not my alpha, M’lord.”

Robert did not lash out at him, nor grow to a temper. Instead, he gave Thomas a small smile, and spoke with a calm voice. “I know that, Thomas… but I wish to be your alpha in time. I understand if that frightens you, I don’t expect us to mate tomorrow, or even in several months. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”

Thomas turned away, burned.  
He couldn’t give Robert a chance. He didn’t want to give him a chance. He didn’t want to be his mate but…

But Thomas just didn’t know any other path open to him. His heart yearned for someone else; yearned in a way he’d never thought possible. But if those feelings weren’t returned, what would it get him in the end but more pain? Downton was his home. Robert was its Lord. It made good clean sense to take up Robert’s offer and live in Downton for the rest of his life. But…

Thomas bowed his head. “I don’t wish to be your mate, M’lord.”

Robert did not give in to a fit of ennui, “Give it time, Thomas. You’re going through a difficult moment in your life. I support you in your change of roles. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“That’s another thing.” Thomas coughed, desperate to change the subject while he could, “I don’t wish to keep the money I’ve inherited. I’m going to London tomorrow, first time. I’m going to speak with Murray, and get the process started to have the inheritance changed back over to Belton House and the Dowager of Lincolnshire-“

There were hands upon his shoulders. Thomas tensed, incredibly nervous. The sudden smell of Frankincense made him slightly drowsy. He shook it off as best he could, refusing to face Robert or acknowledge his scent display.

“Thomas… listen to me.” Robert murmured in his ear. “London is a big and sprawling city. You are in a cast, and walking with a crutch. Murray will not be able to see you at the drop of a hat, no matter who you are. Let me make an appointment with his office when your leg cast comes off… and we can settle the dispute then. It doesn’t have to be done tomorrow-“

Thomas swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed. William’s gurgling brought him back to himself, and he jerked a bit in Robert’s embrace.

“Easy-“ Robert whispered. “I mean you no harm; all I ask is that you give me a chance. Come to dinner with the family. It will be quiet. Private… no guests, I promise. You don’t have to wear a dress, or do anything formal. You can wear Matthew’s dinner jacket, and stay only as long as you like. Please?”

Thomas swallowed. The smell of Frankincense was overcoming him, dragging him under. His eyelids fluttered close.

“I… guess…” He finally mumbled. “If… I have to…”

“You don’t.” Robert reminded him. “But it would make me very very happy if you did.”

Thomas winced, but said no more.

 

~*~

That night, as John helped Lord Grantham dress for dinner, he felt an odd sort of tension in the air. Thomas had finally consented to eat with the family, and Lord Grantham was eager to put on his best impression. John helped to fasten his silver cufflinks, carefully arranging Lord Grantham’s suit so that it sat equally upon his broad shoulders.

“I suppose you saw Thomas, today.” Lord Grantham spoke up. He sounded oddly taken over. John wondered if he was truly infatuated with Thomas or merely infatuated with the order of the past that Thomas often represented.

“In Mr. Matthew’s wardrobe, M’lord. It fits him well.” John murmured, coming behind Lord Grantham to begin brushing his shoulder for stray dust and threads. There was always a danger of dog hair getting stuck to his suits.

“Poor chap.” Lord Grantham sighed. “One of his shirts lost a button; he had to change when I was with him.”

John was slightly taken aback. As far as he knew Moseley had kept that wardrobe in good condition. What had Thomas done to lose a button?

“Did he, M’lord?”

“He said Moseley could mend it.”

“Moseley didn’t mend a shirt today, M’lord.” John said, pausing in his brushing as he considered how Thomas had once practically run him over in an attempt to become valet, “Though I daresay Thomas could mend it himself.”

Lord Grantham frowned, fiddling with his cufflinks and tie so that they were more comfortable against his skin. He was lost deep within his thoughts, and in an unusually heavy mood.

“He’s frightened of me.” Lord Grantham murmured. John watched Lord Grantham stared glumly into the fireplace, his brown eyes swimming in amber flashes of light, “He’s frightened of being abused. I had to scent him just to get him to calm down. I’ll have to court him gently. When he was in Belton, it was easier for him to find love in his heart for me. I suppose he envisioned me as an escape from his trauma. Now that he’s home, he’s realized I’m an alpha too. I think it’s making him unsure.” Lord Grantham sighed, turning to look at John.

John felt pity for the man. It couldn’t be easy to love Thomas… not when Thomas didn’t even love himself.

“I was thinking, perhaps I could take him to the country, or maybe the shore.” Lord Grantham said, “Somewhere he can relax and forget about the circumstances of the past months. What do you think?”

“He’d like that, M’lord.” John said, for Thomas had once revealed that he loved the sun. It had been a rare moment of clarity in an otherwise muggy world of irritation that the pair of them occupied together. “He enjoys the sun. He told me once.”

“Then perhaps the shore would be best.” Lord Grantham decided. “I daresay he’d like you all to come as well. He’s very fond of William.”

This came as a surprise to John. As far as he knew the pair had never interacted. Then again, Thomas seemed to be fond of all the children, so perhaps it wasn’t all that much of a surprise.

“Is he, M’lord?”

“Oh, quite.” Lord Grantham smiled, which did John good. He didn’t care for Lord Grantham to be gloomy, not when he was such a good man with a good heart. “William was with Thomas today when I visited him. He’d been feeding the little chap, or so I suppose. He spit up at any rate- perhaps Thomas had just been soothing him. I don’t recall seeing a bottle. The point being that Thomas is very gentle with the lamb…” He smiled fondly at John. “If he consents to be my mate, I’m determined that one day we should have children of our own. He’ll be a wonderful mother.”

John paused in his brushing, taken aback.

Little did Lord Grantham know that John had already spoken to the nanny today. Apparently she’d been out fetching powders for a diaper rash and had returned to find William fast asleep in his crib. William had been off his feeding schedule all day, unable to feed with Anna. It had put her in a panic, thinking William ill… but William’s color was good and the nanny was utterly befuddled. As far as anyone knew, William hadn’t eaten-

And yet it seemed now that William had eaten. But how had Thomas fed him if there hadn’t been formula in the house?

And suddenly an awful thought came to John, though he was unsure how to best put it into words. Could it be that Thomas was…? But that surely couldn’t happen.

Then again, maybe the miscarriage had done more havoc to Thomas’ body than anyone had realized. John kept his thoughts to himself, but a stab of worry began to gnaw at his stomach.

Surely Thomas wouldn’t… surely…

“Oh, I have something to show you-“ Lord Grantham spoke up. He stepped to the bedside table, an unnecessary ornament in a room that featured a bed rarely slept in. He fished around in the top drawer to reveal a picture. He offered it to John, and John took it once.

He took a sharp breath instinctually.

There, framed for the rest of time, was a deformed infant laying in a white cot. It was swaddled in lace, and even had a bonnet upon its head, but the clothes dwarfed the baby and her face was terribly flat. She was malformed, her fingers and toes hardly long enough to curl… John doubted she even had solid bones yet. Her skin was dark; she must have been purple when this photo had been taken.

He looked down at the base of the photograph to read: _Lady Ada Elizabeth Gray, March 25th, 1927_.

Beneath that, there was another line in fine cursive, handwritten: _Beloved by her mother_.

John suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He had to look away and carefully set the photograph print side down on the dressing table. Lord Grantham watched him go gray, noting a shudder that shook through his frame.

“…It’s hard at first.” Lord Grantham agreed. “I told no one, but I wept when I first saw the picture. I couldn’t contain my grief.”

“…He did not deserve this, M’lord.” John whispered, “Neither of them did.”

“No.” Lord Grantham agreed, “But then, that’s our burden to bear now. We must take care of him… help Thomas regain his strength. Ada is gone, but Thomas still has a future in Downton.”

“…May I give him this picture?” John asked, “Only that… he wants it.”

Lord Grantham seemed unsure. “I don’t feel that he’s ready-“

“Let me ask him, M’lord.” John said, tucking the picture into his vest pocket. “If he is, I’ll happily give him the picture.”

Lord Grantham shrugged, unsure. “After dinner, Bates. I don’t want the night spoiled by the past. I want to see him smile before supper is over.”

That was a rather tall order, but John refused to burst Lord Grantham’s enthusiasm.

~*~

Of course, Thomas’ enthusiasm was on the opposite end of the chart.

He knew it was poor manners, to accept a request to dinner and then to be late, but as Thomas stood fidgeting in Matthew Crawley’s old dinner jacket he felt horribly… exposed. The stiff starch of his white tie pressed awfully against his scent gland, which had swollen and was beginning to throb ever since he’d started feeding William. The suit didn’t fit well in his shoulder’s either. Matthew had been shorter than him, more square in the chest; Thomas felt like he was being swaddled in the cloth… it wasn’t a particularly enjoyable feeling. Now he was at least twenty minutes late to dinner. He had not gone downstairs at the ring of the gong for cocktails. He felt sick to his stomach, nervous of being ostracized in front of Carson, Moseley, and Andy. How in the hell was he supposed to sit at the table with the family and be served by members of his own class? He couldn’t do it- it made him a traitor of the worst degree. By all rights he ought to be flung out into the street and shot.

But Thomas had made a promise, and he felt stuck in that vow.

Twenty minutes into dinner, Thomas slowly made his way downstairs. Now was the hour when most of the house was in motion underground. The surface might look smooth, but just below his feet the kitchen was full of life and servants were clustering in the main hall waiting to be fed after the family. The dining hall was warmly lit from the inside; Thomas could see a glowing line where it showed on the Persian carpet. He paused at the door, listening near the keyhole. He could hear the sound of murmured voices and clinking cutlery.

He ought to go back to his room… but how could he do that when he’d made a promise?

He’d simply have to go in, and explain everything to them. That was all there was for it. He’d go in, say goodbye, and head upstairs to bed. Mrs. Patmore could send him up a tray. He might even get more time with William if he was careful!

Thomas took the door in hand, and gently pulled back to slip inside.

The dining hall was full of life, but was muted. There was no glamorous house party tonight, and so most of the dinner occupants were casually underdressed. Tom and Robert were both dressed in dinner jackets; Mr. Talbot was out of the house on business inspecting a race track in Leeds. Lady Grantham was wearing a pink gown with very little jewelry. Lady Mary was wearing her red dress, a favorite that she often chose no matter the occasion. Upon the table there was an immaculate spread, several roasted ducks with potatoes boiled in a wine sauce. The smells were savory, even without Thomas’ appetite. Everyone looked around to see Thomas, and Thomas winced as he noticed Carson glaring at him furiously from the buffet table. Moseley and Andrew stood on opposite sides of the room, neither of them moving and straight backed.

Thomas could remember standing in their shoes, his servant’s blank concealing disgust for the upper class. Now here he was about to dine with them, in a jacket that had once belonged to Matthew Crawley.

It wasn’t right. None of this was right.

“Thomas.” Robert was smiling in earnest. He didn’t seem angry at his lateness. “There you are-“

“I thought you were ill.” Lady Mary was confused; how could she not be when Thomas was twenty minutes late.

“No- M’lady- I didn’t want to come.” Thomas explained, terribly nervous. “I… I don’t think this is right. So, I’d best leave now-“

“Please don’t.” Robert came out from around the table, joining him at the door. He spoke softly, the conversation between the two of them alone, “I know it’s odd, but we all support you and we’re eager for you to dine with us. Won’t you at least join us? You look lovely-“

“It isn’t right, M’lord.” Thomas whispered, “It isn’t right.”

“It’s right if I say it’s right.” Robert corrected, turning to look at Carson who immediately reeled back his glare lest he be caught, “Isn’t that right, Carson?”

“Certainly, M’lord.” Was Carson’s smooth reply. Thomas wasn’t taken in by the guise.

“You needn’t worry, Thomas.” Lady Mary assured him, “There’s no need for formality tonight. We’re glad to have you join us for dinner.”

“Won’t you come sit next to me?” Lady Grantham asked.

“I…” She was smiling, but Thomas just couldn’t sure, “I’m unsure if this is a good idea, M’lady.”

“We’ll never know until we try.” She offered; how very American of her.

“Please, Thomas.” Robert whispered, “Come sit with us. I promise you… everything will be alright.” Whether he did it intentionally or not, he released his scent. Thomas took a deep breath, his nerves momentarily stilled, then followed Robert’s lead back to the table where a chair had been sat next to Lady Grantham. She was smiling at him, as if they were friends, and it made Thomas sick to his stomach. He took the back of his chair to pull it out, only to have his hand batted away by Carson who was trying to do the same. The pair of them were suddenly glaring at one another. Thomas was determined Carson would not pull out his chair. Carson was equally determined he would.

“If you’re going to fight Carson over who pulls out the chair, you’ll find it a difficult battle.” Lady Mary teased. Sitting on Thomas’ other side, she had the best view of the nonsense.

Thomas finally let go of the chair, and Carson yanked it out. He slowly sat down, rigid in his back and knees as Carson poured him a glass of water. Even in a relatively modern house like Downton, omegas still did not drink wine save on special occasions.

Andy was bringing around the next course. It was the duck, sliced thin and broiling in a sweet savory gravy. He offered a course to everyone, serving Thomas last as rank required. Thomas bristled as Andy bent next to him. He felt like he might be sick at any moment.

“…Andy… don’t…” Thomas whispered, his voice so quiet it could barely be heard. He met Andy’s eyes and implored him silently. “Don’t.”

“At least try a little bit?” Lady Grantham urged on his other side, “The duck is delicious, and it won’t be good if you go to bed hungry.”

But Thomas couldn’t. He could not eat food that had been served by the hands of his fellow men. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t decent. It would be like ingesting poison. Thomas shook his head, and Andy pulled away to return his cleared entrée dish back to the buffet table.

Everyone began eat, but there was an odd tension in the air. Thomas almost felt like crying, his hands twisting a wrinkle into the hem of his tux beneath the table and his eyes glazed over as he stared noncommittally at the table cloth. In his mind, he could see himself ironing this same fabric only a few months ago.

First the soap and scrub; Gertie would wash away the stains.  
Then the starch powders… Thomas would iron them in and fold the linens.  
The maids would use lilac powders on the finished pieces, and put them away in the cupboards.

“I know it’s hard to get used to.” Tom offered up. Thomas didn’t look at him, merely bowing his head. “I felt the same way at first. I promise, it grows on you.”

“I don’t want to get used to this, Mr. Branson.” Thomas corrected, speaking softly. “It’s not for me to eat at this table.”

Lady Mary laid a hand upon his own beneath the table, stopping him from twisting the fabric of the tux any further. The smell of Burberry and mint filled his nose. She was scenting him, trying to keep him calm.

“Papa says you’re determined to speak to Murray.” Lady Mary started up. “I thought perhaps I could go with you to London. We could open the house-“

“Mary.” Robert cut his daughter off with a stern look, “Thomas is in no condition to travel to London. We’ve spoken about this.”

Lady Mary was unimpressed, “But he can travel to the beach?”

“Beach, M’lady?” That threw Thomas off.

Lady Mary took a casual sip of wine, giving her father a distasteful look, “Papa wishes to take you to the shore, to try and cure your blues. I think it sounds like a jolly good time, but you know best.”

To be fair, the idea of going to the beach was enticing, but Thomas had far too much to do to just go gallivanting off to Bristol.

“The shore?” Thomas was baffled, “I- no that’s very kind of you M’lord but I’m going to have to decline the offer. I simply have too much work to do regarding Belton House-“

“Well you cannot go to London, Thomas, and that’s flat.” Robert would not be moved. “It’s too much of a hassle while you’re healing, and Murray will be booked for weeks anyways. He won’t accept a walk in client.”

Thomas ground his jaw, starting to lose his temper, “I think he’ll find me hard to refuse, M’lord.” Thomas warned; he was close to getting on a train and finding Murray’s flat himself. He’d bang on the door all night if it got him answers. Robert seemed to realize this, and coughed a little as he took a long sip of white wine. He could no longer stomach port.

“I know you’re stubborn, and I appreciate your enthusiasm to do right by Belton… but at least wait until your leg is healed.” Robert said.

Thomas opened his mouth, ready to say something scathing, but Lady Grantham jumped in and steered the conversation back to safer ground.

“Robert, why not invite Murray to Downton?” She asked, “That way we can discuss the details here from the comfort of our library and Thomas won‘t have to hassle all about London in a cast. He’ll be able to resolve any questions about Lord Gray’s will, and we can have him for dinner.”

Robert thought about it, and seemed sold on the idea.

“Yes, I suppose that could work.” Robert agreed, “I’ll call him tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can have him over on Saturday. He’s usually happy to come to Yorkshire on company time- they pay for him to travel.” He paused, glancing to Thomas, “But I don’t want you to trouble yourself over this, Thomas. Just focus on getting well.”

Before Thomas could challenge the notion, the next course was being served. It was a vegetable dish, the potatoes in wine sauce. Moseley carried it about, and when he came to Thomas’ side, Thomas almost shrank back in horror. It was even worse to be served by Moseley, who already didn’t like him. Thomas shook his head, shying away from Moseley’s platter. Moseley was stiff in his gate, glaring sullenly at the tablecloth instead of looking at Thomas.

“Go away.” Thomas whispered, “Don’t serve me. Pretend I’m not here.”

Moseley made a comment under his breath that no one could hear, and walked back to the buffet table. Carson looked murderous; it was forbidden for footmen to speak save for when they were addressed. Thomas had a feeling Moseley would get thrashed for that later, and it only just made him more upset.

“Please, Thomas…” Robert murmured, “Eat something? For me?”

 _For me?_ What kind of a comment was that?

Thomas did not make to eat, despite Robert urging him to. Hell, it almost made him want to eat less.

“Forgive me, M’lord.” Thomas met no ones eyes, “It’s improper. I should not be dining at this table. I cannot eat in your presence. It’s…” it was obscene, “It’s just not done. Its my place to eat downstairs, with the staff. I will eat dinner there tonight, when the family has been attended to.”

Once again, it was Lady Grantham to save the day.

“Perhaps, later on tonight, you could have supper with just Robert and myself?” Lady Grantham offered, “Would that be better? We could eat together and have some privacy.”

That might have been a nice gesture, had it not been for the fact it was making Thomas feel ill. He didn’t want to be alone with Lady Grantham and Robert. He didn’t want to sit between them, in privacy, and try to swallow food. It just… made him… shudder.

“That…” Thomas couldn’t figure out what to say. He was fumbling, and everyone could tell, “ M’lady that is very generous of you but… I…”

“I know that this is difficult, Thomas.” Lady Grantham was being far too generous with him. Why? What was she gaining out of this? If anything, wasn’t he an inconvenience to her? “I only want to help you in any way that I can. I’m Robert’s omega. I understand more than any other what you’re going through.”

This was the first time Lady Grantham had mentioned the proverbial elephant in the room.  
Thomas felt a shortness of breath; his fingers were trembling. He suddenly couldn’t swallow.

“Please?” Lady Grantham murmured, leaning a bit so that they could speak intimately, “Why don’t we meet privately tonight. You’ve been through so much, and we need to speak about it. We can discuss things, and plan a bit of the future—“

He panicked.

Thomas jerked up from his seat, causing a disturbing amount of noise as his chair almost fell back on its spine.

“Thomas-“ Robert rose up. Thomas turned away, desperate to make it to the door before someone tried to stop him. The whole way he was babbling, feeling like an idiot.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this-“ Jesus he felt like he was losing his mind, “It’s just like before! It’s just like before! I can’t do this. I’m sorry-!”

He made it to the door and bolted for his room.  
When he got there, he locked the door.

 

An hour passed, and then another. Thomas disrobed, shucking his whole outfit to flop against the ground by his vanity where he hid with Ada’s urn in his arms.

Memories were slamming him one after another, leaving him weak and feeble. He could see it all like a color reel in his mind; Gray’s first introduction… that damned teacup. The way he’d given Thomas a necklace. The word ‘divine’ was hissing in his ears! Snakes were swallowing him up, making him tremble…

He took shallow breathes, unable to slow and calm himself.  
He suddenly found himself missing Dr. Kinsey. If only he were here, he’d know what to say and do. He’d protect Thomas…

AS another hour passed and no one attempted to call in the Brigade, Thomas cautiously unlocked his door and sat down at his vanity to try and clean his face. Tears had made his cheeks puffy, and he wet a flannel to wash his skin clean. Sybil had many tinctures in her vanity that the maids had left untouched; Thomas found himself going through the drawers and looking at her makeup. There were face powders that were growing solid with age… lipsticks that were no longer moist. Thomas found a glass bottle full of rose lotion and put a dollop in his hands to moisturize his arms and wrists. He was careful over his bullet wound, and the pale slim scars across his veins. Incredible… to think he’d once nearly taken his life.

If only he’d been successful.

A gentle knock at Thomas’ door made him stiffen. He sat bolt upright, glaring into his vanity mirror as he watched the door to the hallway open in reverse.

But it was only Bates. Thomas scowled, and looked away to continue rubbing lotion onto his wrists.

“Why are you here?” Thomas asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice, “Come to tell me I’ve been disowned?”

“Lord Grantham wanted me to check on you.” Bates explained. There was an unusual softness in his voice. He closed the door to the hallway, which made Thomas tense again as he suddenly realized he was alone with Bates for the first time since 1920. It did not set right with him.

“…Why did you close that door?” Thomas asked, turning around in his seat so that he could face Bates instead of the mirror. Bates did not move closer, instead standing next to Thomas’ fireplace and keeping his arms at his side.

“I wish to speak to you about William in privacy.” Bates explained.

Oh god. Did he know?

Thomas looked away, trying to hide his nerves by rummaging through Sybil’s old drawers and righting many of her fallen tinctures. He found an ivory comb in the top drawer and set it out to be taken away by the maids. By rights it ought to go to Sybbie, or perhaps even Lady Mary. He hurriedly polished it with his damp flannel, wiping away much of the dust and caked makeup that had shaken loose onto the bristles.

“Let me guess,” Thomas tried to be aloof, but his voice shook, “You don’t want some diseased omega touching your precious child?”

“No.” Bates did not rise to the bait, “But I do think you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t.”

Think was not the same as ‘know’. Thomas took comfort in that.

“How unoriginal.” He muttered dryly, still refusing to look at Bates as he set the polished comb aside. He continued to fish through the drawers, finding two more unused bottles of rose lotion. Clearly Sybil had liked the scent.

“Williams’ been off his eating schedule.” Bates explained.

“This concerns me how,” Thomas sniffed, taking out every bottle he could find from the second drawer and beginning to organize it alphabetically.

“Have you been feeding him?”

Thomas scoffed, turning about to glare at Bates. He was determined to hold up the guise of metal and ice, anything to keep the man at bay and in the dark. This matter was far too sensitive. Far too precious. Bates could never understand; he’d never lost a child… he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to try and replace the sensation of love and closeness.

“What are you talking about?” Thomas snapped, forcing his anger out on Bates lest it beat him up and destroy him from the inside, “Why on earth-“

But instead of glaring at him or growing sullen, Bates just seemed to grow more sad. Thomas despised being looked at with pity; it made his stomach turn.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Thomas demanded. “Stop it!”

Once again, Bates did not rise to the challenge. Instead, he surprised Thomas by reaching into his vest pocket and pulling out a waxen picture which he handed over to Thomas.

Christ, if they’d gone and gotten a picture of him breast feeding William he was going to choke.

Thomas snatched the picture from Bates’ hand. “What is this?” He flipped it over expecting the….

The….

The air was suddenly crushed from his lungs, sucked right out of his soul as he stared down at Ada’s picture. His beautiful, sweet little girl enshrined in lace and swaddled in her cot. Her flat face sparked such hideous emotion within him that Thomas had to look away at once, almost staggered by the force of the blow. It was a miracle that Thomas had been sitting down; he had a feeling he would have collapsed otherwise.

But it was the fact that someone had taken out the time to write ‘Beloved by her mother’ beneath the printed text that made Thomas let out a keening noise. He grit his teeth tight, clamped his jaw shut as hot tears dripped in a continuous flow down his face. He could not hide his grief; he grabbed the flannel from the vanity and covered his face with it, sobbing into the cloth.

His child… his precious, precious child…

It was several minutes before he regained control of his voice and his senses. He sucked in one breath after another, wiping his face again and again as he tried to control his tears. He pressed the picture over his heart, tried to absorb the image through his skin… but it was impossible. Ada was detached form him, gone forever, and all he had left was an urn and a picture. Besides that, she existed now only in his memories… a little kidney dish draped in a white cloth tinged pink in the center.

Christ, he wanted to vomit. He almost did, prompting Bates to suddenly reach out in alarm till Thomas threw up a hand and swallowed the bile in his throat.

He sniffed, took a long shuddering breath, and turned away from Bates to stare listlessly at the vanity.

“…Where… did you get this…” Thomas whispered. This was, without a doubt, the picture that had been used in jest by Grisby’s apprentice.

“His Lordship took it from Grisby’s.” Bates explained. “He was unsure whether he should give it to you… but it didn’t feel right to me that you two were parted. Even like this-“ He gestured to the picture in Thomas’ hands.

Thomas closed his eyes and a tear slipped out. He chased it at once with the flannel cloth.

“…I am so sorry.” Bates whispered, “She didn’t deserve that. Neither of you did.”

“Stop being kind to me.” Thomas pleaded, “I don’t know how to take it.”

Bates didn’t know what to say at first. When he spoke again, he sounded as pained as Thomas felt, “I know you and I have had our quarrels but I’d rather we existed as friends instead of enemies.”

Thomas sniffed, turning away completely. There was a picture on Sybil’s vanity of the three Crawley sisters in their youths. The frame was silver, ornate in carved flowers; Thomas took the frame to open its backing and pull out the faded waxen picture so that he could instead insert Ada’s. When he replaced the frame upright, Ada was forever enshrined behind glass in a beautiful display of floral and lace. It made his soul ache.

“Is this pity?” Thomas whispered, “Because I don’t need it-“

“It’s honesty.” Bates explained, “And I think it does us well.”

Thomas sighed, jaunting an elbow upon the vanity counter to bury his face in his hand. By god, he felt exhausted. Had he ever been this tired before?

“Thomas, if you’re feeding William… I…” Bates seemed lost. “Please, I’m asking you to stop.”

Thomas did not dare take his hand away from his face. God forbid Bates could see his pained expression. “I know you’re hurting, and I know you’re lonely but… he’s my son. Anna’s his mother. It’s confusing for him, to be fed by two different omegas on two different time schedules. It’s going to upset him.”

“I’m not doin’ anythin’ I shouldn’t so just get that out of your head.” Thomas snapped in a rush. His Stockport accent slipped out; always a sign of emotional despondency.

“I could understand if you were.” Bates whispered. Thomas wiped his face again, desperately trying to put back up his barrier of stone and ice.

“Well I’m not.” Thomas snapped. He sniffed, folded the flannel upon the countertop and resumed sorting Sybil’s drawers.

Bates watched him in silence for a few moments. Thomas put all the rose lotion bottles together, resolving to inform the maids so that these tinctures could be put to good use instead of rotting inside a vanity drawer. They were expensive, meant for upper class ladies… surely someone would enjoy them. Thomas brought his hands to his face, sniffing at his knuckles.

The rose was nice…but Thomas didn’t particularly care for it. He much preferred the normal smell of his skin; soap and the tiniest hint of silver polish.

“I’m choosing to believe you, Thomas.” Bates spoke up again, “Please… don’t let me down.”

Bates turned away; Thomas watched him retreat from the vanity mirror, only turning around when Bates was at the door and closing it behind him again. In that moment, Thomas saw a man he’d hounded and fought for years, a man whom he’d striven to drive into the ground only to be beaten by time and time again. By all rights, Bates should despise him. The whole house should despise him… but instead they offered him kindness in his weakest moments. They apologized. They gave him tea with honey and lemon.

He remembered in his youth feeling such a sense of anger towards these people. He’d wanted the whole house to go up in flames, and for him to light the bonfire. But why? Was it jealousy? A sense of entitlement? Thomas couldn’t rightly remember, save that everything had hurt all the time and no one had seemed to realize he was in dire pain. Maybe some would claim that was an after effect of denying his second gender, but Thomas didn’t believe it. In truth, he’d been in pain long before running away from his role as an omega. He’d been in pain since his childhood when he’d begged for affection and found it lacking.

 _Why not me?_ He’d often asked himself. _Am I not worthy of love?_

As Bates closed the door and left Thomas alone, he slumped against his vanity.  
He was broken and beaten, and did not move from his spot for many hours.

 

~*~

After that awful dinner, Thomas did not make to associate with the family or the staff again. Instead, he stayed in his room and did exercises with Nurse Reid. True to his word, Robert called Murray to visit Downton and so a week later Thomas was getting his arm cast off while Murray took an afternoon train to Downton. It felt incredible; to sit in Dr. Clarkson’s office and watch the fiber and plaster fall away. His arm was discolored still, obviously bruised, but he could now flex and move his arm without fear of breaking a bone. What was more, Dr. Clarkson was kind enough to take Thomas leg out of his cast and move it into a slimmer splint that wrapped about his calve with gauze. It was now much easier to get his trouser leg down to his ankle, though he still could not wear his right shoe. Thomas didn’t need to use a crutch either, which was a mercy though Nurse Reid warned him not to push it. Dr. Clarkson pulled a heavy woolen sock up around his right foot, encasing the wooden splint in a barrier of cloth so that Thomas could walk from the hospital without having to worry about ruining his new medical appendage. The whole way back to Downton, he swung his right arm back and forth through the cool spring air and flexed his right wrist. He wanted to throw a cricket ball, to punch someone in the face-!!  
…Well, maybe not punch someone in the face, but the gist was still the same.

 

When Thomas finally made it back to Downton, he sequestered himself in his room again and took a bath. The glory of having a splint instead of a cast was that if Thomas was very careful he could take it off and wash water over his naked skin. His leg was heavily bruised, practically black areas, and so sore to the touch that Thomas ended up merely running a flannel gently over his skin instead of washing his leg the old fashioned way. It was just too risky and the last thing that Thomas wanted was to put more time on his recovery slot.

When he finished bathing, Thomas decided it was time for a haircut. In the privacy of the washroom, Thomas combed and cut his hair back into his original style as a servant. He took off a good two inches, and was greatly relieved to see it all fall into the sink. When he was finished, he dried his hair and styled it with a comb and product much like he’d done when he’d lived as a beta. It put a smile on his face, to look into the mirror and see a reflection he recognized. When he combined his new haircut with a suit, he was nigh unrecognizable from the man he’d been at Belton House. No more dresses and long hair for him… he was back in the flesh where he belonged!

Determined to put his life right, Thomas cleaned up the washroom and then headed downstairs at Mr. Carson’s summoning. A nervous excitement was pounding through his veins, making him feel alive and in control again. It was amazing, how much he’d taken for granted when he could control his own appearance. Now back in a suit and tie, Thomas was resolved never to put on a dress or a corset again. He took the stairs at a gradual pace, and when he reached the bottom he took a long breath before opening the library door and stepping inside.

Inside, he found only Robert and Murray, catered to solely by Carson who was scandalized to find Thomas with cut hair. Thomas did not look at Carson, instead shutting the door behind him and addressing Murray first. Murray was happy to be at Downton, mainly because while he came to call he was fed well and given a spacious guest room. Murray rose from his chair by the fire and walked around the couches barring the way; he shook Thomas’s right hand, which gave Thomas a thrill. Finally, his handicap was released!

“Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Murray greeted him, “Thank you for inviting me to Downton. I’m glad that we could meet in person. I’ve been wanting to speak to you for quite some time but his Lordship insisted you were too ill-“

“I’m fine.” Thomas snapped before the issue could be disputed any further. “Please, sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea-?”

“Oh, Mr. Carson has me settled.” Murray assured him, which was par the course because Carson would rather have another heart attack than suffer a guest un-catered to. Robert was dismayed at his haircut; as Thomas came around the sofa to sit alone, Robert swapped sides so that they could sit together. Thomas did not appreciate the gesture.

“You cut your hair.” Robert murmured.

“It was in my face all the time.” Thomas refused to look at the man, instead addressing Murray who had resettled himself back by the fire. There was a slender black case at Murray’s feet, about as long as a walking stick; Thomas wondered what was inside. Murray likewise had his briefcase open on the side table next to him, and was rifling through a leather clasping to pull out fine stationary that was stamped with blue wax.

“I wish you hadn’t-“ Robert spoke as if it was the most mournful thing in the world for Thomas to cut his hair, “You have such beautiful hair.”

“Mr. Murray, did you bring the will with you?” Thomas asked, determined not to give Robert another inch of satisfaction. Robert said no more, but there was a tension in his shoulders Thomas would have been a fool to miss.

“I have!” Murray said at once, showing that it was the will in his hand, “I know this is a bit much, Mr. Barrow. I’m grateful for the patience that you’ve shown my office. What we have here is the will of the late Lord Gray. He enacted an intestate succession. Statutory entitlements likewise have guaranteed that you a share of Lord Gray’s estate. I have here the holograph that was left to you.”

“Holograph?” So many terms were hitting Thomas that he scarcely knew what to do with them all. A intestate what?

“Handwritten.” Both Robert and Murray said in unison. Well if that’s what it meant, why didn’t they just say a handwritten will? Lawyers were such bothers.

“May I see-“ Robert offered a hand, and Murray passed over the will at once. Thomas watched, determined not to glare as Robert began to read the will in front of him without bothering to ask whether he’d like to see the damn thing first.

Thomas pursed his lips, losing his patience, “M’lord-“

But Robert was rather caught up in the will, so Thomas snapped, “Robert,” to get his attention. Robert looked about, dismayed. Thomas held out his hand expectantly.

“My apologies-“ Robert fumbled, handing over the will at once, “Of course-“

Thomas had to physically will himself not to get into a temper. He distanced himself, snuggling into the far corner of the couch as he read by the light of the table lamp. Carson rigidly brought him a cup of tea, though it was garnished neither with honey or lemon. Thomas glanced up.

“Thank you, Mr. Carson.” He said aloud. This made Carson bristle; it was out of the ordinary for a member of staff to be addressed. But Thomas would never be able to simply let Mr. Carson serve him; he wasn’t a member of the family and he wouldn’t abide by their rules.

He set his teacup aside, not really interested if it didn’t have honey or at least lemon. He began to read the will, enraptured by the thin slanting handwriting.

He knew it well. It was Lawrence’s.

_“The last will and testament of Lawrence Anthony Throsby Gray the Third, citizen of Lincolnshire, England, residing as Earl of Lincolnshire and Lord of Belton House and Estate at Belton House, Belton, Lincolnshire, England._

_I, Lawrence Anthony Throsby Gray the Third, born on July 20th, 1885, master of Belton House in Lincolnshire, hereby revoke any other previous wills and state that of sound body and mind these are my final wishes. My fortune, titles, estates, as statutory entitlements, are to be given directly to my omega and mother of my child. Thomas Barrow of Downton Abbey, Downton, Grantham County, England. I request that my ivory walking staff, my aviary, my library collections, my personal jewelry, likewise fall to the possession of Thomas Barrow, for his own disposal. My title and assets of 800,000 ￡ are to be retained in his living form, until which time they pass to my children at the time of their birth. I appoint Hueford Brammish, Barron of Southwark, as my executor. If he should predecease me or decline the office, I appoint Jacob Cornwall, Barron of High Timber, as my executor._

_This will having been made in the office of Brammish and Gray, of Lansdown House, 25 Hampshire Terrace, Portsmouth, England on the 27th of March, 1927.”_

The signature was done in a jagged hand. Thomas touched the dried ink, almost able to feel the madness deep within.

Thomas looked back up at Murray to find him watching pensively.

“This is for you.” Mr. Murray said, gesturing to the long black case at his feet. Lawrence’s walking stick must be inside. “It came from the office of Brammish and Gray from Mr. Brammish. IT has the other items aforementioned, save for of course the library and the aviary. They’re both to be moved over to Downton with his Lordship’s approval.”

“No.” Thomas snapped. Murray stopped short, mouth slightly slack with surprise.

“No?”

“No.” Thomas repeated. He rose up, folding the will back up and handing it over to Murray who accepted it after a tentative pause. “… If I am supposedly now a member of the upper class, then my will is to be done, correct?”

“Correct.” Murray agreed.

“Then I want the money to be given back to the estate, along with everything else mentioned in the will-“

“What?” Robert demanded agog, “Thomas, you can’t be serious-“

Thomas spoke over Robert, fury growing like a bonfire in his chest, “The money, the titles, everything is to be given back to the estate!”

“I…” Murray was baffled, “Are you rejecting-?”

“I am.” Thomas decided.

The awful silence that followed made Thomas sick to his stomach. He looked down at the case by his feet, and carefully bent over to open it and look inside. His mouth went dry the sight of the ivory walking cane, carved into the shape of a falcon at the tip. He did not even bother with the other velvet wrapped packages, nor a letter that lay tucked inside the lining pocket. Instead, he lifted the cane up to stand proudly, revealing the stick to the air.

This cane was as much a part of Lawrence as his own blood.

But a sudden memory slammed into Thomas’ mind, of Lawrence cracking him hard across the face with the cane-!

Thomas dropped the walking stick with a clatter to the floor. He gulped in air, touching his face for whatever reason. It was as if he was trying to protect himself from getting struck… and it disturbed him.

“…That cane…” Thomas could barely get the words out, his throat was clenched so tight. “… How … How can I ever…” He stumbled away from it, still touching his throat. “That cane is evil- I can’t hold it-“

“But you can!” Robert urged, getting to his feet, “And you can do so with pride. You have earned this money. You have endured horrific abuse and have triumphed over a man so vile I cannot find the words to describe him!”

Robert was growing emotional. He had to pause for a moment to regain control of his temper and tone. Thomas reached out and took the mantel in hand, using it as support for the moment.

“The Dowager of Lincolnshire has bonds and money that are her own-“ Lord Grantham urged.

“No.” Thomas would not be swayed, “She gets the house. It’s her family home- I will not touch it. She gets everything back. The library. The aviary-“

“She does not want the aviary.” Mr. Murray warned, “She was very vocal about having it destroyed. The wellbeing of several prized falcons are in your hands.”

Thomas winced, turning away. Too many memories were hitting him. Of watching a chick hatch; of two barn owls asleep with their heads tucked under their arm… Champion, soaring on the wind-

“If you want to give the estate to the Gray family, I will certainly have it done.” Mr. Murray said, “It would reduce your fortune drastically-“

“I don’t care.” Thomas was close to shouting. “Give it back to the family and let me be-!”

“And the cane?”

“I don’t know-“

“And the aviary-?”

“I don’t know!!” Thomas screamed.

Murray froze, shocked at Thomas’ violent outburst.

Thomas wished he could find it within him to be sorry, but it was impossible. Memories were slamming into him, winding him as he doubled over and held onto the mantel for dear life. He was breathing loud, his eyes pinched shut.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder and jumped in fright. He nearly unsettled a vase from atop the mantel, his hands up in front of his face, but it was only Robert trying in vain to console him. It wasn’t working.

“I cannot take the money.” Thomas babbled, “D’you understand, I cannot take the money! It makes me filthy! Dirty! A whore-!”

“Don’t be ridiculous-“ Robert tried to cup his face but Thomas jerked away again.

“Money is fluid to you!” Thomas shouted. He was rambling like a lunatic, “Like water! But money to me is earth! It builds and it crushes you beneath its weight! Whatever part of that money is mine I earned through unimaginable pain! Do you understand?!” Thomas grabbed Robert roughly by the upper arms and shook him, desperate to try and get the point across. “Do you understand what I was to him?!”

“Thomas- stop- look at me-“ Robert was trying to get the upper hand but Thomas jerked away. He would not give Robert even an inch of satisfaction!

“No, this is how it always starts!” Thomas shouted. He was close to tears in frustrations. “You touch and you take and you keep pulling away pieces of me until I don’t even know who I am anymore! I am not a member of this family! I am not a member of the upper-class! I am the son of a clockmaker- the original first footman of this house! I am the bane of Carson’s existence, and I am the thorn in Bates’ side! I am not your omega! I am not your pet, and I am not- your- darling-!” He pushed away from Robert, all but clambering over the couch to get away from him. Thomas’ splint drug a bit on the carpet but Thomas managed to get through the library door.

Robert followed him out. Thomas got a solid six steps away from the man before he was being grabbed around the waist by one hand.

“Thomas- just stop and listen to me-!” Robert pulled Thomas back to his side. The pair of them were back to front, with Robert desperately trying to scent Thomas and calm him down. But Thomas couldn’t breathe properly. He was too overwhelmed too terrified to think straight.

“Thomas, listen to me-“ Robert spoke rapidly in his ear, “I don’t want to lord over you. I don’t want you to fear me. That’s not the kind of man I am, for god’s sake you know me! Think about our history! About who you know me to be!”

Thomas shook in Robert’s arms. So many memories… so many awful memories.

“I can’t look at it-“ Thomas whispered, “I can’t go back to that. I can’t touch it-“

“And you won’t have to!” Robert urged him in a rush, “This is why I wanted to take care of matters myself, this is exactly what I was afraid of-! All I want to do is protect you… darling, listen to me-“

Darling?

Thomas snapped.

He jerked away from Robert. The force of it caused his splint to snag on the carpet beneath his feet, and Thomas fell with a crash onto the floor of the main hall. He panicked, rolling on his back to see Robert above him, trying to reach out to help him up.

“Stop!” Thomas shouted, scrambling backwards till his palms burned with a carpet rash. “Stay away from me!”

Carson and Murray were watching from the library door. The pair of them were a comical duo, with mouths open and expressions pained in shock at the scene unfolding.

Darling- that was how it had all started before. Darling, divine, what was the difference?

Never again, never again!

Thomas managed to get back to his feet and ran for the stairs. Despite how it hurt on his right leg, he did not slow his pace as he mounted the carpeted steps two and a time. He did not know what he ran from: responsibility, Robert, or Lawrence Gray’s walking cane.

When he slammed and locked the door to his room, however, it was a barrier meant for all three.

_~*~_

__“I can’t look at it. I can’t go back to that. I can’t touch it-!”_ _

Robert had never known such panic in a human being before.

Murray had decided not to stay for dinner, and who could blame the man. Robert had to spend the entire afternoon consoling his family lawyer, explaining that Thomas was not mentally sound to make decisions regarding his future. After the wild outburst in the library and main hall, no one disputed Robert on the subject. The cane went back with Murray, along with the rest of the case for a time when Thomas was capable of taking on the responsibility. The brunt of Gray’s fortune lay in patents, not in land (unlike the Downton estate). For this reason alone, Robert begrudgingly allowed only one of Thomas’ requests to go forward. The Belton House would remain in the custody of the Dowager of Lincolnshire… if only that Thomas might never have to ‘go back to that’.

His terror had made Robert sick to his stomach. Thomas was frightened to death of him. When he looked at Robert he did not see the man he’d dressed and fed… the man he’d obeyed and followed after dutifully on hunting trips.

He saw Gray. Robert had seen the truth and the terror in Thomas’ beautiful cerulean eyes. When Thomas looked at him, the ghost of Lawrence Gray loomed in Robert’s shadow.

Robert sat in the library, nursing the smallest glass of whiskey a man could feasibly possess and claim to drink. It was a bad idea, to test the hardiness of his stomach, but Robert had needed a drink and Carson was more than willing to acquiesce.

Cora had tried to console him; how sweet and gentle she’d been to sit and listen to his woes regarding another omega. In her eyes, she was still trying to adjust. It was difficult, to grow accustomed to the idea that your mate was taking on another. Cora was strong in their bond, however, and knew that her place would always be the first in Robert’s heart. As much as he cared for Thomas’ face and wished to do right in the name of honor and morality, Robert would never love Thomas as much as he loved Cora.

She was simply too important, too imbedded in his heart to ever be pried loose. Ten thousand years from now when their graves were uncovered by men of the future, they would find her name carved on his heart and his name on hers.

Carson returned from below, this time laden with tea. He offered Robert a cup with cream, just like Robert enjoyed taking it, and solemnly took up his finished whiskey glass to place it back on the silver dining platter.

“Thank you Carson.” Robert mumbled. When it was the two of them alone, it wasn’t so hard to let go of tradition.

“I shouldn’t bother you with this, M’lord, but Thomas has asked to use the telephone.” Carson sounded heavily annoyed, “He’s speaking to that Kinsey fellow, I believe.”

“Of course he is.” Robert groaned, suddenly unwilling to touch his tea. One stumble by Robert and there was the saintly Kinsey to pick up the pieces! Would he ever be free of the man? “He’s infatuated with Thomas. I know he is.”

“I should curb his enthusiasm, M’lord.” Carson warned, “Thomas is stumbling into another trap.”

A sickening feeling slid into Robert’s stomach at the thought of Carson being correct. How would he ever be able to forgive himself if Thomas was swept up again? By god, he might not survive a second round.

“How do I tell him, Carson?” Robert wondered. “How do I help him see?”

If anyone knew how to help Thomas, it was Carson. Where Robert held sway above the stairs, Carson was the same below. The depths of Thomas’ heart were foreign to Robert, but Carson surely knew them all. He was a good man; he would have good relations with all his staff members.

“That’s not for me to say, M’lord.” Carson said wisely, “But you are the better man by far and I am certain you will triumph in the end.”

Robert looked up at Carson, and regarded him plainly then. Carson had once had black hair, which was now solidly gray. In a time before his girls had been grown, Carson had had a strong back and a smooth face, his chin proud and his hands firm as he’d hoisted Mary up into his arms and swung her around. She’d screamed with glee, begging Carson to swing her again and again until Carson had had to decline lest he fall behind in work.

Robert was grateful to the man, more than he’d know.

“Thank you, Carson.” Robert murmured, “Truly, for all the service you have given my family over the years. We will forever be in your debt.”

Carson merely shook his head with a gentle smile, “I acknowledge no debt, M’lord.” And with that he left, taking Robert’s whiskey glass with him.

Alone in the library again, Robert was left staring guiltily at the telephone atop his writing desk in the far corner. An awful idea had come to him, and he couldn’t let it go. He needed to know, desperately, what Kinsey was saying to Thomas to sway him so violently in his favor. Robert was certain the man was lying, weaving awful tales, and if Robert knew about them in advance surely he could take steps to undo them.

It was against his honor, but at this point Robert was close to abandoning his honor all together if it kept Thomas safe.

Robert wished he could claim to have the upper hand… but he was close to losing the game. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Taking his teacup with him, Robert walked over to his desk and ever so gently picked up the telephone. Careful to keep the receiver far away from his mouth, Robert was able to listen in without being overheard. He could hear sniffling, someone was crying, or trying not to.

 __“—And it just… it just all came back,”_ _ Thomas was saying, __“I saw him hitting me with that cane. It was like I was going to be struck in the face.”_ _

__“You were transported back to that moment in time.”_ _ Kinsey deduced gently.

__“He made me the sole survivor to his estate and fortune. I told Murray to take it all back, to give it back to the family but… oh you’ll think I’m so stupid-“_ _

__“Never.”_ _

__“It’s just that one of the estate pieces is the aviary and I can’t let anything happen to those beautiful birds. They’re innocent animals, they don’t deserve to suffer… the Dowager is trying to get rid of them. What should I do?”_ _

__“Well, would you like to own them personally or would you care for them to be given to a facility? Perhaps a wildlife trust?”_ _

__“…Most of them, I suppose… but there are two I would like to keep. A bird I owned personally and Lawrence’s favorite. His name is Champion. He was utterly devoted to Lawrence. I can’t imagine how he’s fairing after Lawrence’s death.”_ _

__“I’m sure he’d be very grateful for your companionship. Perhaps you could speak to Lord Grantham about building an aviary on his land? I could look into some wildlife funds if you wish- we’ll find a home for the birds, don’t you worry.”_ _

Robert snatched a piece of stationary, rapidly shaking his favorite ball point pen to get the ink running. He touched to paper and quickly wrote out ‘aviary, two birds’ for future reference before also scrawling out ‘wildlife trust?’.

Thomas was regaining control of his senses, his tears stopping. __“I wanted to thank you, Robert… you’re such a good man. I don’t know how I could have made it through this without you.”_ _

__“I’m a psychiatrist, Thomas.”__ Kinsey sounded oddly sad, __“It’s what I do. I’m a student of psychology. You’re not the first omega that I’ve helped, and unfortunately you won’t be the last. This world can be very unfair… I like to think I help where I can, as much as I can. I’m a poor man. I confess I wish I had your fortune, it would make my life much more easier.”_ _

__“Oh I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”_ _ Thomas blurted out. Robert’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. So it was money, after all! He’d been certain something devious was going on, __“I’ll give you every cent. Let me-?”_ _

__“Thomas, that money is not mine to claim.”_ _ Kinsey sounded so saintly. Robert clenched his teeth in distaste, __“And I want to gain my own fortune. To be able to look back and say that no man helped me… but I confess your generosity touches my soul.”_ _

Robert suddenly wished his hands could touch Kinsey’s throat.

 __“You know…”_ _ Thomas paused, he was clearly on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t, __“You saved me. You reminded me that I had my own destiny. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and… I was wondering if maybe…”_ _

But he did not continue on. Kinsey had to pick up the pieces. __“If I’d been thinking of you?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Every day.”_ _ Kinsey whispered. __“You are in my dreams. You are in my thoughts. You overcome my senses and turn me into a child again. I ought to have better claim over my desires. I cannot forget that Lord Grantham-“_ _

__“Oh, don’t say that!”_ _ Thomas burst out, cutting Kinsey off, __“Don’t say that please. Lord Grantham isn’t important between us. We’re detatched from that situation. I don’t want to be involved in it.”_ _

__“Do you not want an alpha?”_ _

__“I do… but not him.”_ _

__“Well I’m sure you’ll find a good man in time-“_ _

__“I already have.”_ _

Silence fell over the phone. Robert’s eyes were stinging with bitter jealousy. He felt like a child in that moment, and quickly touched his thumb to his eyes to brush away the moisture collecting there. Thomas didn’t know what he was talking about. He was being sucked in by a guise. Robert was certain that Thomas thought him a good man- if he didn’t then why would he consent to return to Downton?

But maybe it had had nothing to do with Robert. Maybe it had more to do with the staff. Cora often mentioned that Baxter and Thomas were as close as kin, greatly relying on one another.

 __“…I’m glad you called me.”_ _ Kinsey was the one to whisper now. Emotion was overcoming the man. But was it faked? If so he was a marvelous actor. Perhaps he should look into changing his profession. __“You’ve brightened a gloomy day.”_ _

__“Why was your day gloomy?”_ _ Thomas asked, compassionately.

 __“Oh, it’s nothing.”_ _ Kinsey gave a heavy sigh. The prig, __“I’m fighting for a spot to travel to Vienna. I’m a newly instated member of the London Clinic of Psychoanalysis underneath Ernest Jones-“_ _

Robert quickly scribbled the information down, determined to do some digging into Kinsey’s background. Perhaps Murray could find out more information about this clinic.

__“There’s a bit of a competition to be a member of a traveling psychoanalysis movement that visits Dr. Sigmund Freud in Vienna this fall.”_ _

Thomas gasped, __“The Freud?”_ _

__“The Freud.”_ _ Kinsey chuckled, __“To meet him would be an incredible honor.”_ _

__“I agree! You should put your hat in!”_ _

__“Well it’s a highly competitive process. I’ve nearly completed a paper that will be brought before a board of governors for analysis, and if they find me worthy I’ll be selected among the five men to go.”_ _

Something changed in Thomas’ voice, __“No women?”_ _

__“I’m afraid no.”_ _ Kinsey was somber once again, __“And believe me, I share your sentiments on that as well.”_ _

__“I suppose the scientific community is difficult for omegas and women.”_ _

__“Very sexist as of this moment, but I assure you things will change Thomas. The world won’t be content with such limitations for long.”_ _

Thomas made a tiny sweet noise, like he was smiling. __“Are there any organizations for omegas? Anything at all?”_ _

__“None that I know of.”_ _

__“…You know… I think I want to do that. I think I want to start up a society for omegas! By omegas, for omegas. A place of sanctuary free from alphas!”_ _

__“I back it!”_ _ Kinsey said at once, but Robert’s brain was flashing a massive red ‘danger’ sign. The moment that the Brigade heard any chatter of a ‘sanctuary free from alphas’ Thomas would be snatched up and drug back to Dover by the scruff of his neck. Robert hurriedly wrote everything down, determined to put a stop to this nonsense at once as soon as Thomas was off the phone.

__“You could offer medical aid to the abused, and maybe even relocate them across the country- find them better positions and jobs!”_ _

__“I’d love to do that-“_ _ Thomas was just getting more and more excited. This entire idea was ludicrous.

__“You certainly have the money to do it now.”_ _

__“But how do you start going about that process? Where do I even begin?”_ _

__“Well, you’d want to find a building suitable to your purposes… you’d need to get all sorts of licenses I’m sure. You’ll want to build a team, both inside and out. You’ll want protection too, Thomas. I won’t lie, this will be incredibly dangerous and you’ll need to hold the Brigade at bay.”_ _

__“Robert…”_ _ Thomas murmured, __“Will you help me? Will you help make this dream a reality?”_ _

__“I would be honored.”_ _ Kinsey sounded like Thomas had just asked for him to accept a knighthood. Didn’t the idiot understand what kind of an abysmal journey he was setting Thomas up on? Was he so wrapped up in his own ideas about the world that he was willing to put the life of an innocent omega in danger?

 __“Your dreams are my music. I am an avid listener.”_ _ Kinsey said. Thomas was obviously wooed, making a bizarre noise like he’d sighed into the telephone receiver.

__“Robert…”_ _ Thomas mumbled, emotional, __“There’s something I want to say-“_ _

__“Don’t.”_ _ Kinsey cut him off. He was practically pleading, __“Because once you do, I’ll have to say something that will break my heart.”_ _

There was a long pause. Thomas sounded crushed, even with just tiny pants.

 __“Believe me,”__ Kinsey begged, __“If there were any other way-“_ _

__“Why can’t there be another way?”_ _

__“Because I’m a psychiatrist and you are my patient. Because what you are feeling is the emotion connected to being listened to-“_ _

__“No!”_ _ Thomas protested, __“No, that’s not true-“_ _

But it was true and Robert was certain of it. Perhaps this was the true crux of the matter. Perhaps Kinsey wasn’t such a black hearted fellow after all, but was instead merely a helpless doctor trying to do right by his patient. He was a bit of an idiot, leading Thomas up the garden path, but Robert was the one who’d been to Eton and he surely knew more about the world than Kinsey ever could.

 __“If you knew me-“_ _ Kinsey protested.

 __“But I do know you… and it’s not true.”_ _ Thomas said. __“I…”_ _

__“Thomas…”__ Kinsey whispered, __“Don’t. It could jeopardize everything. So please… for my sake.”_ _

Thomas sniffed. He was close to crying again. Robert suddenly felt like a bastard, to be listening in when Thomas’ heart was clearly breaking over the phone. If only there was some way he could detach the conversation from the emotion, like he was reading a transcript instead.

 __“Can I… can I come see you sometime?”_ _ Thomas begged. __“I just… I miss you.”_ _

__“I miss you too. More than I should.”_ _

__“Almost had that sentence right.”_ _ Thomas tried for a joke, but it was lacking.

__“Thomas…I… I have to go. But allow me to say this? I am a very selfish man-“_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Listen.”_ _ Kinsey said, and Thomas promptly fell quiet, __“I am a very selfish man. I work towards my goals. I look to my own future. But I believe… I believe I could be very unselfish… if only for your sake. Who you say I am is a man I would sorely want to be.”_ _

Thomas drew in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, there was only silence from both men on the phone.

 __“Goodnight, Robert… I… I want to say more.”_ _ Thomas finally said. There were obvious tears in his voice. With a choked sob, Thomas hung up the phone.

Kinsey thought the connection dead. He had no idea Robert was still on the line.

 __“Goodnight my beautiful…”_ _ Kinsey whispered, unaware anyone else was listening. __“I love you too.”_ _

Kinsey hung up.

So did Robert.

His eyes were burning, and he buried his head in his hands.

 

 

Robert retired, an awful ache in his chest.

As Bates undressed him, Robert could not help but sit glumly in his fitting chair and watch the fire. ‘I love you too’, Kinsey had said… a clear indication of where he thought their relationship was going. It was obvious to Robert the inner workings of the man’s mind. He was poor, he wanted to travel, and he saw Thomas as an omega with influence. Maybe he wasn’t willing to act on it, but Robert had an avid suspicion that Kinsey knew how much Thomas cared for him. Surely any decent psychiatrist would move the care of their patient to another if they saw the warning signs of affection forming? Maybe Kinsey saw it, maybe Kinsey wanted to use it to his advantage… all the while Thomas was being drug through the spokes of the wagon till he was broken in the rubble again.

This was going to end in absolute disaster, and if Thomas wasn’t careful the Brigade would be involved again before all was said and done. Robert had to do something, had to save him-! But what on earth could he do that could sway Thomas away from Kinsey?

Robert’s only advantage was physical proximity.  
His only way of using that was scenting… and he knew that it was wrong to sway Thomas’ mind in such a way. But if he didn’t…? What would Kinsey do? That was the real question wasn’t it?

He wasn’t the only one in a maudlin mood. Bates was tense as he folding Robert’s smoking vest. He seemed overtaken by an awful thought, and was gray in the face.

“I’m losing him.” Robert whispered to the fire. “I have to do something soon, or he’ll be lost again and I won’t be able to save him.”

“…M’lord…” Bates was pensive, pausing in his duties to stare imploringly at Robert, “I have to talk to you about something very serious. I would appreciate your confidence.”

Snapping out of his solemn thoughts, Robert sat up straighter in his chair and gave Bates his full attention. The man deserved no less.

“Of course, Bates.” Robert assured him, “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“Anna was scenting William this afternoon and…” Bates pursed his lips, “I’ve come to a rather startling conclusion about William’s behavior. I believe that Thomas has been feeding William.”  
But Robert didn’t understand what all the fuss was. The nanny had to look after two other children, and as an infant William required all hands on deck. Surely more eyes looking out for him was a good thing?

But Bates continued on.

“Feeding him in a way that only a mother should, M’lord.”

For a moment, Robert did not understand. How did one feed an infant but in a way a mother should? But then, Robert suddenly remembered how Thomas’ shirt had been ‘missing’ a button despite Moseley not fixing a shirt. How William had burped and spat up as if he’d recently eaten. There hadn’t been a bottle in the room…

And suddenly Robert realized what Thomas had been doing, in an attempt to fill the ache in his soul left by Ada.

“…Oh no…” Robert whispered. Bates did not seem angry, only sad.

“It has to stop, M’lord.” Bates said, “I don’t know how to approach him on the subject. There’s history between the pair of us that you’re unaware of… he dislikes me on an almost intimate level. Will you help me?”

Robert rose up from his chair and paced the length of his dressing room, unsure of what to say to the man. He doubted that Bates was truly angry, but Robert could understand if the man was. Feeding another’s infant was an intimate subject, like Mrs. Drew who had been so utterly overwhelmed with the loss of little Marigold.

“He’s confused, Bates.” Robert said, “He doesn’t act out of spite or malice-“

“I know, M’lord.” Bates was a good man. “But it can’t continue.”  
He was also right.

“…No.” Robert agreed. It had to stop now before it got any worse. “No it cannot. Let’s go speak with him now. And….” Robert did not want to sound pompous but there was really no other way to say this, “Let me do the talking, Bates.”

Bates put up his hands in acknowledgement. “Gladly, M’lord.”

The pair of them left the dressing room through a hidden door which connected to the heat suite’s hall. It allowed them some privacy, with Robert being clad only in his housecoat and silk pajamas. As they approached the door to Thomas’ chambers, Robert went first and opened the door without knocking.

There, sitting in his velvet armchair by the fire, was Thomas clad only in pajamas. In his arms suckling contentedly was William. Thomas had wrapped the babe in a soft yellow blanket from the nursery, and was humming sweetly under his breath as he gently petted William’s blonde thatch of hair.

It was a lovely but terribly sad sight.  
Thomas glanced up, saw Robert and Bates in the doorway, and panicked.

He leapt from his armchair, turning away hurriedly so that the pair of them could not see his breast where William ate. He used his unbuttoned pajama shirt to hide William in his arms, though it did very little good. He cowered by the fire, refusing to turn around as Bates shut the door to the hall and Robert cautiously approached him.

“I can explain-“ Thomas blurted out. The terror in his voice was obvious; he must think he was about to be punished.

“…You don’t have to.” Robert murmured gently. There was no need to explain what was occurring. Thomas was mourning the loss of his own child, and desperately seeking a connection with any babe he could. It just so happened that William fit the bill perfectly.

“There’s…” Thomas’ voice was thick with emotion. He was close to tears again for the second time that night, “There’s nothin’ wrong with what I’m doin’. Anna leaves him at night! He needs someone t’care for him. Why doesn’t she take him home if she really cares for-“

“It’s too cold out.” Bates explained calmly. Thomas cringed at his words. “When it’s warmer, Anna and I will take him back to the cottage… but the risk of influenza is strong in infants… and William is a winter baby. He has to stay by the fire until summer.”

Thomas said nothing; in his arms, William ate happily, none the wiser of what was occurring around him.

Compelled by compassion, Robert reached out with both hands and carefully caught Thomas by the shoulders. In that moment, he felt truly sorry for the man.

It was wrong, but Robert began to exude his scent…anything to give Thomas some kind of relief. Thomas was feeble beneath his hands, unsure of what to do or where to turn as he held William tight to his breast. He was trembling.

“…Thomas…” Robert whispered in his ear, “This cannot continue.” the smell of white peach and honey overwhelmed him. Beautiful, clean, and fragrant… Robert had never known a scent quite like it. It made him salivate.

“I know you’re lost something irreplaceable. If this helps, it helps. No one is angry at you. You are not in trouble… but Anna is William’s mother and she needs to be the one to feed him.”

Thomas’ bottom lip quivered. He shook his head, but remained silent.

Robert exuded his scent again, pushed for Thomas to listen and be still.

“You have been so generous, and kind.” Robert whispered in his ear, the tips of Thomas’ beautiful black hair tickling his skin, “You have given a child the gift of love… and no greater purpose can be had for an omega… but it’s time to let him go, and give him back to his mother.”

Thomas made pathetic blubbering noises, and Robert’s heart broke as he watched Thomas carefully pull William away from his breast. William gurgled, wailing and thrashing in his desperation to get back to his food. His little fists moved like waves beneath the ocean of yellow blanket.

Thomas turned his face away, holding William out in the opposite direction so that he could not see as Bates reached out and took William away. In his father’s arms, William was hysterical for only a second more until Bates’ scent calmed him. Slowly, William began to settle down until he was once more asleep in his father’s arms. The scent of sandalwood wrapped around his yellow blanket, cocooning him in the tribal essence that kept him steady.

Thomas wrapped his his pajama shirt tight about his chest. He was desperately trying to hide his pain, but it was obvious that he was close to weeping.

Robert to did not leave Thomas, nor take his hands off his shoulders. In that moment, he was determined to comfort Thomas as best he could, even if it meant abandoning his thoughts of a good night’s sleep.

Bates was unsure of what to do. He looked to Robert, he looked to the door; all the while he held his son sweetly in his arms.

“…Don’t tell.” Thomas’ voice was thick with emotion but his face was still dry. “Please don’t tell anyone. I couldn’t bear the humiliation.”

By god, Robert would take it to the grave.

“I’ll never tell a soul.” Bates said. Robert knew he meant it.

“Bates,” Robert said, “Tell Lady Grantham not wait up for me.”

“M’lord.” Bates did not make to stay. Maybe he could sense that Robert was determined to make some headway in his relationship with Thomas. Robert had once read that alpha’s scenting gave off a rather musky pheromone. He could not recall having ever smelt it before, but he could feel the possession rolling off of him in waves. He wanted to control Thomas, to dominate him- but it was wrong and cruel…

He wanted to care for him, protect him-

And as the door shut, Robert moved forward. He wrapped his arms around Thomas from behind, holding Thomas close as he began to scent the young man in earnest. Peach and frankincense rolled around one another, and Thomas slowly grew slack in Robert’s arms till his head was practically leaning against Robert’s shoulder. He was whimpering, shivering, eyes closed to let his beautiful black lashed paint the curve of his cheeks.

Thomas was stumbling, growing slack in Robert’s arms. He was exhausted, and who could blame him? He’d been strung along emotionally all day, and now he was ready to cave.

Robert could only thank god Kinsey wasn’t here.

“Here…” Robert whispered, helping him over to the bed. Thomas all but slumped onto the covers, trembling against the rose duvet as Robert urged him to lay beneath the covers. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise. Sleep.”

He was careful to wrap Thomas up in bed, to scent him deeply and to care for him as tenderly as any mated alpha. This was the most important part of the bond; words were charming and ideals were sweet, but scents…. scents made the man. This was what Thomas had been lacking so sorely with Gray; this was why everyone had been incredibly confused about their separate beds. The lack of scenting should have been a warning sign to everyone that something wasn’t right with Gray. That his intentions for Thomas weren’t straight forward.

Thomas was mumbling, whimpering, trying to talk. Robert just let him ride it out, determined to overcome the waves until Thomas was compliant and ready to listen to reason. If he wanted to help other omegas, there were solid ways that did not involve taunting the Brigade and Robert was willing to work through them all. Thomas could start a charity. He could host galas to raise money for omegas in need. He could do many things without setting up a physical sanctuary. An omega’s sanctuary was their nest and their alpha… and Thomas had been deprived of his for far too long.

Thomas shifted; he was trying to fight the feeling, trying to inch away from Robert’s hands. It didn’t matter which side of the bed Robert stood beside because Thomas would just roll to the other. He was finicky, behaving like a child, and Robert was determined to get the message across.

He knew what the solution was, of course, but it required a wild leap of faith.

Shedding his house coat and laying it carefully over the chair beside Thomas’ bed, Robert pulled down the soft comforter and crawled beneath to seek out Thomas’ body. His intentions were pure, he did not desire to know a physical love with Thomas. Thomas was much too frightened, much too frail. He wouldn’t be able to withstand the force of Robert’s passionate pursuits. All that Robert wanted in this moment alone with Thomas. To love him and hold him. To show Thomas that his rightful alpha was not some anonymous charlatan doctor but the earl he’d served for years.

Thomas’ body was warm, sweet, and supple. His flesh was smooth against Robert’s own, a firm show of his youth, and Robert reveled in the scent of rose powder and peach. Robert reached out and turned off the bedside light so that a sudden gloom was cast over the room. It was heaven, simply heaven, to lay side by side with Thomas. This was what they’d been lacking…. uninterrupted intimacy with no barriers between.

This was what they needed to form a solid bond. Robert looked forward to the morning when they’d wake up tomorrow. Thomas would come down to breakfast, dine with the family, and then they would take a long walk around the grounds with Cora. Robert would surprise Thomas by showing him where they could put an aviary. Thomas would delighted, and would shrug off this nonsense with Kinsey.

Robert buried his face in the crook of Thomas’ neck, and let his scent fully unfold. The heady aroma of peach was nothing compared to the tang of hunger which suddenly filled Robert’s mouth. It was like biting into a hot fruit cobbler, the juices of boiled fruit exploding in his mouth. Thomas was needy, clinging to him, and Robert allowed him to as their legs intertwined and Thomas’ arm came around his chest. He’d finally given in, and Robert couldn’t be more thrilled…. but an awful paranoia was biting at his heart.

Robert knew that good intentions aside, he’d jumped the gun in their relationship. He’d done something horrible in scenting Thomas without Thomas’ consent… but Robert had had to take action. Kinsey was going to ruin Thomas’ life if Robert didn’t do something to stop him. If this protected Thomas from living in the streets, then so be it. Thomas would forgive him, he was certain.

“…Sorry…” Thomas whispered.

Robert turned his head upon the pillow, listening intently as he laid his chin atop Thomas’ crown.

“For what?” Robert whispered.

“…Every…thing…” Thomas was close to sleep. Robert stroked the flesh of his right arm, kissing Thomas’ forehead. Oh, how he’d longed to hear those words. To know his quest was not in vain…. but it was difficult to know how much Thomas meant and how much he was saying simply because Robert had scented him.

Robert pulled Thomas close, closing his eyes and relaxing in the dark.

“You’ll see, darling.” Robert whispered to Thomas’ hairline. “I may not be as charismatic as that doctor, but I love you far more… and we will be happy. We’ll go at your pace, and when you’re ready we’ll bond. And I promise-“ Robert laid his mouth above Thomas’ ear, speaking so softly that the night practically swallowed up his words.

“I promise I will give you a child… and they will flourish in our nest.”

Thomas made a tiny noise under his breath, but he was falling swiftly asleep. Robert let him, certain that his sweet words would chase Thomas into beautiful golden dreams where Downton was once again full of mirth and light. Their union would bring about a new age, joining upstairs and downstairs. Their family would be whole. They would walk forward into the future with pride, and Downton would survive where other estates fell.

Yes… Robert felt cemented in his world as he fell asleep.  
He knew he’d done the right thing.

 

 

 

 

But beside Robert, Thomas did not fall into golden dreams full of light and mirth. Instead he fell into a dark and twisted nightmare, where the scent of frankincense tried to swallow him whole.

__He saw before him a golden beautiful path, with a man walking upon it whom he loved. His alpha, his doctor- the only thing sure and strong in this world. Kinsey was reaching out his hand to Thomas, fighting off the darkness as best he could, but he could only do so much._ _

__“Thomas!” Kinsey was shouting, “Run to me! Don’t stop fighting! You can reach me darling!”_ _

__But he couldn’t get free. The scent was like a net sucking him under_. _

__He looked up at the night sky, so full of burning beautiful stars, and saw an incredible sight: a young woman with black wavy hair that fell past her shoulders with eyes which burned like hot coals. She swooped down upon Thomas, her dress as white as milk; she held a glistening sword in her hands, and swung it with expert ease so that the nets holding Thomas down here cut in one swift move._ _

__Thomas looked up at his savior, in awe of her bravery and majesty. She was as much a part of the universe as the air he breathed and the ground he trod upon. She was unending, unconquerable, and blazing through the night with her beauty and her spirit._ _

__She was his daughter. She was Ada._ _

__“Go mother!” She cried out, swinging her sword high up into the air so that its sharp tip pointed straight at the stars. She cut the heavens in two, defeating brave night so that it pealed back to reveal a golden dawn. “Go now!”_ _

__Kinsey used the dawn to his advantage, fighting back the darkness at long last to reach out and grab Thomas hard by the hand. He pulled him up, into the gold, and wrapped him into his arms with the smell of white tea and honey. They were safe. They were whole. They were together._ _

And just like that Thomas awoke in his bed, sucking in a breath free of scent as he stared wide eyed at the ceiling.

It was a just before dawn, with a soft blue light filling the room.

He was warm, but he was not comfortable. He was laying on the far side of his bed, and there next to him was Robert Crawley fast asleep snoring softly up to the rose canopy.

In that moment, Thomas felt such hate for the man it was a miracle he did not catch on fire.

The night before hit him in waves. He was disgusted, revolted to know that Robert would go so far as to scent Thomas without his consent. Robert had done something unforgivable, had taken advantage of him in a fragile moment, and had used it to not only push his advances but to lay in bed with Thomas like he even belonged there.

Thomas knew what would happen next. Robert would use his scent just like Gray had done. He would force Thomas to comply with all his requests. He would push Thomas to go at a pace he didn’t want. He would make them bond. He would mate with Thomas, and wouldn’t care if Thomas said no.

His heart was screaming for him to run to Kinsey. To flee this house and every trap it laid for him. To go now before Robert woke… and to never look back.

Thomas thought of Lawrence Gray and every warning sign that should have told him he was in for hell. How Lawrence had just kept pushing, just kept scenting, until Thomas was having a miscarriage at the bottom of a marble staircase and holding a stillborn fetus in a kidney dish with half the bones in his body shattered.

Ada had come to him in his dreams. She had told him to run. She had freed him of his nets. She had cut the starry sky in two and had brought forth the dawn.

She had woken him before Robert Crawley. She had given him this one chance to run.  
This time, Thomas would not deny the warnings of the universe in pursuit of some wild future.

This time, he would follow his gut instincts, his omegan instincts that he’d suppressed for so many years… and he would join his true alpha in London.

Thomas rose silently from bed. He used every skill set he possessed to make absolutely no noise, pulling out his valise and filling it with his new wardrobe. He took Ada’s urn and picture, the holograph will from the Gray estate… but nothing more. He did not need any more memories of this house.

Dressing in a traveling suit, Thomas sat silently at his vanity and contemplated writing a letter to Baxter. Everyone would read it if he did, and so Thomas decided that there was no chance for privacy. That if he was going to leave a message, it would be for all.

He pulled out a solitary letterhead, and wrote two words upon it. He then folded the letter into thirds, lay it upon his pillow, and left without another word. He closed the door silently after his retreating back, and slipped out of the abbey before Carson had even unlocked the front door.

He walked to the station, the dawn slowly greeting him as birds flew from their nests and rabbits strayed from their dens. Soon, the calls of farmers filled the air as they worked their fields and horse drawn carts passed Thomas on the road; one graciously allowed him passage, and took him into town at a faster pace so that he could catch the six o’clock train to London. He did so with Gray’s money in his pocket, able to buy a first class ticket to freedom as he took breakfast with fellow travelers and watched hawks swoop across Yorkshire’s glassy plains.

Thomas imagined he was seeing the spirit of his daughter, chasing him to London.  
She seemed joyous in her dance, celebrating her mother’s newfound freedom.

 

 

At the abbey, Robert would awaken to a world unexpected. A cold bed, with no omega to warm him. Instead there would be a letter, which he would snatch up and unfold only to read two sickening words:

__“Never Again.”__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to ask.


	19. Knots and Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas runs to London, and finds his alpha waiting with open arms.   
> Other alphas, however, are less than friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working hard getting my grad school submission together... most of the work is done for it. Now I just have to get all my damn reference letters in. Christ it feels like I'm pulling teeth sometimes! 
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

It was poor taste, but Rob spent the entire day after Thomas’ phone call thinking incessantly about him. 

This was a shame, because he had work to do, and really couldn’t he get a grip on himself? He was living in a delusion, imagining that Thomas could ever be his when clearly Lord Grantham was determined to take him for his own. What did Rob have over an Earl, besides his passion for mental health? How exactly did that compare when one met the parents of your soon-to-be-mate? 

_“Mummy, Daddy, this is Robert Kinsey. He likes to talk people off of bridges.”_

There was also the fact that Rob was essentially broke. Medical school had driven him to the brink of bankruptcy, and the only thing that had saved him was the kindness of his younger brother George and the small bit of money he’d got from selling his returned love token. April Olgate had all but flung it at his face; a gold locket was worth a few pounds and so that had helped Rob to eat for a few more weeks before he’d broken down and begged his brother to lend him a bit of money. George had been more than generous, offering to help Rob with his room and board while he got back on his feet. 

Of course, their mother had all but flown into a tantrum when she’d learned her oldest was living in squalor. She’d gone so far as to give him a loan of fifty pounds with no demanded interest, which was the only reason Rob had been able to live without begging on the streets. He told himself one day it would be better. One day, he would be able to eat as he liked, and live in a warm house. 

It was just a shame that ‘one day’ became a yearly promise with no end in sight… five years had passed under the guise of ‘one day’. It was starting to turn into a pipe dream instead of a feasible ending. 

It was late Monday night, and classes had finally let out. Rob hosted one of the final classes for the evening, an advanced course on omegan culture that hosted very few participants. It was more of a side elective than a core class, which was a shame in Rob’s opinion considering that most clients in need of evaluation were omegas. He noted with keen interest that the students who took his omegan classes were most likely to be more academically driven and open minded. It was for this reason alone that Kinsey consented to hold a class at eight in the evening. He certainly wouldn’t stretch himself for slackers and loud mouth braggers. 

As Kinsey walked up the hall towards his office, he slung his briefcase of his shoulder and took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. God, but what would he give for new specs? These were starting to rub at the bridge of his nose, and resulted in him looking like he was coming down with a rash between his eyes. He yawned enormously, desperate for a cup of coffee, and entered into the psychology wing to find that the only other member of staff left was his graduate assistant, Alan Ecker. He was by far Rob’s prized pupil, a youth with an enigmatic flare and a determination for success. He’d pushed his way to the top of Rob’s classes through sheer grit alone, and had won Rob’s scholarship contest to make himself the assistant to all psych professors. He was a bit like a puppy, eager to please, which Rob was grateful for considering Alan wouldn’t blink twice if you asked him to fetch a cup of coffee at eight in the evening. 

Such as now. 

“Dr. Kinsey-“ Alan rose from his desk chair. 

“Hello, Alan-“ 

“I was worried about you professor. You looked awful this morning.” Yes well that would have something to do with not sleeping the night before but what was the point in sleep when you could be edgy and hip with the youth? 

“Not to worry,” Rob lied, “Just a touch of cold. You know how these months can be.” And oh, what a difference some coal would make! But Rob was determined to save every scrap of money he could. It would warm up soon, and then he’d be throwing every window open in his cramped flat to try and get some cool air. 

“My mother always said honey was the best for a cold.” 

“I might have some.” Rob said, for in truth he’d always been prone to take a healthy dollop in his tea. He fished through his briefcase, narrowly juggling the broken clasp lest all his papers spill out, and handed over an alphabetized stack of papers to Alan. “Here are the lecture notes from today, and the essays on Das Trauma der Geburt. Do me a favor and scan through them for simple errors? I’ll get started on the meaty debates after dinner. I’ll work late tonight but I’m famished-“ 

“Very good sir but…” Alan broke off, looking slightly unsure, “I think you might want to look in your office first.” 

Rob blinked, then turned sour. “Did Dr. Reyes set a rat loose in my office again?” 

“No, professor-“ Alan snorted; oh yes, it was funny to everyone but him! “Only… you have a guest.” 

A guest at eight at night? What kind of a patient had the world flung at him now? Or god forbid it was his mother… he’d never get any work done. 

Stepping around Alan’s cramped cubicle, Rob headed down the hall to the very far end where his office sat pinched between the final wall of the psyche building and Dr. Trimble’s office (he always went home early on Mondays to have supper with his in-laws). 

He opened his office door to find a familiar face sitting in his guest chair with a weather beaten valise at his feet. 

Thomas was just as beautiful as always, though his face was worn with worry and his eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. He rose from Rob’s guest chair, pensive, and twisted his slim fingers at the hem of his suit. Rob was delighted to find that Thomas was finally back in trousers like he’d often talked about, and had even cut his hair. His appearance might have been altered, but the core beauty of Thomas Barrow never faded. He was like a mirage Rob could touch with his bare hands… like a candle flame you could caress. 

“I know it’s…” Thomas drifted off. His voice was raspy, “I know I’m…” 

He looked down at the floor, for some reason ashamed to meet Rob’s eyes.   
Rob set down his briefcase. What on earth could have happened to Thomas to force him to run for help so late in the night? 

“… He crawled into bed with me.” Thomas admitted. His voice was burning with shame; bile pricked at Rob’s throat. “He forced his scent on me. And I… I just couldn’t…” Thomas looked up at Rob; there was the tiniest glimmer of hope in his cerulean pools. “… I thought maybe…” 

But he needn’t say more. They’d been dancing this dangerous tango for a while now, the back and forth that should not exist between a patient and a doctor. If only Rob had never been called to Thomas’ aid, they could love one another without this awful guillotine hanging over their head… but fate had wound them in a noose from which they would surely one day hang. 

Rob had to respect God’s sense of humor, if God were not a fictional construct of a desperate mind grappling with a daunting universe that lacked reason. 

Rob opened his arms to Thomas, and Thomas slipped into them at once. 

 

~*~

Trust Kinsey to always have a plan, and this one involved food. 

Thomas was famished after living a day on the lamb. He’d gotten a room at a pub, but couldn’t afford more than one night. He could however afford fish and chips, which he bought for both himself and Kinsey as they left the London School of Medicine and made their way down a darkened alley which extended westward into the true heart of London. There was very little by the way of houses in these parts; instead shops packed every corner and flats flourished above. 

There was one shop in particular that Kinsey favored: The Red Fly. It was a local haunt, packed with ravenous university students who raised their beer glasses to toast Kinsey as he passed; he found them a booth near the back of the bar and the pair of them quickly divested their pride and manners to tuck into a hearty bowl of battered cod and potatoes. They used far too much onion vinegar and even got side dishes of gherkins, onions, and eggs. Their meals were served to them on newsprint instead of plates. It was heavenly, and they ordered several ales by the end of it. 

“God…” Kinsey was in a foul mood at Thomas’ whole sorry tale. He glowered at the chunk of soggy newspaper that once held a steaming pile of chips; his glasses were fogging from steam and he took them off to wipe them on his shirt tails. “That must have terrified you. I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” 

“Every time I turn around there’s some alpha trying to mate with me.” Thomas lamented. 

“It must feel horribly oppressive.” 

“Like I have no value but my womb.” Thomas agreed. “I trusted him! I thought I was safe with him.” 

Kinsey wiped off his greasy fingers with a corner of untouched newspaper. He contemplated the facts before speaking again: “I’m unsure if Lord Grantham is as dark as the Brigade and all that. It seems to me he’s just misguided. You know him better; does he truly strike you as cruel?” 

Cruel, no… Idiotic? Yes. 

“He’s an idiot.” Thomas said scathingly, “Thinking I’d go along with such a stupid plan. What could have possessed him to make him think it was alright to just crawl into bed with me?” 

“Desperation is a difficult beast.” Kinsey advised; Thomas had no room to talk. He’d kissed Jimmy in his sleep, hadn’t he? 

“Now I have nowhere to go.” Thomas admitted, slightly glum. He supposed it wouldn’t be too hard, to find Murray and get money moved over in his name from Gray’s estate… but it would be nice to have somewhere to sleep until he could make an appointment. “I left at the crack of dawn and didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Silly of me really, isn’t it-?” He broke off, noticing the forlorn expression of Kinsey’s face. “I’m sorry I’m being a burden.” It was late and the man was clearly exhausted. “You’ll want to get home-“ 

“You’re never a burden.” Kinsey corrected him gently. It made a warm feeling flutter in Thomas’ chest. “I’m only lamenting that my flat isn’t very homey. You’re more than welcome to my home while you get back on your feet. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch-“ 

But that was just obscene, “No, I couldn’t do that.” Thomas said, “That’s wrong. It’s your bed, and you’ve had a long day-“ 

“Well the couch is quite comfortable too.” Kinsey corrected him. “I sleep there all the time, though not on purpose. I have horrible personal habits. I’m worried what you’ll think of me when you find out.” 

Thomas smiled, in spite of himself. He sucked on his fingers, trying to get off the last of the salt and grease. There was something about comfort food in the middle of the night that just soothed the soul. 

“Besides-“ Kinsey paused to belch under his breath, “It’ll give you some privacy to be in my room. A door you can close, a lock you can use… Tomorrow morning, we can talk about your options, and see what to do next but tonight it’s far too late to book a hotel room and I wouldn’t dream of asking you to return to Yorkshire. So why not?” 

But Thomas was baffled by the amazing energy that was Robert Kinsey, “Do you always do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Roll with the punches and come out swinging like a champion.” Thomas ought to take lessons. How many times had life knocked him flat? 

Kinsey just smiled and shrugged, like it was nothing spectacular to rise above your limitations, “I’m a king among men, Thomas.” 

“I believe it.” 

 

The pair of them walked together through the many winding roads of London’s back streets. A slightly yellow fog drifted about their feet; there were no calls for wildlife this far into the city. Instead there was the sounds of night men at work; the calls of fishermen to bring more ice or pallets. The flapping of a mother carrying in her laundry… the stray cat yowling in an alley. 

They arrived after walking ten blocks to a quieter area of town populated mostly by bakeries that were closed down for the night. One bakery in particular (a Nordicum) held a back alley which they took; it was littered with weeds and leaves that had blown in from the park across the street. There was a heavily bolted iron door, occupied only by a mail slot; Kinsey unlocked it to let them into a cramped hallway that smelt vaguely of vinegar and scrubbing soaps. There was only two directions: straight forward into the back of the shop through a locked washing door, or up a set of dingy metal stairs into the flats above. Kinsey relocked the door, collected his mail from its cubical slot on the wall, then headed upstairs so that Thomas could follow behind. 

They scaled two more floors, with Kinsey living at the top of the flat. There were four apartments, two on each side of the railing; Kinsey occupied the far left one which would surely have a good view of the main road. They entered, after Kinsey unlocked three separate bolts. 

“I warn you, it’s small.” Kinsey said as he opened the door. 

“I think you’re forgetting that I’m a servant.” Thomas said, “I assure you it won’t be small compared to what I’m used to.” 

“Well the stove range will make you cry.” 

As Dr. Kinsey opened the door, the first word that came to Thomas’ mind was ‘cluttered’. 

There were books and papers everywhere, but that was hardly the worst of it. A tiny upright piano in the eastern corner of the room hosted a cacophony of teacups and saucers that had been stacked there as if for storage. There was a mantle clock and a set of wooden vases, but there were also newspapers that were out of date, pillows that hadn’t been fluffed in years, and a small dining table in the dead center of the room was so covered with papers and texts that Thomas couldn’t see the wood beneath. Plates were stacked atop papers, old food stacked atop plates, and to top it all off there was a candle lopsided on one plate that looked like it had melted on the saucer simply because Kinsey hadn’t had the energy to move it to a stick. 

If Carson could have seen this, he would have wet himself in fright. 

“It’s uh…” Kinsey did not try to butter Thomas up, looking downright ashamed as he stepped aside and let Thomas in, “It’s… well…” 

Freezing. Absolutely freezing. 

Thomas shivered, his teeth chattering; Kinsey shut the door to the hallway at once, momentarily plunging them into darkness before turning on an aged oil lamp. It flooded the room with golden light but did nothing for the heat. 

“Sorry-“ Kinsey was still stumbling about, trying to clean up messes as he went, but the problem was he couldn’t add to one pile without making another one worse. He was, essentially, shifting dirt about like a mayfly, unsure of what else to do. 

“Do you ever pick up?” Thomas asked, setting down his valise and shrugging off his coat. He made to hang it up at the coat stand only to stare at a sudden array of wardrobe pieces. Why were Kinsey’s vests and shirtsleeves hanging off the coat rack? These belonged on hangers! 

“Why are your clothes in here?” Thomas demanded, taking off the pieces to fold them over his arm, “And why did you not put away your plates?” 

“Alpha sensibilities?” Kinsey gave a nervous little laugh. It was clear he was about to start sweating. Thomas glared at him, and Kinsey stopped laughing at once. 

“I’m hardly ever here.” He begged, “I just sort of blow about when I am.” 

Thomas nodded, heading down the hall for where he was certain Kinsey’s bedroom would be. Kinsey panicked and raced off after him, nearly hitting a wall in his determination to stop Thomas. 

“I’ll just-!” But before Kinsey could finish his sentence, Thomas opened the far door and found himself staring at what could have feasibly been called a printing press. 

There were newspapers all over the bed. It was insane how much Kinsey had collected. Thomas couldn’t even see the pillows or the duvet; did he sleep ontop of the newspapers? What good would that do? There were more books atop the writing desk, and uneven photographs hanging on the wall of family members and pivotal moments, but for the most part it was just sheer mess. 

Thomas waded through the garbage, getting over to the wardrobe to open it and find (what would you know) bare hangers. He hung up each piece, only to see that there were slight stains and wrinkles; he took the pieces back off again, and lay them on the bed atop the newspapers, sighing dramatically. 

Good god, he didn’t realize the man was such a project. Kinsey winced, hiding against the doorframe like a child frightened of being scolded. 

Thomas pursed his lips, his hands on his hips. 

“Go make a cup ‘a tea.” Thomas demanded, unbuttoning his cufflinks to roll up his shirt sleeves, “Lemon and honey, you know how I like it.” 

“Are you mad at me?” Kinsey asked. What a ridiculous suggestion. 

“Show me your washroom.” Thomas said, “And then we’ll see.” 

 

~*~

So by all rights, Kinsey was banned to the kitchen. 

The washroom doubled for both clothes and cleaning, which was common in low income housing. The problem was that Kinsey didn’t properly put away his things, so he bathed with his wash rack still atop the tub and lye soap dripping down the side. To say that Thomas wanted to kill the man was a far cry from the truth, but instead of manslaughter he channeled his irritation into his finest skill: cleaning. 

The first thing he did was gather up all the old newspapers and use them to light a fire in the main grate. He was determined to get some heat in this flat, even if it killed him, and was constantly adding soiled newspaper to the fire as Kinsey made them two cups of tea in cups that could barely pass for clean. Thomas then made to take all of Kinsey’s stained clothes and put them in the tub, running cold water and wetting the wash rack to get rid of the worst of the damage. Some of the pieces would need to be tended with care, and Thomas made a mental note to get washing powders while he was out visiting Murray tomorrow. As the clothes soaked, Thomas then began to tidy up the bedroom and main room. It wasn’t too hard with most of the newspapers gone; all it really needed was a good sweep. 

And of course, Kinsey didn’t own a proper broom, so Thomas had to go and ask a neighbor who wasn’t too keen at being approached close to ten at night. Thomas didn’t care, though, and he ended up borrowing a broom that was probably older than the Dowager Countess. 

It got the job done though. He surely swept up an inch of dust from Kinsey’s bedroom alone. This would have been accomplished ten minutes prior if Kinsey hadn’t stumbled over the dustpan and sent the whole thing flying. 

“Sit down on the couch!” Thomas demanded, which turned out to be a pale yellow now that he’d taken away all the newspapers. The flat was slowly beginning to de-thaw, and it was turning comfortable enough to where one could take off their shoes and not feel numbing cold through their socks. Kinsey sat with his teacup, cowed. 

“You joke, but I’m horribly clumsy when under pressure.” Kinsey admitted. Thomas emptied the dust pan yet again in the bin, which had slowly grown to almost overflow with filth. He began to collect cups from about the room, taking them all into the kitchen which was cramped and comprised solely of a two range stove (one range held company to an aged iron), a butler’s sink (bare of any dirty dishes, wouldn’t you know), and a wooden larder. There was also a tiny table, squashed beneath the cupboards, which held an iron scale for weighing food and more newspapers. Thomas grumbled, picking them all up and heaving them over to the main grate where he fed their comfortable little fire. Who needed coal when you had a year’s worth of print? 

“My young brother got all the charm,” Kinsey lamented into his chipped teacup, “I got all the brains.” 

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Thomas smirked, filling up the butlers sink. He wet a rag and began to wash all the teacups and plates he could get his hands on. 

“Tell him what you like,” Kinsey scowled, “He understands very little.” 

“Oh, such a sharp tongue.” Thomas scoffed, but he found it very amusing to hear Kinsey gripe. “Don’t tell me you’re at odds?” 

“Well…” Kinsey sighed; Thomas glanced around the door frame back into the main room and found Kinsey staring forlornly at an aged photograph on a side table. It must have held his brother. “No, not really. I love him to tell you the truth. He’s a good man, and I deeply respect him. He saved me from destitution, and never asked for a cent of it back.. but the little terror gets all the luck. And it doesn’t help that he’s horribly handsome!” 

Never one to turn down the option of looking at a handsome man, Thomas wiped his hands on a frayed rag and headed back to Kinsey’s side to pick up the photograph. He found it, sure enough, to hold both Kinsey and a younger man who was strikingly handsome with hair coifed in a similar pattern to Jimmy Kent’s. He had strapping shoulders and a chiseled chin, and was holding a diploma in his hands. Clearly he’d just graduated school. 

“Hm…” Thomas smiled sweetly, setting the photograph back down. 

“Charmer, isn’t he?” Kinsey agreed. Thomas nodded, heading back to the kitchen to finish up what remained of the washing. By god, he’d practically taken care of the whole pantry at this point, “He has a wife who adores him. A daughter that will break hearts. He’s a lucky man; he went into business because he’s smart and economical.” Kinsey spoke in a false falsetto voice, sneering with the vowels. Clearly this was an argument they’d been having for a long time. Kinsey grumbled, sinking lower into the thin cushions of the couch, “The little pig.” 

“Bitter, bitter, bitter.” Thomas tutted, shutting off the taps and wiping the last dish clean. Now they were all set out to dry, and come morning the whole kitchen would be ready for breakfast. 

“But the tea is alright-“ Kinsey mused, toasting himself with his chipped cup, “And I live in a flat again! Hurray!” 

“If you mess up my hard work, I’ll scold you something fierce.” Thomas warned. Kinsey was clearly grave at the thought of Thomas being on his bad side, and raised his hands in self-defense. 

“I’m so sorry.” Kinsey murmured, “It’s… difficult living alone.” 

Thomas nodded. He’d never really been given the option, being the oldest of several siblings and a member of a bustling staff. 

“It’s alright.” Thomas shrugged. In a way it had been soothing to clean up the house. It had helped him to forget his troubles even if only for a moment. “I grew up in a flat like this… Butler sink, wooden larder, and an iron occupying a tiny stove. It makes me feel…” Safe. 

“.. Safe.” Thomas admitted. Kinsey smiled. 

“Well you are.” Kinsey assured him softly. Thomas was chuffed, “No one will hurt you here, and you can stay as long as you like.” 

“I couldn’t impose-“ 

“Impose?!” Kinsey laughed outright, “Jesus wept, Thomas. In one night you have successfully put this flat back in order and a fire in the grate! I’ve been living in squalor and thought it my only option. You’ve shown me the error of my ways.” 

“You have horrible living habits.” Thomas admitted. The man really needed to learn how to pick up his messes. 

“Why don’t you get comfortable?” Kinsey offered with a smile. Thomas was quick to obliged, exhausted and slightly dirty from cleaning up. He shed his vest, but in doing so managed to strain a button in his shirtsleeve. It popped off, clattering to the floor and rolling away under the corner of the work desk. What was worse, it suddenly gave Thomas an obscene amount of cleavage at his neck, which sent Kinsey into a tizzy. 

Kinsey blinked, blushed, and fumbled to his knees to search for the button. 

“Sorry, sorry-“ Kinsey babbled, fishing beneath his writing desk. Thomas hurriedly clutched his shirt together at the neck, embarrassed at the wardrobe malfunction. Kinsey found the button, and jerked back up to offer it to Thomas. 

And in doing so cracked his head hard on the underside of his writing desk. 

“Robert!” Thomas cried out, horrified at the crunching sound Kinsey’s skull made. 

Robert collapsed, his bum sticking out obscenely in the air. Thomas dropped to his knees and carefully pulled the man out by his shoulders, cradling Robert’s head in his lap lest he hurt himself again. 

“Stop trying to impress me-!” Thomas protested. “You already have.” 

“Oh…” Kinsey was dazed, blinking befuddled up at Thomas, “That’s… nice.”   
He closed his eyes. Thomas did not make to wake him. 

~*~

There was a slow coming to, like a dark cloth being pulled back over his eyes. Rob couldn’t make sense of it at first, save that a fragrant aroma was on the air… a bit like peaches but more than that. It was the fragrance of a feast: the scent of a divine supper yet to be tasted. 

He was warm and content. There was something cool and wet upon his forehead; a flannel. 

Rob slowly opened his aching eyes to see that he was laying upon the couch. His papers had been moved aside into neat little piles on the floor. There, on his knees at Rob’s side, was Thomas. He was bathing Rob’s head in a cool cloth, which didn’t make much sense until Rob suddenly remembered smacking his head on the corner of his writing desk. What an idiot he’d been! 

But Thomas was smiling sweetly. 

So often, when he was alone in the cold, looking about his dirty and cramped apartment, Rob had yearned for companionship. For an omega to help him tidy up his house and learn to live right. It was wrong, to put that kind of responsibility upon another human being, but he was an absolute klutz and needed all the help he could get. And here was Thomas, beautiful and perfect, with serene eyes and a scent few could describe. He made Rob want to forget about his work. To throw up his hands and rejoice while damning psychology for mindless chatter. 

To effect, Thomas Barrow was the most dangerous man alive. He just didn’t know it yet. 

“Hello…” Rob whispered. Even the sound of his own voice made his head hurt. 

Thomas pressed a finger to his lips. His flesh was salty and sweet, and Rob flicked his tongue to taste the inner channel of his lip. “I have a beechams for you.” Thomas whispered. 

Slowly, Rob sat up a bit; Thomas propped a pillow behind his head to support his neck. He chugged the foul powder, chasing it with a cup of cold tea, and relaxed back onto his pillow to sigh dramatically. Oh what an idiot he was… what a besotted idiot! 

“Robert…” Thomas spoke up after a long moment of quiet contemplation, “Why are you so clumsy around me?” 

The truth was a simple stupid thing, “Because I want to impress you.” 

Thomas scoffed softly, amazed at Rob’s stupidity. “You silly little man… I already am impressed by you. I regard you as the greatest of men… so don’t be embarrassed around me, or feel like you have to impress me. You’re already perfect.” 

Rob smiled, blinking stupidly up at Thomas. With his black hair swept back in a side part, and his creamy white skin, he was almost like a painting you’d find in a gallery… save that he was more alive than any painting ever could be. 

Like a marble statue come to life… with a pulse made of red silk that showed at his lips. 

“You’re tired.” Rob closed his eyes. He wondered what time it was. “My bed-“ 

“S’not right…” Thomas mumbled. 

“I insist.” Rob’s voice was gravely with sleep. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Only… will you lock the door and turn out the light?” He was almost certain his next door neighbor was a thief. At least, he seemed to own quite a lot of jewelry for a single man in his twenties. 

“If you need me, I’m right down the hall.” Thomas said. Rob felt something warm lay across his legs, and opened his eyes again to see that Thomas had fetched a quilt from end of his bed to drape over his body. He was so fastidious, so fluid in his movements. He didn’t so much walk as much as he did glide… barely making a sound on the antique wood beneath his feet. Thomas tidied up the living room, careful to keep his papers in order, and locked the door before blowing out the two oil lamps on his side tables. There was a faint smell of smoky wick, and then everything was quiet in the gloom. 

Unbeknownst to Thomas, Rob watched him walk all the way down the hall to his bedroom. The sway of his hips haunted Rob all the way to sleep. 

~*~

Thomas slept better that night than he had in years. 

The scent of Robert Kinsey was everywhere; his bed was the perfect nest. Thomas buried his face deep into Kinsey’s pillows and took deep breathes of white tea and honey. The sweat, the musk, all of it made the man and he fell asleep swiftly to become lost on a sea of gentle dreams. 

When he came to, there was nothing pressing save for the sound of someone arguing on the phone. He could hear cars honking, children shrieking in the alley… the sound of a baker’s assistant beating out bread pans for birds to feast upon burnt crumbs. 

Thomas slowly sat up and looked about the room. In the morning light, it certainly seemed cleaner, though that might have something to do with the fact that Thomas had essentially flipped the flat last night and shoved an entire year’s worth of newspaper into the grate. 

He yawned, rising from bed, and scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The floor was frigidly cold; the main grate had surely gone out during the night. Sighing, Thomas fumbled for socks from his valise, and pulled out pieces of a pantsuit that he would need to iron before wearing. Clad in nothing but his pants and an undershirt, Thomas tiptoed to the bathroom and found the clothes finished soaking in the tub. He let them drain, and began to wash his face in water so cold it practically made his lips blister. 

He ran a comb hastily through his hair, putting it into a side part, and scrubbed his teeth as best he could. He hadn’t been able to take most of his toiletries, but he reasoned he could easily buy more once Murray moved his money over. Where before he’d felt reluctant to take Gray’s money, he was now resolved to use the inheritance to settle himself and then donate the rest into a foundation where he could support and uplift abused omegas. There was fierce poetic justice in having Gray’s money go against the cause of domestic violence. 

Thomas wished he had something to wear while he ironed his clothes; but frankly nothing suited. He supposed he’d just have to grin and bear it, and try not to put Kinsey into a panic. He walked from the wash room back into the main room to find that there were clothes strewn all about the table and a pair of shoes roasting near the grate. Kinsey had, for whatever reason, decided to burn a book as fuel. Thomas shook his head at the sight, and once again made a mental note to get coal before returning home. 

And a broom. And a dustpan.   
… And a feather duster. 

Kinsey was in the kitchen, clad in only his pants and sock garters. He was arguing heatedly on his telephone, with the receiver pinched between his shoulder and era so that he could shout into the cradle from where it rested atop the far edge of the kitchen table. The wire was being strung so tight it was liable to break; Kinsey was heating the iron over a hot eye, but kept taking the iron off the eye to check and see if it was hot. 

As a result, it wasn’t staying on the eye long enough to warm up. 

“Look, I’m nearly done with the damn thing!” Kinsey was barking into the telephone. Whoever he was talking to was driving him up the wall. “Yes- I… Yes… No!” Kinsey almost cursed into the receiver, irritable as he slammed the iron back down on the stove. 

“I’m not stopping until it’s completely done, d’you hear me? I don’t give a fig about whose playing cricket! I can’t play cri…” But Kinsey broke off at the sight of Thomas standing next to him in nothing but an undershirt and his pants. 

“Good morning.” Thomas whispered. 

Kinsey dropped his hand, his fingers brushing the hot eye. He yipped in pain, jerking his hand back before he could burn himself further. Thomas hissed in sympathy and at once ran the tap in the butler’s sink to wet a cloth so that he could care for the burn swelling up his index finger. 

“Damnit, damnit-!” Kinsey groaned. “I- no I’m not talking to you, you numpty brain, I burned my hand!” Kinsey was shaking from where Thomas touched his hand. He seemed almost frightened. 

At once, Thomas left him to it and Kinsey stumbled away to collapse at a chair by the kitchen table. Thomas tended to the eye, letting the vents open a bit more so that the fire could air and grow hotter. Kinsey seemed shaken to the core, and refused to look at Thomas despite the fact he was technically more underdressed without an undershirt on. 

Thomas could not help but sneak a glance. Kinsey was hardly muscled or bulging like Alden, nor tall like Lawrence had been… instead he was lightly toned from the simple exercise of running about a campus and creamy skinned with slight freckles dotting his shoulders and pectorals. His nipples were small and a soft dusky brown. Sparse curly brown hairs trimmed between his breasts, extending down on a wild course towards his navel where they disappeared out of sight. Thomas dared not think about what lay beneath those pants… only to imagine whatever it was would be heaven on earth. 

He blushed, and looked away. 

“Look-“ Kinsey snapped to whomever he was speaking to. “I really don’t care how much you hate the opposing team. I’m not stopping until my paper is completely done; your university grudge won’t help me get to Vienna.” 

Thomas suddenly heard a squabbling break out over the receiver. He glanced at Kinsey with a raise eyebrow. Kinsey rolled his eyes, throwing up a hand while mouthing ‘don’t ask’. 

“Now- don’t you get into a temper with me!” Kinsey snapped, “I warned you when I started out- George- let me speak, will you? You’re no help at all when you’re like this!” 

Thomas tried not to laugh but it was hard. He took a drop of water from the leaking faucet and flung it at the iron to watch it sizzle. Content, he lay Kinsey’s suit out upon the main table and brought the iron over to start working on the trousers. He could do this in a pinch; if only the man had an ironing board… one more thing to buy at the shops, he supposed. 

Kinsey gaped at the sight of him. 

“You know what, I have to go.” Kinsey snapped, “No- no, George and that’s final.” But clearly George didn’t want it to be final. He was howling over the phone. “George!” Kinsey barked. 

Thomas had never heard Kinsey lose his temper before. It was shocking to witness, stirring something feverish and primal in his soul. 

“You know my students should really dissect your brain.” Kinsey snapped, before turning purple in the face and barking into the phone, “Because at least then it would have some use!” 

He slammed the phone back down on the receiver. Thomas didn’t blink, and just kept ironing. 

“No, no, for god’s sake-“ Kinsey came around the table, reaching out to stop Thomas from ironing his trousers until Thomas threw up a hand and forced him to a halt. 

“I think you’ve burned yourself enough for one day.” He warned. “Now use the eye and fry up some toast for breakfast. Do you have eggs in your larder?” 

Kinsey blinked. “I… no. I have nothing in my larder.”   
Of course he didn’t. 

Kinsey pulled out a pan, nearly dismantling his entire kitchen shelf, and set up to fry several slices of bread with fatback and Bovril. 

“Sorry- I’m out of my head-“ Kinsey was muttering to himself. “Makin’ a shit impression-“ 

“Robert.” Thomas spoke in a gentle voice, and it made Kinsey shut up abruptly. “It’s fine.” 

Kinsey coughed, cracked his neck, and continued to make breakfast. 

Thomas ironed both their suits, and dressed in his own as soon as he was able to. Despite the book burning in the fireplace, it was still quite cold in the flat. Kinsey was delighted to get into his suit, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth as he tried to eat and dress at the same time. He chewed rapidly on the toast, nearly dropping the rest before scooping it out of midair and finishing it all in three bites. He sucked on his fingers, wiped the stains on his vest, and began to lace up his oxford flats. 

Thomas couldn’t help himself. He was smitten, “You’re quite handsome with toast hanging out of your mouth.” 

Kinsey grinned, brushing a few crumbs off his face with the back of his hand, “I should be the new campaign. The two unstoppable forces! Kinsey and Bovril!” 

“Oh hush and eat your toast.” Thomas could not stop smiling. He wondered if happiness was infectious. 

 

 

While Kinsey had lectures till mid-afternoon, Thomas spent his morning traveling by bus from the corner of London to its very heart. London was a city built on an ancient grid, empires crumbling and rebuilding to construct something that might have been called architecture if chaos was a revered model. Thomas felt oddly nervous without soaps to conceal his scent or nature. He was admired by several alphas on his way to Murray’s office. Two on the bus seemed to have been competing over who would get to stand next to Thomas until Thomas had forcibly pushed his way to the front and got off a block early to avoid a dispute. 

Murray’s office was one of many that comprised a ten story building in the heart of Ealing. Still in his boot, Thomas had a bit of a time climbing up several flights of stairs (five to be exact) but he simply took his time and paused at every landing. Just as on the train, there were alphas passing by. These, however, seemed to be of another class. Instead of physically imposing upon Thomas’ personal space, they were chivalrous and offered him their arm. It didn’t work, though. Just because they were more polite didn’t mean they still weren’t rude. Thomas didn’t need anyone’s arm. He was going to get up these stairs the same way he would get down them; alone! 

By the time Thomas reached the fifth floor, he was a little out of breath. He had to stop to relax, and as he did so he was approached by an alpha with a large mustache and a rather suave grin. He tipped his hat to Thomas; perhaps he was a man of the upper class. But as he opened his mouth to speak to Thomas, Thomas quickly turned away and jetted around the man, clumped his boot along the marble until he’d passed the man entirely and was on his way to visiting Murray’s office properly. 

“Well, I say-!” The man grumbled, affronted. 

Murray’s office took up the entire fifth floor. It was layered in privacy, with a receptionist behind a large oak blocking the way through a glass door that surely lead into individual offices. She was hard at work, managing a large schedule, and seemed to be copying several pieces of a large legal letter. She paused when Thomas approached, setting her pen aside to give him her full attention; she was a beta, with a gentle smile and curly brown hair. 

Of course, when she realized what Thomas wanted, even her kind smile couldn’t help him. 

“I’m sorry but Mr. Murray is terribly busy today.” the receptionist admitted, shaking her head so that her curls bounced about her ears. “He’s only free for an hour, and he’s taking it right now for lunch.” 

“I see.” Thomas mused, “Where has he gone to lunch?” 

“The Olive Jar, that’s on the corner-“ The receptionist said, “It’s his favorite. They have a pasta salad he loves.” 

“Thank you.” Thomas said, for in her willingness to make small chat, she’d given him everything that he needed to know. As he walked away, clomping with his boot, she called after him. 

“Could I make you an appointment?” She offered, raising her voice to be heard as he began to descend the stairs, “We have an opening in three weeks!” 

“No need!” Thomas called back. “I’m a man of my own means.” 

 

 

And so he was. 

Thomas was in a bit of a hurry as he descended the stairs. He would have to time this just right if he wanted to get Murray on his own. He didn’t require a full meeting with Murray now, just enough to get money moved over and have a full appointment scheduled. There was no sense in talking to the receptionist when Thomas could just go straight to the source. If Murray was at the Olive Jar, then that’s where he was heading to. 

Besides, he was a bit peckish. 

The Olive Jar, just as the receptionist said, was sitting on the corner of main and fifth street. It was a prominent business, with people eating both outside and in. Thomas almost had a heart attack when he saw a woman he thought was Lady Edith, but it turned out to be a stranger with a very similar jaw line. As he entered the bistro, he was on high alert for Murray but it wasn’t difficult to spot him. Like a king at his throne, Murray was sitting alone at a center table with nothing but an enormous bowl of multicolored bow tie pasta and a large glass of white wine to keep him company. To say the man was a glutton was putting it mildly, he seemed to be delighted by his dining experience. He was beaming to his bowl, shoveling fork-loads of pasta in while his top hat kept company with him in the opposite seat. 

“May I help you sir-?” A waiter attempted to show him to his seat, but Thomas already knew where he wanted to sit. 

“I’m here to see a gentleman for lunch-“ Thomas brushed the man off, unwilling to put up with any more tedious barriers. He scooted past a table of alpha businessmen, chortling and smoking cigars, only to feel a set of grubby fingers casually ghosting past his upper thigh. He glared at the alpha behind him; he was a ruggedly handsome aristocrat who only offered him a sly smile. 

“My sincerest apologies.” The man sneered. Thomas didn’t buy it, and made sure to put as much physical space between himself and the alpha as was humanely possible. 

Murray didn’t even notice him approaching. He was much too busy enjoying his one free hour. 

Thomas took the seat across from Murray, picking up his top hat to jaunt it upon his own knee. 

Murray looked up, startled, and nearly choked on his pasta when he realized who was sitting before him. 

“Hello.” Thomas said, as if this were all quite planned. 

“Good lord-!” Murray coughed, covering his mouth with his napkin before taking a hasty gulp of wine to sooth his throat. Thomas smiled, keeping up a calm facade even as he drummed his fingers upon the table in a fast rhythm. “But- Didn’t I just see you?” 

“You did.” Thomas said, for only just the other day they’d met in the library of Downton Abbey. 

Murray was low on wine. In an act of pure habit, Thomas picked up the table’s personal decanter and refilled his glass. Murray gaped at him, unsure of what to say or do. “-And now you’re seeing me again, how clever of you.” 

“But- is Lord Grantham here in London?” Murray demanded, almost giving himself whip lash as he looked about. Lord Grantham was mercifully no where to be seen. “I thought you couldn’t travel.” 

Thomas ran his fingers calmly over the brim of Murray’s top hat. It needed to be brushed. “Lord Grantham scented me without my consent.” Thomas explained. Murray suddenly looked quite sober despite his healthy glass. “I have left Downton Abbey and am striking out on my own. I wish to speak with you regarding the will of my late alpha. I thought perhaps we could meet for dinner tonight? I have money now. I could take you anywhere you liked… of course, I don’t have the money physically on me. I rather need a bit of help there, don’t I?” 

“I-well-“ Murray bumbled, taken aback at the sudden invitation, “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Barrow but I’m a very busy man.” 

“But even a busy man must eat, isn’t that so?” Thomas smooth talked. When Murray fumbled for words, he pressed on, “In fact, I’d wager that a busy man ought to eat more than a normal man… since he works up an appetite.” 

Murray had a hard time denying that logic. 

“Well….” 

“You see, Mr. Murray,” Thomas explained as casually as you please, “I was a servant for a very long time, and if there’s one thing I know it’s how to make the upper class feel comfortable. Now tell me you wouldn’t deny me the opportunity?” 

Murray seemed to be sweating now. He’d wholly forgotten about his bowtie pasta. “But what about Lord Grantham?” 

“Our dealings will not involve him from now on. Our cases are separate.” Thomas snapped. “I am a client on my won… which I’m sure will suit you fine? Wouldn’t you rather have two commission fees instead of one?” 

More money and more food? Murray was starting to get the gist, “Of course, if that’s what you want.” 

“You’ll likewise not tell Lord Grantham that you’ve seen me.” Thomas carried on, for there was no sense in trying to rebuild his life if Robert Crawley was going to storm up to London and have a temper tantrum. “I wish to remain unfound.” 

“I’m hardly your guardian alpha, Mr. Barrow.” Murray said, shrugging, “If that’s what you wish then I’ll keep our dealings private.” 

“Very good.” Thomas could not contain the smugness in his voice. “Why don’t you and I get dinner tonight… There’s a lovely little French bistro called Le Petite Lapin.” Thomas had once seen Lord Grantham visit there with Lady Grantham while the family was in London. “I know it to host incredible confections. Seven, tonight?” 

Murray seemed to be brightening up at the prospect of cake. Trust a man living on the fifth floor to enjoy his carbs. “Seven it is, Mr. Barrow.” 

“But there is the matter of money.” Thomas admitted. Murray had the answer though, diving beneath his table to rifle through his briefcase. 

“I had hoped to give this to Lord Grantham the next time we met, but there’s no need now.” Murray admitted, rifling through his papers while he jaunted his briefcase upon his lap. He pulled out a set of papers, passing them over to Thomas. “This is a letter of credit. Go to the Bank of London and tell them you wish to set up an account. All the paperwork you need is inside. They’ll know what to do.” 

Thomas held the letter of credit with pride, feeling a strange sense of lightness in his chest. Money problems had consumed him all his life. Could it really be he’d never have to want again? Never have to work? 

But Thomas did have work to do… he had to build a sanctuary, and fast before the Brigade learned about it and tried to shut him down. He would have to go before members of the House of Lords and Commons. He would have to make a petition and back it with funding and members. He would have to put everything on the line if only to gain just the tiniest space of sanctuary… and he would have to be grateful for whatever he received in the end. 

It was a tall bargain, but if it came at the progression of omega rights, Thomas could hardly complain. 

Thomas left Murray to dine; the man deserved to finish what remained of his hour in peace. As he passed the same waiter on his way out the door, the man stopped him with an irritable expression. 

“Sir, this is most irregular.” The waiter complained, “Are you seeing a gentleman for lunch or not?” 

“Oh, but I did see him.” Thomas sneered, gesturing to Murray who tipped his head in greeting. Thomas waved to him, rather cheekily, “And now I’m seeing myself out. Cheers.” 

He left without another word, the waiter scowling at him unpleasantly. 

 

 

It was a bizarre experience, setting up a bank account. As a servant, he’d never had enough money to warrant opening an account before. Instead, he’d had a cigarette box underneath a loose floorboard in his room. It had constantly been on the verge of empty as he’d moved from one suppressant to the next. It had been his greatest woe, to be afraid of the money he’d surely lose just to keep his freedom. 

Well, he’d gone and fucked that up now hadn’t he? Best enjoy it while he could. 

Thomas felt absolutely shocked, to demand a withdrawal of twenty pounds and to be acquiesced. It was almost as much as he got paid for an entire year of work underneath his Downton paycheck, and he felt like skipping down the main road boot and all as he took a bus back to Kinsey’s corner of town and stopped at the market square to pick up several needed household goods. 

He went rather wild, buying coal, washing powders, tea bags, a jar of honey, lemons, a fresh loaf of bread, apples, tins of beans, and even a box of raspberry crisps. He couldn’t help himself, he was fond of them and they reminded him of Mrs. Hughes. 

Returning home with sacks over his shoulder, Thomas secreted a spare key to Kinsey’s flat from inside his pocket and made his way upstairs to unload and put a kettle of tea on. He used the time to himself to clean up Kinsey’s flat more, which was a pleasant experience once the tea was done and he could sit down on the sofa to read a book. 

He found himself peering over several medical texts, trying to make sense of them as a fire starting building in the grate. The coal worked much better than newspaper, producing a steady stream of heat, and Thomas sipped his tea as he flipped page after page in the medical text. It was going over secondary sexual anatomy, and had a number of graphic pictures which was… to say the least…. 

… Arousing. 

Thomas was utterly captivated by one particular section that had him choking on his tea when he flipped the page to reveal an enormous well defined picture of an aroused alpha penis. 

“The bulbus glandis, also known as the knot, is an erectile tissue structure on the penis of alpha males, known to be heavily stimulated during alpha ruts or omega heats. During mating, the tissues of the knot swell up and lock immediately after penetration. The locking is completed by circular muscles just inside the omega’s sexual organs that are known as ‘gloves’. The ‘glove’ muscles contract while stimulated, resulting in the alpha penis being milked into ejaculating sperm. The bind of the knot and the glove can result in a tie that does not diminish for an extended period. The longest recorded period was noted as two days by French alpha scientist Jacque Rousser. For most alphas, however, the tie lasts up to half an hour or less.” 

A warm honey scent filtered through the air. Thomas smiled, shaking his head. He could sense the shadow just behind him. The calm that Kinsey brought. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Thomas relaxed his head back on the couch, craning his neck up to see Kinsey just behind him. Kinsey was already shrugging off his jacket and tie, looking quite ready for a kip and a cup of tea. He dropped his briefcase and papers, locking the door to the hall and running a hand lovingly through Thomas’ hair. Thomas streched into the touch, revelling int eh way Kinsey seemed to make him feel. 

Complete. Whole. Loved. 

“Maybe I am.” Thomas said smugly. “Make yourself a cup. Kettle’s still hot.” 

Kinsey began to undo the buttons of his vest, only to pause as he glanced at the heater on his way to the kitchen. “… Is that coal?” 

“I picked up a few things.” 

“Thomas.” Kinsey grumbled, pouring a cup of tea and adding a splash of honey from their new jar. “Why did you go to all this trouble?” 

“You know what.” Thomas said gently. Kinsey caught his eyes, and toasted him from the kitchen doorway before coming to join him on the couch.

Instinctively, Thomas curled up at Kinsey’s side. Kinsey kicked off his shoes, using the toe of one foot to dig into the heel of the other. He flexed his feet, letting several joints pop, before reaching out an arm and hugging Thomas close. 

“What were you reading?” Kinsey murmured in his ear. 

But it was rather silly wasn’t it? Thomas smiled inspite of himself. “Penises.” 

Kinsey giggled like a child, taking a long sip of tea and a sigh. He rolled his head upon the back of the sofa, till he and Thomas were pressed cheek to cheek. 

This was how Thomas liked them best. Together and alone.   
White peach meeting white tea. 

Kinsey reached out with his spare hand and gently intertwined his fingers with Thomas’. 

“Sounds eventful.” Kinsey said. Thomas grinned. 

“Very insightful.” Thomas agreed. “I never knew I had muscles called a glove. I wonder why they call it so…” 

“Probably because it fits like a glove.” Kinsey mused. “Knots, gloves… We’re not very creative lot.” 

“Shame on you.” Thomas teased. 

They lapsed into silence, for a moment allowing the calm quiet to be their blanket. Kinsey explored Thomas’ fingers one by once, tracing the grooves of his fingertips and the pulp of his palm. Whether Kinsey knew it or not, he exuded his scent. Thomas enjoyed it, leaning his head carefully on the man’s shoulder so that he could drink it on. He closed his eyes, warm and still. 

Kinsey brushed his lips over the shell of Thomas’ ear. It was so natural, so easy, that Thomas didn’t even jump or move away. Kinsey’s whisper just washed over him, like a wave upon a shore. “Did you have a nice afternoon?” 

“Mm.” Thomas said, “I walked around with twenty pounds in my pocket.” 

“Oh my.” 

“We’re having dinner with Murray tonight at seven.” 

“…Thomas… It’s four thirty.” 

“I know.” 

“We ought to wash up.” 

“Mm.” 

Thomas’ only true response was to snuggle in deeper against Kinsey’s shoulder. Why oh why did he have to have dinner with Murray tonight? Couldn’t he just put it off for a few… weeks or so? 

But Thomas knew it wasn’t a good idea; he had plans to construct, goals to achieve. If he was going to make any progress, he would have to push himself and not fall slack in his boots. He sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes; Kinsey stroked his back with his knuckles, following the trail of his spine. 

“We have all the time in the world, Thomas.” Kinsey’s voice was gentle, and loving. “Let’s get ready for dinner. We have much to do.” 

It was good to be in agreement with an alpha for once. 

 

 

The pair of them washed, shaved, and dressed together in a companionable silence only broken by Kinsey telling Thomas a bit about his day. It was interesting to hear on the prospects of students through the eyes of their teacher. Kinsey wasn’t shy; he let people know when they irritated him. While he talked, Thomas ironed their clothes and put away their things from tea. There was no sense in spoiling their appetites before dinner, so Thomas put up the box of raspberry crisps as well and called for a taxi to come pick them up at six. 

Kinsey offered him the chance to bathe first, though Thomas didn’t need to truly wash up. He felt oddly sinful in Kinsey’s washroom, with the door closed but unlocked as he slowly stripped and wet a washcloth beneath the warm tap. He then wiped his body carefully, noting that his breasts were still slightly bruised and tender. Worst yet, when he pushed on them, a slight liquid came out. Thomas was alarmed to discover it was pink. 

“Robert-“ Thomas called out through the bathroom door, carefully shrugging on a housecoat. Should he be worried? Should he go to a hospital? Was it even possible to bleed through your nipples? 

But by god, Thomas could probably pull it off even with the slimmest of chances. He had a knack for bad luck. 

“Yes?” 

“Um… Could you…” _Could you take a peek at my nipples?_ “Could you come here for a moment?” 

There was a slight pause, only broken by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Thomas was surprised that Kinsey didn’t waltz right in. After all, it was his flat and Thomas had given him the exclusive invitation. Instead, Kinsey merely opened the door a crack and kept his eyes downcast. 

“Everything alright?” Kinsey murmured. Thomas’ heart raced at the sight of Kinsey bare chested with his suspenders banging about his knees. 

“…Not really.” Thomas admitted. “I… Did you ever study medicine at a hospital?” 

“Of course.” Kinsey said. “I prescribe medication. Why do you ask? Are you ill?” 

“Well…” Thomas felt mortified. Kinsey seemed to sense he needed coaxing, and stepped inside the bathroom to gently shut the door. The steam from the tap swirled about the ceiling, making it seem like they were in a sauna instead of a perpetually chilly flat. 

Kinsey reached out, pressing a hand to Thomas’ forehead. Thomas leaned into the touch, reveling in how cool and smooth Kinsey’s fingers were. It was nice to be touched affectionately. It made him feel human. 

“You don’t have a fever, but you’re flushed.” Kinsey noted. “Do you feel woozy?” He shut off the hot water, and began to run cold water instead to wet another washcloth. Thomas shook his head, and Kinsey shut off the cold tap as well. 

He waited, patiently. 

“…I have to tell you something.” Thomas felt like such a fool. He couldn’t even bear to look at the man and quickly turned away to hold his bathrobe even tighter about his bruised chest. “I did something awful and … I think I’m in trouble.” 

“What does trouble mean?” 

Thomas flushed; Christ, he felt fevered at this point. “I… I think I’m bleeding.” 

“You cut yourself?” Kinsey did not speak in a rush or with force. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand carefully upon Thomas’ lower back. Thomas shook his head. It was nice to know he’d have Kinsey’s support and help if he’d… done something like that. 

Again. 

“I… Last week I…” Thomas paused, “Please don’t tell anyone?” 

“Of course not.” Kinsey whispered. “It’ll stay between you and me, I promise.”

“I did something stupid.” Thomas admitted. “I- one of my coworkers at the abbey had a baby in December and I…” He scoffed at his own idiocy. What on earth was wrong with him? “I… breast fed the baby.” 

Kinsey did not interrupt. Thomas carried on. “My breasts are horribly swollen and bruised… and I think… I’m bleeding from my nipples.” 

Kinsey made a tiny noise of understanding. 

“I see.” Kinsey paused. “How long has this been going on?” 

“A few days.” Thomas said. He still didn’t make to turn around. 

“Will you show me?” 

And so Thomas finally had to confront his shame. He turned about, slowly, and shrugged off the top part of his bathrobe so that it hung by the belt around his slender waist. He had his arms crossed carefully over his chest, but did not drop them even though Kinsey had asked to see. 

It felt daring, sensual even… to reveal himself in this way. 

Thomas let his arms drop but also looked away again. He knew Kinsey would be able to see his face fill up with heat; he didn’t try to deny it with pride. 

“…May I?” Kinsey whispered, extending a hand cautiously to hover over Thomas’ swollen areola. Thomas nodded, bracing himself for the pain. 

But when Kinsey touched him, it didn’t hurt. Instead he only felt a cool pressure, which soothed his aching muscles. Kinsey held him by the waist with none hand, using his other hand to gently massage his fingers around Thomas’ bruised pectoral muscle. His breast leaked at the touch, and Kinsey observed the composition of the fluid before running the tap again and using a wet flannel to carefully brush Thomas’ chest. Where the cloth touched him, Thomas’ nipples stood erect. He let out a tiny gasp in spite of himself. Kinsey smiled, setting the flannel upon the rim of the sink and helping him to shrug back on the shoulders of his bathrobe. 

“It’s fine.” Kinsey said. Thomas immediately felt relieved, and nodded. He closed his eyes, resting his head on Kinsey’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine. It’s normal, and it’ll pass eventually.” 

Thomas felt Kinsey’s arms encircle his waist.   
Kinsey did not ask him why Thomas had made to breast feed a child that wasn’t his own.   
But that was because he probably already knew. 

 

~*~

 

They were almost late for their taxi, but managed to catch it on time. London was cool tonight, surrounded by a dense fog, and every amber lamp burning on a street corner seemed like a brilliant torch in the dark. Thomas felt remarkably well dressed in his dinner jacket. Kinsey did not own one, and had refused to wear Thomas’. Instead, he wore his best suit. It was a dark green and threaded with deep umber. It suited him, and brought out the olive complexion of his skin and the honey of his eyes. 

Le Petite Lapin was hardly top of the line, but it did offer such delights as Beluga caviar which always attracted the upper class. Thomas had ten pounds burning in his pocket and was determined to put them to good use as he and Kinsey exited the taxi and waited to be approached by the maître d’. The man was a circus performer at this point, waving his arms in an elegant arch to help each refined couple to their table. Massive linen drapes hung from the ceiling to the floor, covering the wall length windows; small lights upon each table set an ambient and classy mood. It was difficult to make any headway, what with Thomas lacking a proper title and Kinsey lacking a dinner jacket. But they were finally seen and seated by the wait staff only to be greeted by the sight of Murray already at the table with a bottle of red wine before him. He rose as they approached, and offered his hand to both Thomas and Kinsey. He wore a dinner jacket, in a natural attempt to look posh. Thomas had seen this monkey dance before, only last time he’d been serving the table not sitting at it. 

“I see you’ve brought a guest, Mr. Barrow.” Murray was polite, his grip firm as he offered Kinsey a seat next to him. 

“Dr. Robert Kinsey of the London School of Medicine.” Kinsey said. 

“George Murray, of Murray and Associates. I’m Mr. Barrow’s legal representative.” Murray said. They all sat down, each of them at a bizarre angel with three chairs to a round table. Murray had brought his briefcase with him, which didn’t surprise Thomas since they’d come here to talk business. Even after working hours, the man was still eager and on the case. One had to admire his enthusiasm. 

“Dr. Kinsey will be involved in all our future dealings.” Thomas felt a great sense of pride in being taken seriously by Murray. In being allowed to shape his own path. Murray nodded, not even putting up a fight. By god, it was thrilling! 

“He is at liberty to know everything involved with Lord Gray’s will, and the wishes of my estate.” It was delightful to insist that he had wishes and an estate. 

“Very well.” Murray shrugged, “If that is the case, then perhaps we ought to discuss business while we eat. I’m not strictly a working man but… I admit your case intrigues me.” 

They were approached by a waiter at that moment, and had to pause as they were offered wine. Thomas, as an omega, had once been forced to abstain… tonight however, he ordered himself a pinot noir and enjoyed every inch of it as they selected an appetizer. Thomas was slightly unnerved by the fact that his menu did not have prices on it, but decided to enjoy life and order a phyllo wrapped brie with fig preserves and toasted walnuts. Kinsey likewise ordered cucumber sliced Provençal, along with a rather rich ale that wouldn’t usually be available at normal pubs.

“I suppose I ought to tell you,” Murray looked slightly guilty as the waiter returned with a rather prominent plate of phyllo wrapped brie. “Lord Grantham made it clear to me before I left last Saturday that your wishes were not to be followed out.” 

They were odd little dumplings, hardly bigger than two fingers put together, but there was such an explosion of flavor in each that Thomas could hardly manage three before he was reaching for his wine glass. By god, were they thick too! Thomas licked his teeth, trying to clean his pallet resulting in an odd sucking noise which was hardly in good taste. 

Fuck it. He was rich now he coudl do what he wanted. “Now that our estates are separate, you will please follow my instructions to the letter.” Thomas said. 

“Naturally.” Murray wasn’t going to challenge him. Was this what it felt like to be a noble? Everyone just said yes to you all the time? How boring. “Do you truly wish to revoke your fortune?” 

… No. No he did not. 

The fact of the matter was that money was freedom, and their was bizarre poetic justice in Gray’s fortune granting him a path in the world. At the same time, however, Thomas didn’t need a library, or a house, or an entire fucking aviary. He also did not want Gray’s cane, nor any other jewelry Gray might have thought to bestow upon him. 

Kinsey watched him, his arms folded over his chest. Unlike with Robert, Kinsey didn’t seem to be troubled to let Thomas do the talking. In a way, he empowered Thomas even more just by being there. Like whatever Thomas said… Kinsey would back whole heartedly. 

“I wish for Belton House to be returned to the Dowager of Lincolnshire.” Thomas said. Murray just watched and listened. “The library is likewise to be returned to her estate.” 

Murray paused in his enjoyment of the Provençal to pull out a small notepad and pen so that he might write down Thomas’ commands. “What about the aviary?” Murray asked. 

 

But this was where Thomas started to get flustered. What on earth was he supposed to do to care for the birds that were innocent in all this ruckus? It wasn’t fair that they should suffer just because of Gray… but at the same time… it wasn’t like he could just keep them in a closet. They deserved space, and … 

But Thomas couldn’t even finish the thought. It flustered him too much. He looked to Kinsey praying he would step in. 

And he did. Like Thomas knew he would. 

“Well,” Kinsey looked Thomas dead in the eye when he spoke, just so that Thomas could have the final say no matter what. “Thomas has spoke to me in length about his concerns regarding the wildlife in question. I think that what would be best for everyone is if a national trust fund received most of the birds. Two in particular you wanted to keep though, yes-?” He added. 

“Yes.” Thomas agreed. By god, he was thankful that Kinsey was here. “Champion and Sybil. They’re two peregrine falcons.” 

“And where will you keep them?” Murray asked, scribbling everything down lest he forget it. 

But once again Thomas was out of answers. He looked to Kinsey, and there he was one more time to save the day. 

“Perhaps you could see if an estate would allow you to board them?” Kinsey asked. Murray nodded. “We obviously don’t possess our own aviary at the moment.” 

We. Our. Did Kinsey know what those words did to him? They sent a bizarre warmth into the pit of his stomach, almost inflaming his groin with the thought of being owned, possessed by this incredible man. 

Wait- owned? Where had that come from? Thomas flushed and looked away. 

“What about the cane?” Murray asked. He had to pause though as the waiter returned to offer them a choice of entrees. 

Once again, the menu was entirely French. Thomas’ only leg up came from having served most of the food before. If only Alfred Nugent were here… he’d have adored this place. Thomas wondered where the eight foot wonder was now, even as he ordered a Bacheofe and another bottle of wine. Kinsey ordered the Coq au Vin, with pearl onions and button mushrooms. Murray, however, was the connoisseur of French cuisine; he ordered the Cassoulet au Canard with the traditional confit, and was utterly delighted when told that all ingredients were locally selected. Apparently English duck was more hearty in fat. To finish it all off, Thomas went ahead and ordered a selection of Pear Tart Tatin. The whole lot of them were heathens, ordering the most rich foods off the menu but who gave a damn? Maybe Murray had the right idea by eating at such places. Thomas could stand to gain a few pounds and relax more. 

As they waited for dinner, Murray continued on. “Gray was absolutely insistent that you receive the cane.” 

But Thomas didn’t want the fucking cane… and Kinsey knew it too. Kinsey poured Thomas another glass of wine when the bottle arrived, and polished off the last one though it barley gave him a third of a glass. 

“While Lord Gray’s wishes are obviously heavy on our minds,” Kinsey said, “We have to look at Thomas’ wishes first now. The cane is of no use to him. If no one else cares for it then we’ll put it up for auction.” 

“The Dowager was ready to set it on fire.” Murray muttered. Thomas could believe it. 

“Well,” Kinsey wasn’t bothered, “I’m sure someone will like it. A fine ivory cane? Many a rich man would enjoy it.” 

“There’s also the matter of the personal jewelry.” 

“Sell it.” Kinsey didn’t even bat an eyelash. Thomas wanted to cheer. 

“We could hold an estate sale!” Thomas said. Kinsey toasted him though there wasn’t much left in his glass. 

“Estate sale!” Kinsey agreed. Murray just shrugged and wrote it down. 

“Whatever you wish.” Murray said, “And as for the patents?” 

Thomas paused, unsure. Kinsey held up a hand, happy to take over the reigns one more time. Christ, Thomas was delighted to sit back and let him control the show. It was like watching a nickelodeon up close. 

“Let’s keep the patents.” Kinsey said. “Patents are excellent for future investments.” 

But that got Thomas thinking, “what did Lord Gray even have patents in?” 

“From what I can mostly tell they’re small machine parts used in automobiles. If they take off as they have been, you could stand to make quite a lot of money. But I do warn you, don’t put all your eggs in one basket.” 

“Maybe I could take out other patents.” Thomas said. 

“Well…” Murray blanched, glancing at Kinsey for help, “You’d have to invent something. Do you have anything in mind?” 

Thomas was baffled. He blinked, looking at Kinsey who was shaking his head as if to say ‘Don’t look at me, I’m an idiot’. 

“…Not yet.” Thomas finally said. “But there is something I’m keen to do.” 

Once again, the conversation had to be put on hold as the food arrived. The sights and the smells of French cuisine were appealing even when you were standing at the side table. For the first time in Thomas’ life he was now face to face with a dish of upper class food. The first thing Thomas noted was how thick the sauces were. How heavy and creamy they appeared even when simply dripping on the prongs of his fork. Sauces were usually thin for the lower class, and consisted of nothing more than mashed vegetables watered in salt and cast out wine. Thomas’ Bacheofe, however, was a dish baked with a bread lid, and came in a tiny little ceramic pot that he could dig at with a special fork. As he punctured the lid of the bread dome, beautiful aromas of sautéed meat and vegetables vented out and soaked into the ‘lid’. Soon, Thomas was looking at a mixture between a soup and a meal, a sort of combination that you couldn’t go wrong for.

Kinsey’s plate was a little less artistic, comprising of tiny chicken legs boiled in potatoes,onions, and mushrooms. The meat looked slightly undercooked by Thomas’ standards, but this was another problem faced by the lower class in an upper class setting. Undercooked meat could spell disaster in a kitchen full of dirt and germs. For the upper class, however, under cooked meat was a sign of privilege and wealth. Thomas pursed his lips, watching as Kinsey carefully cut meat away from the bone. He hoped that Kinsey wouldn’t grow ill from consuming the poultry. Murray was the same way with his duck… the flesh was practically white. 

Maybe Thomas was just being paranoid. He dug into his meal, pausing to savor how delicious it tasted. 

For a moment, he drifted away from the conversation, simply holding the meat and vegetable in his mouth. In that moment, he had never tasted a meal so erotic and sublime. 

When he felt a hand on his knee, he jumped. He opened his eyes to find Kinsey watching him, perhaps unnerved at his silence. Thomas swallowed his bite at once, unnerved at how silly he’d become in public. God, he hoped Murray hadn’t noticed. 

But Murray was too busy cutting duck away from bone. Thomas took refuge in that. 

“So what would you like to do?” Murray asked. “Many doors are open to you now. You could choose to do anything really, but we must be mindful of your fortune-“ 

“I want to open up a sanctuary for abused omega.” Thomas said.   
Murray stopped cutting his meat, and looked up from his dish. 

He wasn’t the only one. At the table next to them, there was an upper class alpha dining with her family… an omega and their two children. The alpha woman froze mid sip of wine, her dark eyes sliding over to Thomas. She glared at him, her knuckles tightening upon her glass. The omega at her side was too afraid to speak up. She kept silent, with her head ducked to her dish. 

 

“…That is…” Murray paused, taking a hasty sip of wine and setting his fork down, “Very dangerous. I would advise you not to do it.” 

“And why is that?” Thomas asked. 

“The patriarchal system between omegas and alphas is heavily dominated by the Brigade.” Murray explained, “If they believe you are testing their power, in any way at all… they will not hesitate to let their wrath be known.” 

But Thomas didn’t care. He did not blink, his eyes locked on Murray’s own. “Mr. Murray, I want you to listen to me because what I have to say is very important.” 

“Yes?” 

Thomas leaned in. Murray raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care about the Brigade. I will do as I wish.” 

A sudden shattering sound filled the air, and Thomas whipped his head around at once to see that the alpha woman had lost her grip on her glass. She had broken it in her hand, with wine and blood spilling onto the fine wooden floor beneath them. The omega gasped, grabbing her napkin and her alpha’s hand to wrap it carefully. A waiter had come over, and was babbling apologies. 

The alpha brushed them both off, angry. She rose from her seat, dragging her omega with her. Their children followed behind, unsure what the hell was happening. 

Thomas bristled as she past, certain that he could hear her muttering obscenities. He decided not to act on it. 

Murray on the other hand seemed to have heard enough. He pursed his lips, refilling his own wine glass. 

“If you’re serious about this, you better be prepared for a great deal of backlash.” Murray warned. “You could even be arrested or taken to Dover for interrogation.” 

“I don’t care.” Thomas said. “I will go down with this ship.” 

“Then you’ll want to start finding a real estate agent that will help you find a suitable location for a sanctuary.” Murray did not look happy. “Also, and I do hope you take this to heart, I urge you to keep alphas out of all of your dealings. Try to work with betas if at all possible.” 

“Such as yourself.” Kinsey said, “But why don’t you look happy?” 

Murray pursed his lips, unsure of what to say. Thomas wanted to mentally hug Kinsey for his ability to call a man on his bluff. 

Murray was disheartened. “Because I know what will happen in the end. And forgive me if I don’t want to watch it up close.” 

Thomas and Kinsey met eyes; Kinsey did not look pleased. His hand was still on Thomas’ knee, stilling him and calming him. Kinsey squeezed his thigh in silent but obvious support. 

 

~*~

 

The ride back home was silent, and when they arrived at the flat Thomas made a pot of tea. 

Rob watched him the whole time, noting the tension in his shoulders and the way he constantly flexed his fingers… like he wanted to fix something. To mend something. 

Rob worked on his paper for the remainder of the night, soothed by the sound of Thomas washing dishes and sweeping up. He rarely cleaned his flat, given that he was rarely in his flat, but with Thomas as his companion a true sense of warmth had come to his home. Thomas even went so far as to wash Kinsey’s clothes and iron them for work. It was oddly comforting but… at the same time… Kinsey could feel something beginning to stir in his loins. The oddest sensation, like he was laying claim to Thomas. Like his flat was becoming Thomas’ nest and Kinsey by rights ought to protect him. 

It was wrong, and Kinsey tried not to read too much into those feelings. He chalked it up to pent up sexual aggression and over exposure to Thomas’ scent. 

His beautiful… beautiful scent. 

Rob paused on his paper somewhere close to midnight, moaning at the stinging in his eyes. He took off his glasses, rubbing at his brow, and winced at the moisture he found collecting beneath his lids. He was tired; he needed to go to sleep and soon. 

But suddenly Thomas was there, offering a wet flannel to lay over his eyes. Rob was touched; the cool cloth made him sigh. 

“You’ve worked very hard.” Thomas whispered. “Relax a bit. You’ve earned a moment of quiet. Do you have to work tomorrow?” 

“No.” Rob murmured. Wednesdays were his day off. He wondered if the pair of them might be able to spend the day together. It had been a shame to cut their talk short before dinner. 

Talk? Was that what they’d been doing?   
Honestly, Rob wasn’t sure anymore. Part of him was alarmed; he knew danger was up ahead if they kept going down this road. At the same time, Rob was almost like a junkie chasing a high. The euphoria Thomas brought him was completely unreal, something he’d never experienced even with April Olgate. 

Admittedly, April had charmed him. Her sweet scent had been a lovely perfume… some kind of mixture between rose and lilac. At the same time though, he’d often experienced a kind of migraine when he’d been over exposed. She’d distracted him from his work, and that had been intolerable. 

Selfish was another word for it… but Rob was afraid of Thomas learning that Rob felt so opposed to nesting concepts. It wasn’t fair, not when Thomas was so sweet and gentle to Rob’s needs. 

“…It’s not right, you know.” Rob murmured. Thomas paused mid-stroke of Rob’s curly hair. “You cleaning my house, ironing my clothes, making me food… It’s wrong. You’re my guest. My mother would choke if she knew.” 

Choke was an understatement. Melvina Kinsey would scream like her hair was on fire and call for a priest to cleanse her oldest son of his many ‘tragic sins’. 

“I’m not doing this because I’m a guest.” Thomas murmured. 

Rob gently took the cloth off his eyes, and looked up to see Thomas standing over him with a sweet smile. Rob smiled back, wondering at how a single human being could encompass so many endearing traits as Thomas Barrow. Was he an angel? Was he a mirage? Was Rob going to wake up one day and find that Thomas had been nothing more than a figment of his overactive imagination? 

God, he hoped not. 

“I’m going to wash my face.” Rob rose up from his chair with a groan. “I think I can make a bit more progress on the paper if I push myself.” 

“No-“ Thomas gave him a terse look, carefully setting Rob’s damnable paper aside to blow out the lights in the living room. “You’re going to go to bed. And you’re going to sleep all through the night, and not think about your paper until the sun is up at a Christianly hour.” 

Rob grumbled to himself, shuffling along the hallway until he half realized that Thomas was taking him to his bedroom. “But you have the bed-“ 

“I’ll take the couch tonight.” Thomas said. “You need it more than me.” 

Rob was practically comatose, limp in Thomas’ arms as he was laid upon his bed. 

Thomas carefully undid Rob’s shoe laces, and helped him to pull of his jacket. He laid the cloth back over Rob’s eyes, shrouding him in darkness even as he blew out the lamp to the bedroom. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Thomas whispered, and if Rob felt a chaste kiss pressed to his forehead, he’d never tell a soul. 

 

~*~

 

But in the living room, Thomas did not sleep. 

He kept replaying the dinner scene. The way that Murray had frozen up when he’d mentioned the omega sanctuary. The way the alpha woman had shattered her glass and stormed out of the restaurant dragging her omega with her. The danger in it was simple, or so it would seem. If Thomas even attempted to force back the Brigade’s control, he would be met in force by the alpha domination which demanded respect and authority. 

The found himself wondering if he would be able to hold to his bearings. If he would crumple and cave like the Brigade surely wanted. 

And if he did, what then?   
By the end of it, Robert Crawley might be the least of his problems. 

He stiffened when he heard the sound of a church bell tolling outside. It was three in the morning. 

When the bells ceased, he lapsed into the quiet once more. He found himself staring at the fireplace, watching the coals slowly turn into ember and ash. 

A slight wind flitted through the flat, coming from an open window near the kitchen. Thomas must have forgotten to close it; he stood up and shut it carefully. As he did so, he looked out onto the street and found it remotely abandoned. There was one man walking alone. He had a wheelbarrow and was clearly some sort of grave shift worker. Thomas watched him walk from one end of the street to the other, an odd cold dread filling him up that he couldn’t explain. He slowly closed the window, firmly bolted the latch, and then drew the curtains just for good measure. He wondered if their flat was the only one still showing light this late in the night. 

Or was it early in the morning? 

As Thomas turned back around, his eyes inexplicably fell upon Kinsey’s paper. It was his life’s work, and Thomas found that he was intrigued to read it. 

He sat down at the main table, and pulled the paper forward. 

The title page seemed to be missing. Instead, Thomas was staring at the crux of the work which Kinsey had been working on before he had been forced to bed. 

_“Psychoanalysis of omegas truly began to take form when Freud realized that mating hysteria represented an unarticulated, conflicting sexuality that could only be expressed through disease. Cases of hysteria mainly concern omegas, but also alphas in some cases. Omegan psychoanalysts use this clinical data to postulate a repression of omegan culture that cannot find a way to express itself in a society governed by alpha based laws. Freud claims that human beings are psychologically bisexual, that omegas had an alpha stage, and that the libido was masculine; in so doing he implied a third concept, the denial of omegan senses by both alphas and omegas._

_Freud’s concept of knot envy and of the castration complex are related; both express a fear of omegan senses. It is only with the analysis of sexual difference that the pre-Oedipal makes its first appearance-“_

 

His eyes were slowly beginning to droop… he thought he might fall asleep at any moment… 

But then-

 

Thomas felt eyes upon him, and slowly looked up to see Kinsey standing in the doorway to the hall. 

Kinsey seemed to be sleep walking, or something close to it. He was still oddly sleepy but was still awake, swaying slightly in the doorway as he watched Thomas read. 

“Beautiful…” Kinsey whispered. “You in the firelight, I mean.” 

Thomas smiled, in spite of himself. “You’re up again.” 

There was very little sound the flat besides the soft crackling of the fire. A few coals were becoming ash, crumpling to the bottom of the hearth. 

“I find it difficult to sleep with you around.” Kinsey explained. There was a dark tone to his voice. A strange gutteral sound Thomas had never heard before. 

Kinsey flinched, as if suffering some kind of a muscle tremor. He shook it off, rolling his neck so that several vertebra popped. 

“…Sit down.” Thomas rose up and pulled a throw blanket back from the cushions of the couch so that Kinsey could sit unimpeded. Kinsey did not make to move, his eyes locked on Thomas like he were a hunter zooming in on a kill. 

“… You should leave this place.” Kinsey whispered. “You should go.” 

“Do you want me to go?” 

“No.” Kinsey would not lie. “I want you with me always.” 

“Then you can have me.” Thomas agreed, for if there were any alpha in the world that he would belong to willingly it would be this incredible man before him. “But first sit down on the sofa before you fall.” 

Kinsey finally moved, staggering to slump against his weatherbeaten couch like he was a dead animal flung into the woods and left to rot. There was no strength left in his body. He almost fell asleep in that moment, his eyes closed and his breathing soft. 

Thomas turned, looking to push his chair back into the table, but Kinsey caught him by the wrist and kept him from moving an inch further. 

“Do something and don’t ask why.” Kinsey growled. A shiver when through Thomas at the timbre of his voice. “Sit on my lap.” 

He did not ask.   
He walked back to Kinsey and carefully crawled into his lap, unsure of what else to do besides let his legs drape over Kinsey’s powerful thighs and lay an arm behind his neck. Without his glasses on, Kinsey looked more masculine. More… primal. 

There was a strange quiet that had nothing to do with the time or the temperature of the flat. It existed between the two men alone, and did not extend beyond the couch. 

It was like the whole world revolved around what happened next.. and it was difficult to say in whose hands the future lay. 

Something was lacking. Something was waiting. Something needed to happen before the world could be righted and time could keep pushing on. 

 

Thomas leaned in, and ever so carefully brushed his lips over the shell of Kinsey’s ear. The man bristled, turning his head slightly in Thomas’ direction. 

“What’s knot-envy?” Thomas whispered. 

Kinsey smirked, eyes closed as he breathed in Thomas’ scent. The smell of tea and honey was washing over Thomas…making him feel safe. 

Like even if the worst were to happen, he would survive. 

He toyed with the curls at the nape of Kinsey’s neck. They were beautiful and soft… He wanted to bury his face in Kinsey’s hair. To breath him in until they were one, merged together by the force of the universe. 

“It’s a supposed envy of an alpha’s knot.” Kinsey growled, “Postulated by Freud to account for some aspects of omegan behavior, most notably the castration complex.” 

“And what’s that?” Thomas gently tucked a stray curl behind Kinsey’s ear. Kinsey wrapped an arm about Thomas’ waist, his hand spreading out upon Thomas’ jaunted hip to squeeze at the flesh he found. They were anchored together. 

“Another Freudian theory.” Kinsey opened his eyes and looked at Thomas; they were dilated… fully black. Thomas was amazed at their depth. It was like he was staring directly into the bottom of the ocean, or out into the galaxy far beyond what man could imagine or explain. “It’s the unconscious anxiety that arises during psychosexual development, represented in alphas as a fear that their knot will be removed by their fathers in response to sexual interest in their mother, and in omegas as a compulsion to demonstrate that they have an adequate symbolic equivalent to the knot, whose absence is likewise blamed on their mother.” 

But only one thing had really stuck with Thomas through that, “Why would you want to have sex with your mother?” 

Kinsey grinned darkly, shrugging, “Well, you know how it goes. It’s Saturday. You’re bored. You don’t have a farthing for the nickelodeon.” 

“Do you believe people really want to have sex with their mothers?” Thomas whispered. “Do you want to have sex with your mother?” 

Kinsey shuddered automatically in response, “Great god alive, I’m going to gag.” 

“Do you think I have knot envy?” Thomas asked, unable to keep from smiling as he toyed with Kinsey’s beautiful curls.

“God…” Kinsey leaned into Thomas’ neck unexpectedly, sniffing his scent with deep lungfuls. He paused, drawing back, “You’re like nectar to me.” 

“Rob…” Thomas whispered into Kinsey’s ear, grinning at the tickling sensation of Rob’s nose burrowing into his sensitive scent gland, “Do you think I have knot envy? Answer me.” 

“Mmm…” Rob grumbled. “It’s not so much that I think omegas have knot envy. It’s that we all undergo psychosexual development. See, the third stage is the phallic stage, and in that stage children become aware of their bodies, the bodies of other children, the bodies of their parents… we start to undress ourselves. We start to explore our genitals.” 

And this made sense to Thomas. He could remember being very small and taking a bath by himself for the first time, how he’d meticulously cleaned his body as his mother had bade but had also spent some time simply exploring his genitals without anyone watching him. His penis had been smaller than average, flaccid, and the skin where his testicles ought to have hung was smooth and tight. 

He could remember wondering why he did not have testicles. 

“How many stages are there?” Thomas asked. 

“Five.” Rob explained. He was still burrowing into Thomas’ neck. “Oral, anal, phallic, latent, and genital.” 

But wait, hadn’t they just covered the genital stage? Wasn’t that what the phallic stage was? 

Now Thomas had to know everything, “Tell me more.” Thomas whispered in a false-lusty voice. “Brainy is sexy to me.” 

Rob chuckled darkly, holding Thomas close. He wrapped both arms around Thomas’ waist, anchoring Thomas to his chest. 

“The oral stage is where the mouth of the infant is their primary zone of focus and pleasure.” Rob smiled, allowing a hand to drift up to Thomas’ chest where he gently caressed Thomas’ still sore breasts. “Breast feeding, obviously.” 

The touch made Thomas shudder. His head rolled back on his neck, exposing his throat greedily to Rob. 

But Rob did not make to claim him. Did not bite him nor mate with him… and wasn’t that the wonder of it all? That Rob could be everything he wanted and yet lack the primal drive to destroy Thomas body and soul? He was like… an angel. An absolute angel. 

“The anal stage is where we shift our focus and pleasure onto the concept of controlling our bladder and bowel movements.” Rob’s stray hand returned to Thomas’ hip, both another was roaming. He closed his eyes, shuddering again as Rob’s hand drifted to his arse which he squeezed. 

Thomas lay his head against Rob’s chest. He felt an odd warmth spread into his loins, causing his penis to grow turgid with blood. He was aroused, he would not deny it. 

“Rob…” Thomas whispered; he was ashamed to note the whimper in his voice. 

“Then the phallic stage, then the latent stage where we realize we cannot have sex with our mothers and fathers.” 

“Oh,” Thomas tried to aloofness but failed, “Why must the world be so unfair?” 

“And we likewise start to identify with the parent of the same sex. We gain a more organized sense of ego and self. We develop culturally regarded skills, values, and complex feelings like shame and guilt.” 

No shame to be found here. Thomas was still honed in on the sensation of Rob’s strong fingers digging into the cleft of his arse even if only fleetingly. By god, Lawrence had never touched him like this. 

“And so I guess….” Thomas shuddered, laying his head against Rob’s broad chest. He’d stripped to only his undershirt… the smell of tea and honey practically coated his skin. “The last stage is where we start to have sexual interest in people who are not our parents.” 

“Right on the money.” Rob growled into his ear. His praise made Thomas grow more aroused. He wanted to be good for Rob… He wanted to be so very good- the best omega possible. “So what stage are you in, beautiful Thomas? Because male omegas are often thought of as being stuck in the phallic stage because they have small penises.” 

At this, Rob began to tickle him. Thomas squirmed, his snickers turning into squeals as he tried to roll away. 

“What stage are you in? Tell me what stage you’re in!” Rob teased, laughing gayly as his hands went south and tickled Thomas close to his crotch. His penis had created a tent in his trousers. “Tell me!” He cupped Thomas’ groin and Thomas gasped, throwing his head back upon the arm of the couch. 

His heart was pounding his chest, blood rushing wildly in his ears as Rob gently stroked his groin with a broad swipe of his thumb. Back and forth… back and forth… 

“Huh?” Rob chuckled into his ear. “What stage are you in? Tell me… I want to know.” 

“Keep talking.” Thomas groaned throatily, “You might find out.” 

 

Rob leaned over him. 

Thomas opened his eyes, unable to look away from how beautiful Rob was. His curls touched Thomas’ brow. The tips of their noses collided- 

Thomas opened his mouth, leaning up into Rob. Ready to give him everything… anything he desired. 

He would be good for this man. He would submit. He would open his legs to Rob and give him anything he desired when his heat was upon him. He would bear Rob children, and never even flinch at the burden on his body. Anything. 

Anything, anything at all-

Their mouths collided. 

Thomas whimpered in spite of himself, so overcome with emotion that he could not think. 

Rob plundered his mouth, with no reserve or sense of self control. And why should he control himself? Why, when Thomas was all his own? 

Rob could take anything he wanted. Thomas wouldn’t stop him. 

Rob reached up, carefully anchoring Thomas’ neck so that he could deepen their kiss. His knee slid between Thomas’ legs, his other hand beginning to rub aggressively at his own crotch. Thomas could feel Rob’s cock filling with blood. It was silly of him, to put a value on size… but god how big Rob felt. So big, so wonderfully perfect and thick- he’d split Thomas in two, fill him up- 

The phone rang. 

The pair of them froze, mid kiss. Rob stopped pawing, raising himself up slightly as they both turned to look at the telephone atop the kitchen counter ringing. 

… How… How could the phone be ringing?   
It was nearly four in the morning. 

Thomas looked back at Rob, who was staring aggressively at the phone as if he’d like to light it on fire. 

“So late?” Thomas whispered, unsure. 

Rob’s glare slid from the phone to Thomas, and at first Thomas was worried Rob was angry until Rob began to suck at his neck. 

The telephone stopped ringing. 

Thomas sighed, wrapping his arms around Rob’s beautiful shoulders. They were joining again, melding together. 

His mouth free to talk, Thomas was mumbling, groaning- 

“Oh… God…” Thomas whimpered. “Take me… Take me I’m yours. I’m all yours. I swear it. I’m yours, Robbie-“ 

Rob all but bit at his neck, his hands feverish upon Thomas’ skin. 

“Take me… Take me…!” 

The phone began to ring again. 

 

 

Then, something rather odd happened. 

 

 

For a moment, Thomas didn't understand how reality shifted. How he went form being devoured on the couch to being slumped over the main table. But then it dawned on Thomas, rather abruptly at the sound of the telephone ringing. He’d only been dreaming, nothing more, and groaned as he sat upright in his seat to stare glumly at the couch. 

It had only been a dream. A damning, tempting dream.   
But the telephone-? 

There it was, ringing away, and Thomas stumbled from his chair to check his pocket watch. It was three thirty in the morning, he’d only been asleep for surely close to ten minutes. 

Grumbling, Thomas grabbed angrily at the candlestick telephone and held the receiver clumsily to his ear. 

Who the fuck could be calling at this time of night? 

“Hello?” Thomas groaned. “Is someone dead?” 

_“Someone will be.”_

Thomas paused, a hand still pressed haphazardly over his face. He’d meant it as a sarcastic joke, as a reminder to whomever was calling that three in the morning was hardly a convenient time for a chat. But as he sat there, with the receiver of Kinsey’s phone pressed to his ear, Thomas was suddenly gobsmacked by the realization that whoever was on the other end of the phone was incredibly serious. 

Someone was going to die. 

He swallowed several times, trying to get his mind around what to say next. Stress made him tense, made his voice tight and dark. 

“… And who would that be, out of curiosity?” Thomas asked. 

_“Rumor around town is that you’re thinking of starting a little organization.”_ A heavy voice breathed into the phone. Whoever was talking had the receiver right up against their mouth. Thomas instinctively went to the window, peeking outside to see if he could find whoever was talking to him. But this was poppycock. There were no public telephones on Kinsey’s street and it was nearly four in the morning. Whoever was talking to him was well hidden…. and they probably knew it. 

_“If you value your life, you’ll stop now.”_

“What if I don’t value my life?” Thomas growled. “S’not like you do, either? So why don’t we have something in common for a change. I think it might be fun to play a game.” 

_“I make this solemn vow to you now, Thomas Barrow.”_ The man warned. _“If you do not stop, if you do not remember your place… I will find you, I will rape you, and I will kill you.”_

And with that, the phone went dead. 

Thomas slowly looked down at the phone in his sweaty hand. A cold icy dread was washing over him, making his throat clench up and his hands slippery. He set the phone down, staggering to lean against the kitchen counter before he surely fell to the floor. 

 

Whoever that was knew Kinsey’s phone number. They probably also knew where Kinsey lived, and what Kinsey did for a living. They knew Thomas’ name… God only knows what else they had in their arsenal. 

Maybe it was the alpha from the restaurant. Maybe she had told someone.   
Maybe Murray had let it slip to a business associate and they’d become angered.   
Maybe it really was the Brigade. Maybe they’d already found out. Maybe they were watching his every move… waiting to pounce and take him back to Dover. 

Maybe he would end up there, interrogated by Alden and tortured into insanity… all for the sake of wanting equal rights under the law. All for the sake of not being a ‘good’ omega. 

Emotional, frightened, and decidedly alone in Kinsey’s dark kitchen, Thomas buried his face in his shaking hands. 

He did not sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, let me know.


	20. The Battle of Wyck Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Kinsey start hunting for a sanctuary.  
> Lord Grantham makes one final attempt.  
> Alden MacNaire holds a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit earlier than usual. Not too sure why. These scenes were just easy to write I guess. The story is about to get wild, too.... roller coaster #2! 
> 
> I want to thank everyone for all the lovely reviews I've received. Sometimes I have tough days and it helps to know that people are thinking good thoughts about me. 
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, save for Kinsey having a naughty dream.

Despite Thomas’ growing paranoia, he did not mention the threatening phone call to Kinsey. 

They’d fallen into a routine with one another; Kinsey would work and Thomas would research until late afternoon, by which time they would generally meet up at the flat or somewhere else to get dinner. Thomas liked to cook for Kinsey, and did so on a regular basis. He’d never had Daisy or Alfred’s flare in the kitchen, but he was picking up tips from rags he saw at the markets, and had learned how to find good meat from local farmers. It was difficult to know where your food was coming from in London, but there were a great deal many fishermen who would happily sell their catches on the banks of the Thames at all sorts of hours. For the most part, Thomas kept his head down and concentrated on his dealings with Murray. 

The Audubon Society of Norfolk had graciously accepted Murray’s offer to move Gray’s many birds towards their land near England’s frigid eastern coast. As a result, Thomas had been on the receiving end of several phone calls, both from the society and from Murray’s office as documents were signed, birds were moved, and donations were accepted. Thomas felt a great sense of satisfaction, to know that the birds Gray had treasured were now going to be in a place where they could be cared for among their own kind. What was more, they would be free to roam and fly as they liked, no longer in cages. Once again, there was another sense of poetic justice. 

Champion and Sybil were a bit different, but once again Norfolk held the answer. 

Though Thomas had never known the Windham family, they had certainly heard of him. The Earl of Windham was an enormous fan of birds, having made massive contributions to the Audubon Society of Norfolk over the years, and when he’d learned that the famed Omega of Lincolnshire was donating close to fifty birds he was keen to get an eye in. When Murray had contacted his estate (Felbrigg Hall), the Earl had been overjoyed to learn that Thomas wanted to board two prized peregrine falcons at his aviary. He only had one pen available, but cleared another by selling off one of his less prized birds, and accepted Thomas’ monthly payment of ten pounds so that both Sybil and Champion could be kept in the care of Windham’s famed falconer Mr. Archie Stewart. Once again, Thomas was on the phone at all hours, as the Earl of Windham rubbed elbows and gushed with pride at his aviary. He urged Thomas to come and visit, to have supper and visit the aviary. Thomas finally caved, deciding he would travel in a few weeks after viewing properties for his sanctuary. He only hoped the Earl wouldn’t be offended by an omega in trousers. 

On a Friday afternoon, Thomas and Kinsey found themselves walking along the streets of eastern London. Kinsey had gotten into contact with an old friend from university a few days ago, a realtor by the name of Daniel Riggs. Given that the man was a beta, and a close confidant of the Kinsey family, he felt like a natural selection for Thomas’ adventure into house-hunting. They were to meet him for lunch today, and would go over the initial concepts of Thomas’ search as well as a few properties that Riggs had gathered up by the rudimentary boundaries Kinsey had given him over the phone. Their destination was a quiet café, the Shepherd’s Brood, and offered a variety of mutton and corned beef as a specialty. 

The whole way to lunch, Thomas kept looking over his shoulder; he was wary of every alpha that passed by, certain he was being followed. 

Kinsey noticed. He was constantly glancing at Thomas, pausing when Thomas slowed up to look over his shoulder. 

“Hey-“ Kinsey murmured as they rounded the corner and came before the Shepherd’s Brood. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine.” Thomas lied, unable to keep the tension out of his voice. 

Kinsey wasn’t fooled, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” Thomas said, for there was no point in admitting that he’d been threatened over the phone. What was Kinsey going to do? Go back in time and find a man through a telephone wire connection? “I want to go to lunch and meet Mr. Riggs.” 

“Well,” Kinsey mused, “You won’t have to wait much longer. That’s him up ahead.” 

Kinsey pointed beyond the milling crowd, and Thomas squinted to see a portly man in a bowler hat and tweed jacket beaming and waving to them. He was enigmatic, clearly delighted to see Kinsey, and left his place in the lunch cue to jog up and meet them. Flushed, Daniel Riggs reached out with both hands (briefcase and all) to embrace Kinsey in a warm hug. The pair of them were laughing, school boy chums reunited.” 

“Rob! You dog!” Riggs beamed, drawing back if only to punch Kinsey lightly in the arm. “My dear fellow, how are you? It’s been ages!” 

“Daniel.” Kinsey looked so incredibly handsome in that moment that it was hard for Thomas to feel nervous. There was a beautiful warmth radiating off of him; like all was right in the world. “I apologize for my reclusiveness. I tend to hide away-“ 

“You naughty devil.” Riggs clearly didn’t care. He was too busy grinning from ear to ear to be mad. “And this must be the beautiful Thomas?” He turned to look at Thomas, eyeing him with bizarre glee. Thomas was taken aback. 

“Beautiful?” He demanded. He was suddenly unsure whether he would be glad to have Rigg’s as a realtor if he was so unprofessional. 

Kinsey gave a terse cough. The two men seemed to be having a silent discussion, with Riggs looking quizzically from Thomas to Kinsey and Kinsey silently imploring the man to stay silent. Perhaps they’d shared a discussion over the phone that had been taken out of context? 

“…Ah, I see.” Riggs had seemingly gotten the measure of it, tutting at Kinsey as if he’d done something shameful. He turned to Thomas, and took off his hat in a polite fashion. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Barrow. Dr. Kinsey made it sound like the pair of you were to be mated on the phone. Clearly he’s enamored with you even though he keeps it to himself.” 

Kinsey was making noises like a strangled cat, turning beet red. He refused to meet Thomas’ eye, babbling some nonsense that no one listened to. 

“Robert has the lustful urges of a glacier.” Rigg’s warned. “I’m afraid you’re in for a long wait.” 

But Thomas didn’t appreciate Kinsey being made into a fool publicly. “Mr. Riggs, I would appreciate it if Dr. Kinsey’s urges were left out of public conversation altogether. We shall be business associates, and so we should keep to a professional manner.” 

“Thank you!” Kinsey snapped, as if Thomas were the sudden and swift answer to a dire prayer. “You’re the only sane one in this damn city, I swear.” 

He pushed off, manhandling his way through the swarming crowd to reach the front of the cue and get them a table. 

 

They ended up sitting outside, simply because it was such a nice spring day. It wasn’t too hot, nor too cold, and a gentle wind blew by across from the park. It was calming, to watch children playing and nurse maids taking infants for a stroll. The three of them ordered sandwiches and lemonades, separated from the crowd by an iron fence that wrapped around the outer patio like a makeshift barrier. 

Despite his bizarre first impression, Riggs was a cheery fellow with a gentle and good natured air. It was obvious why he and Kinsey got along when so many of their mannerisms were the same. Despite the good attitude of his lunch companions, however, Thomas was still nervous about sitting outside and kept looking over his shoulder wondering if someone was spying on them from the crowd. 

Their sandwiches arrived shortly after their order was placed. For a moment there was a silent scrabble for napkins, mustard, and onion vinegar as everyone unwrapped their lunches and salted them to their liking. Thomas had gotten a sandwich with mutton, glazed in a lemon sauce with tomato, bacon and lettuce. It was practically sinful, and he devoured it with rabid hunger. Walking had brought up his appetite. 

“So!” Riggs declared, undoing the clasp of his black leather briefcase and pulling out an enormous manila file. “Here we are at last. I can say that I find your case enrapturing, Mr. Barrow. I’ve a few properties in mind that I think you might be interested in, though of course you might want to eat before discussing business-?” 

Thomas shook his head, still chewing. 

“It’s fine.” He had to raise a hand to cover his mouth so that he wouldn’t be impolite, “I’d like to get started.” 

“Your omega is a go-getter.” Riggs praised Kinsey. “I like him!” 

Kinsey flushed again, embarrassed, “Daniel, we talked about this-“ 

“Ah!” Riggs held up a hand, good naturedly. “You mark my words, Rob. There will be wedding bells in your future. I predict that before three years is out there will be a baby Kinsey yowling in its crib.” 

But thoughts of infants made Thomas’ stomach turn. He looked away, suddenly swooped by a sensation of ennui. Beneath the table, Kinsey reached out and squeezed his thigh empathetically. 

For some reason, Riggs seemed to sense the shift in the air. He paused, his smile dropping, “I apologize. That was crass.” 

“It’s fine, Daniel.” Kinsey seemed to have been expecting it. Riggs was nothing if not jovial by base nature. It wasn’t his fault that both Kinsey and Thomas were morbid sots. “Let’s talk business.” 

“So, I have two properties to show you today.” Riggs said, opening his manila folder to pull out what looked like a whole sheaf of paper. “I have spread a rather wide net, I was unsure what your particulars would be, as well as your budget. But this, at least, should help set us on the right path.” 

He paused, and sorted the paperwork into two stacks which he pushed before Kinsey and Thomas. 

The first was a countryside manor. A Wyck Hill, in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire. From her paperwork, she boasted a healthy twenty rooms with staff accommodations and even a bar. 

“So for the country, we have Wyck Hill.” Riggs explained. “I’ve seen her myself. She’s quite lovely. Out of the way too. She has the amenities of the country without the bustle of the city. I thought perhaps you’d have an alignment to her, given your own country upbringing. Now, it’s out of the way I should warn you… It’s quiet, slightly lower in price than others. Frankly it has excellent scenery. Depending upon your clients, a bit of country air should do them good.” 

While Thomas could agree with all of this, something was nagging at him in the back of his mind. What about security? What about aid? What if there was an emergency and they needed to rush an omega to the hospital? Thomas was underneath no guises as to the nature of his soon-to-be-business. He would be accepting the downtrodden and exhausted. All manner of sorrows would be falling on his doorstep. Some omegas would be beyond saving. They would simply need somewhere quiet to live out their last weeks… somewhere they could die in peace, away from abuse. 

“What about the police?” Thomas questioned, handing the packet for Wyck Hill back. “Hospitals? How will I be able to provide for people if we’re so out of the way.” 

“Thought about that.” Riggs said at once, swapping the packets so that Kinsey was now looking at Wyck Hill and Thomas was looking at a hotel in South Kensington.

“This is the Boutique Hotel.” Riggs explained, “She shut down about ten years ago… went out of business and had a problem with mold. She’s got 38 keys, and is centrally located in South Kensington. She has a close proximity to Gloucester Road-“ 

“And thus the hospital district.” Kinsey added. “That’s not too far from my work, Thomas.” 

Thomas was pleased to note it. Boutique Hotel was starting to sound much more to his liking. 

“The police are close by as well, and you’d be in a liberal growing area. Property in London doesn’t come cheap, but it’s well worth the investment. I can tell you now, it’ll triple in worth by the time ten years has passed.” 

“How much is she running for?” Thomas asked, wary. 

“The asking price is 1,200,000 pounds.” Riggs said. Thomas nearly choked on his lemonade, coughing haggardly- 

A million pounds?! That was all the money Thomas owned and more. What was this man thinking, showing him a golden property out of his price range? Was he mad? 

Kinsey swooped in, rubbing Thomas’ thigh consolingly beneath the table. “Don’t be worried.” He urged, “We’re going to do fundraisers. We’ll get the money if it’s what you want.” 

“W-what about the other one?” Thomas stammered. 

“She’s starting at 719,000 pounds.” Riggs said. Thomas suddenly felt rather hot and tugged at his shirt collar. How on earth was he ever going to afford all this? To heck with the property; once he was done he’d still have to buy staff, permits, nourishment, and medical aid for his clients. He’d be broke within a week! 

“These of course are just samples. What I really need to know is what you as a client want.” 

But Thomas was too overtaken with money to talk. He shook his head, turning away to slowly sip his lemonade. His heart was pounding in his throat. 

Kinsey stepped in, constantly rubbing circles into Thomas’ thigh beneath the table. 

“Thomas wants to save omegas in abusive relationships.” Kinsey explained. “He wants to offer them sanctuary. He needs a place big enough to house several omegas and their children, to offer them medical aid and security as they get back on their feet. He might even look into relocation programs as well-“ 

Thomas cut Kinsey off, hesitantly glancing about the restaurant. It was far too public; they shouldn’t be going in to detail where anyone could hear. Riggs was confused, looking from Kinsey (who was eager) to Thomas (who was growing pale). 

“Something wrong?” Riggs asked. 

“Nothing.” Thomas mumbled. “Let’s just keep our voices down.” 

Riggs was surprised, but acquiesced. 

“Well, I think a hotel would do you good simply because they have more rooms and are built for shifting parties. It likewise has better access for laundry and feeding large groups of people. Now, the real question I need answered today is what is your budget, as well as a list of things you desire and do not desire.” 

Thomas could see the logic in a hotel, but his wallet was pinched. 

“I’m unsure about the budget.” He admitted. Kinsey stepped in. 

“Why don’t’ we set it at an even two million pounds?” Kinsey said. When Thomas looked like he might faint, Kinsey interjected, “Only that we will be doing fundraising, and I fully expect for us to gather a small fortune in the name of omegan health. I do believe we’ll be able to match the price. Likewise, we can use the money we do not use on amenities. What are some things you desire, Thomas?” 

_I desire a strong drink_. Thomas thought glumly. He coughed, threading his fingers together. 

“I want it private. Somewhere well-guarded… I need to have a hospital and police station nearby. I want the foundation to be secure. It needs to have a large basement, and a large attic.” Plenty of spaces to hide… plenty of spaces to store. 

“Very good.” Riggs had copied him down to the letter. “I’ll use out your budget and your desires to weed out some unlikely candidates. I’ve got Robert’s information, and I’ll be able to get in contact with you as soon as you’re ready to start viewing estates.” 

Thomas pursed his lips. Riggs was so jovial. Did he really understand what they were up against?  
“Mr. Riggs… there’s something I need to make clear before we jump into all of this.” Thomas said. 

“Yes?” 

“What we’re doing, it’s incredibly dangerous.” Thomas admitted. Beside him, Kinsey watched him intensely, “And you’ll need to keep this very quiet. There are people who would kill me if they knew what I was doing. People who would ruin Dr. Kinsey and your careers. There will be little empathy for our cause from the general public. Most of them will see me as an omega forgetting their place. Do not expect to make friends in this plight.” 

Riggs gave him a small smile, “I already have friends.” He said. “I’m not looking for any more.” 

“I’ve recently come into a small fortune.” Thomas explained, “Use that as a cover for me buying property. Don’t’ mention a word of this to alphas. To anyone who might be untrustworthy. You could easily put your life in danger if they think you’re an omega sympathizer.” 

“Goodness.” Riggs didn’t know what to say. He was baffled again, “Is this a spy novel?” 

Kinsey cut them both off, trying to steer the conversation back onto solid ground, “I think what Thomas is trying to say is that we’re going up against a lot. We need to hold together- and we shall! It’ll be fine. You know how those sorts are-“ 

The pair of them laughed over old gossip, “Yes, I know what you mean. Sorts like the Brigade.” 

Thomas visibly flinched at the name. He looked over his shoulder again, scanning the restaurant for anyone who might be listening and angry like last time. He found most everyone engaged in small talk or their food. It was like they were wholly invisible. 

“Ah, don’t you worry Mr. Barrow.” Riggs assured him with a warm smile, “I keep my cards close to my chest. We’ll find you your sanctuary.” 

Thomas gave him a tense smile, but didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. 

 

When lunch was over and the three men parted ways, Thomas lead the charge out of the restaurant. He wanted to get home as soon as possible, and off the street where he was certain people were watching him. His foot was nearly healed, but he was still walking with a slight limp and it made him feel vulnerable. What if the Brigade were to arrive right now and abduct him off the street? Who would notice? Who would care? Kinsey wouldn’t know where they’d gone… and Robert Crawley wouldn’t give a damn anymore. Thomas had effectively burned his bridges to the abbey. Until he had his barriers back in place, he would have to fly low to the ground to escape detection. 

But clearly someone had already caught wind. The question was, who were they… and what else did they know? 

Were they following Thomas right now?  
Were they waiting to attack him? 

“-Thomas, slow down!” Kinsey urged, weeding his way through the crowd to grab Thomas by the elbow. Thomas had almost left the man entirely behind at the restaurant. “What’s wrong with you? Tell me the truth right now.” 

Thomas pulled his elbow free of Kinsey’s grip, feeling horribly guilty for treating the man poorly. “Nothing’s wrong. I want to go home.” 

“You’re afraid.” Kinsey deduced. “Why are you afraid? Because of that alpha in the restaurant last time? That’s just one person, Thomas- one grain of sand on the beach.” 

But Thomas knew better. 

“Look, let’s just go home!” Thomas begged. “I- I don’t feel good.” It wasn’t really a lie. Kinsey paused, so that the pair of them were suddenly blocking foot traffic s pedestrians swarmed them on either side. 

“Alright.” Kinsey said, before throwing up a hand and hailing a taxi. “Let’s go home.” 

 

The pair of them were silent on their cab ride back, and when they arrive at the flat Thomas paid the fare. He clambered out of the backseat, but lingered at the opening of the alleyway too afraid to enter without Kinsey by his side. Kinsey noticed everything, visibly perplexed as he unlocked the door to the flat gate and let them in. 

Thomas hobbled up the stairs, hurrying as fast as he could in his splint. When he reached the top he was out of breath and refused to meet Kinsey’s eyes. Kinsey let them both in again, and as soon as they were over the door Thomas flung the bolt shut. 

 

Kinsey used the lavatory, and Thomas started a kettle for tea. He fumbled with the vents, trying to get air flow to his tiny fire, but no matter how he tried every match seemed to sputter out. It was horribly annoying and only ended up in him getting more frustrated until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Thomas jumped, frightened, and looked around to see Kinsey standing above him. “Might help to get the vents open.” Kinsey advised, reaching out and tugging the iron latch down so that the vents gave proper air flow. At once, the fire picked up. 

Thomas didn’t want to have this conversation. Tea be damned. He wanted to go lay down and be left alone- 

Kinsey caught him as he tried to brush past. “Hey-“ He wrapped his arms about Thomas chest, holding him close so that Thomas couldn’t just run off and hide again. “Hey!” 

Frustrated, Thomas fell limp in Kinsey’s strong arms, bitterly depressed at his horrific circumstances. 

“What’s wrong, eh?” Kinsey murmured into his ear. “Tell me what’s wrong. You know you can- I’ll listen to whatever’s on your mind.” 

Thomas buried his face in his hands, furious. He pulled at his own hair, unsure of what to do or say anymore. 

He blundered through the truth, fear eating at his heart and nerves, “Tuesday night… I got a phone call. A death threat.” The outcome was bleak, “I’m in for hell, Rob. An’ I don’t want to be-“ 

Kinsey just held him tight. For a moment the pair of them rocked back and forth as the kettle began to grow hot on the stove. Soon a slight trickle of steam was issuing from the spout. 

“Sit down.” Kinsey whispered in his ear. “I’ll make a cup a’ tea.” 

 

 

Thomas did as he was told. There was no point in denying Kinsey when his heart so yearned to belong and be good. He sat quietly on the couch, watching as Kinsey made tea. Unlike Thomas, Kinsey hadn’t made a profession out of serving others. There was a certain flare to serving tea properly, but that didn’t matter to Thomas. It was the thought that counted… the way that Kinsey seemed to constantly be lifting the lid of the teapot waiting for it to boil over. 

As a result it wasn’t getting hot quick enough. 

“Now look,” Kinsey murmured, taking out tea bags and beginning to ready two cups. “There’s no point in living with an eye out over your shoulder. You keep to your boots, Thomas. You’re a brave love, and you shouldn’t let those hounds sway you.” 

“They threatened to rape me and kill me.” 

“I expect they say that to any omega who goes against them. Imagine living your life with such a frail ego.” 

But Thomas knew better. 

“You think they don’t mean it?” 

“I think they’re scared.” Kinsey said, pouring steaming water into both cups to let them steep, “I think they’re used to having it their way, and they know you’re starting something which could take effect. But I’m going to use my position at the hospital to get us an audience with the House of Commons. Let’s take this thing to the people. Let’s show them what we’re really up for-“ 

“You’ve never seen them, Rob!” Thomas was beginning to feel frustrated for the first time with Kinsey. This cock eyed optimism was going to get someone killed, and probably it was going to be him. After all, Kinsey was an alpha… the Brigade wouldn’t pick up a fuss with him. 

“Look, I don’t want you to worry about that, alright?” Kinsey urged. But that just made Thomas more irritated. Couldn’t he see how much danger Thomas was in? How much danger any omega that went against the Brigade was in? “I’m not going to let them gang up on you, not one bit-“ 

“You’re being illogical.” Thomas snapped. Kinsey was taken aback. Clearly no one had ever called him illogical before. He stopped short, two cups of tea in hand. 

“This is incredibly dangerous, Robert. If you can’t see that you’d best not get involved in the first place.” 

“Thomas-“ Kinsey set down both their cups of tea. 

“No, don’t.” Thomas needed some fresh air. Where before he’d been desperate to get back inside now he was determined to go back out. “I want to take a walk-“ 

“But you said-“ 

Thomas didn’t care what he’d said. What Kinsey had said was more important. 

Thomas left, and hobbled back down the stairs. He didn’t know quite where he was going, only that it was imperative he got there. 

He descended the rickety stairs of Kinsey’s flat, passing by two other tenants who were bringing up groceries are arguing over taxi fare. As Thomas reached the bottom, he slipped past the mail man who was stuffing envelopes into slots like he thought he might get a prize for cramped bills. The sun was glaring now, starting to thaw the winter chill with the promise of summer… Thomas found his way back onto the high street and turned left, unsure of how far he was planning to walk. 

People were milling about seemingly with nowhere to go. A few alphas were crowding around the entrance of a pub which was posting a new notice regarding health and safety laws. Another two alpha women were taking coffee at a nearby café and discussing upcoming flicks at the nickelodeon. Thomas felt detached from all of them; their carefree lifestyle was foreign to his panic. He kept searching for omegas, but found none. Where were they all, he wondered? Were they in school, or at home? Were they at shops, or were they being hidden from the world? 

Thomas’ paranoia was bubbling over again. It didn’t help him when he saw an illustrious billboard painted on the side of a brick building. It featured an omega, bent over at the wash bucket with several children inside. Her alpha stood over her, tall and imposing, and whether or not it was intentional he looked incredibly akin to Alden MacNaire. Bold text beneath the family of five read, “Know Your Place”, and though everyone wore a smile Thomas could not help but feel sick to his stomach. 

“Absolute- horse shit!” Thomas cursed, and without thinking he launched out to start attacking the brick wall. He punched, he kicked; he essentially flung himself at the painted stone. “Know my place?! You stupid pig- you’re the scum of the Earth you are! You ought to be stuffed with nails! Rusted! Spiked! Nails!!” 

But in his fury, Thomas forgot his splint. He launched a rather fevered kick at the brick wall only to fall back crying at a sickening crunch of pain in his still-wounded foot. He hobbled away, sinking down against the opposite wall which was the side of a butcher shop. Hidden by trash bins, he whimpered and clutched his throbbing ankle. He was going to ruin his trousers, sitting in the dirt of an alleyway. 

But did it matter? Did any of it really matter? 

“Hey there, love-“ 

Thomas looked up with a start to see an alpha approaching him. He was lower class, probably a dock worker, and looked slightly shaky as if he was coming down from a rough hangover. Whether he meant it or not, he looked downright menacing. Thomas scrabbled to his feet, clutching at the brick wall behind him with white fingers. 

“What happened to yer foot?” The alpha bent down as if to take Thomas’ injured foot in hand. 

“Go away!” Thomas barked, flattening himself against the wall and trying to scoot past the alpha. He could not put much weight on his foot, but he would have to to gain some kind of ground. “I don’t need you! Get away from me!” 

“Hey, don’t take on so. It’s alright-“ And suddenly the smell of brine washed over him. Thomas gagged, realizing the alpha was trying to scent him. 

“Stop it!” Thomas barked, causing several people on the sidewalk to pause as they passed. They were looking at him like he was insane. “Don’t you dare-!” 

He stumbled away, pushing forward back towards the direction he’d come. He’d been such an idiot to leave Kinsey’s apartment. What had he been thinking? 

But for every inch of ground he made against the crowd, it was like the alpha could make double. He was shoving people aside, aggressive in his pursuit of Thomas. He could hear people getting angry at the man, calling him obscene names.

“Plonker!”  
“Tosser!”  
“Watch where you’re goin-!” 

“Ey- where do you think you’re goin’?” The alpha demanded angrily, “I didn’t give you permission to leave!” 

Foot be damned, Thomas started to run. He made it about maybe a hundred feet before his foot let out a particularly painful throb and he stumbled to the ground. It just so happened that when he fell it was also atop an alpha woman out doing her shopping. He caused her to drop a hat box, and nearly smashed his head into it as he skinned his palms and hit his nose against the pavement. The crowd was gathering around him, disturbed. 

“Good heavens!” The alpha woman was already trying to exude her scent. She smelt like a horrible rose perfume, “Are you alright-?” 

“Stay away from me!” Thomas screamed out. He fell upon his back, pushing away from both the male and female alpha who were each trying to help him up. The pair started glaring at each other, attempting to override with their scents. Thomas felt like he was going to be sick, and almost retched from the combined pheromones. “All of you just- just- just-!” But he couldn’t get another word out. He was too frightened, too overwhelmed. 

And then, as if he’d been pulled by Thomas’ dire need, Robert Kinsey appeared. 

“Get back please, I’m a doctor-!” He barked, parting the crowd with grabbing hands as he shoved both men and women aside. 

“What’s wrong with you, runnin’ away from an alpha?” The drunk alpha demanded, “Are you dumb?” 

“He doesn’t want you, isn’t that obvious?” The alpha woman snapped. “And no wonder when you stink like the foam-“ 

“I said get back!” Kinsey snarled. 

Thomas had never heard Kinsey speak in such a sharp tone before. It shocked everyone present, and at once both alpha’s moved aside so that Kinsey could finally break through the crowd. He was flushed, agitated, with a primal energy surrounding him as he stooped down to help Thomas to his feet. Thomas clung to Kinsey, petrified. The smell of honey and tea soothed him, made him feel centered, and best of all washed away the putrid stench of decaying rose and brine. 

“They’re like animals!” Thomas babbled. He was emotional, angry, and it showed in his voice which shook and rose in pitch, “Animals-!” He held on tight to Kinsey around the waist, frightened of being forced to let go. Were these alphas members of the Brigade? Had they come to take him away? 

“Thomas, that’s enough-“ Kinsey kept one hand pressed to the back of Thomas’ head, holding him close while the other stretched out in warning for all the crowd to see, “Calm down.” 

He pulled Thomas away, the pair of them stumbling up the sidewalk and back towards the alley where one could enter the flats above. 

“You ought to keep a handle on that one!” Barked the drunken alpha. He was angry at being snubbed; his scent reeked in the street. “He’s mad! You should call the Brigade to iron him out-!” 

“I don’t need the advice of a drunk on my omega.” Kinsey snapped. There was such loathing and contempt in his voice that the drunken man was too cowed to reply. 

Thomas tried not to think too much into it, to imagine that Kinsey was just talking in the heat of the moment… but in a way it made him feel light and free. To think that Kinsey might actually return his feelings. Might want them to join… to mate. 

Thomas tried to let his imagination calm, but it was hard not to imagine a life where he and Kinsey were bonded. It was just too good to be true. 

Thomas tried to keep up with Kinsey as they rounded the corner for the flat, but it was hard. He was limping severely, unable to put much weight on his injured foot. 

“I hurt my foot-“ he admitted. 

“We can look at it in the flat.” Kinsey said, and in a sudden sweeping motion he took an arm beneath Thomas’ knees to lift him up off the ground. “I want you off the street.” 

Thomas clung to Kinsey’s neck, wrapping his arms about Kinsey’s shoulders so that he could bury his nose at the junction of the man’s collarbone. He closed his eyes, his heart still pounding wildly from anxiety and the effort of running on an injured foot. 

Despite not being physically foreboding, Kinsey possessed incredible strength. He was able to carry Thomas all the way up to the flat without once having to stop for breath. When they reached the door, Thomas was the one to open it wide so that Kinsey could step through unimpeded. 

He lay Thomas down upon the couch, helping him to sit upright so that his injured foot could be propped upon the far arm rest. 

Safe, back in the flat, Thomas felt a sudden swooping sensation of emotional relief. He buried his face in his hands, taking long deep shuddering breathes. He did not feel real or connected in his body. He felt transported, as if he was still down on the street below being fought after like scrap meat among wolves.

Kinsey sat down straight away, rolling up Thomas’ trouser leg to unlace his splint. He found Thomas’ foot to be swollen, and his ankle to be sore. It wasn’t broken, not nearly, but by god did it hurt He probably ought to stay off of it for the rest of the day. 

“Lay back.” Kinsey instructed. “Try to relax.” 

Kinsey, for his part, ran a cloth under a cold tap while checking out the window at the street below. He didn’t seem concerned; perhaps the crowd had dissipated. 

“Cold water ought to help the swelling.” He said aloud. It was like they’d never argued, like Thomas had never stormed out of his flat. How could Kinsey be so forgiving when Thomas had been a prat? “I might even have a bit of ice left in the larder.” 

Kinsey paused, stooping over to check the pantry. Being poor, Kinsey did not own a refrigerator. Like most of the world, he still used ice blocks above his larder to cool his inner pantry. He was due for a new block, but could still use a knife to chip off a slight chunk of ice which he wrapped dutifully in the wet cloth. He brought it over to Thomas, sat back down, and began to wrap Thomas’ swollen foot in the makeshift compress. Thomas winced at the shock in temperature, but slowly the ice began to numb his throbbing foot. The ball of his foot was nestled comfortably in Kinsey’s lap. Kinsey gently thumbed the sore pads of Thomas’ foot, massaging him silently as Thomas closed his eyes again. 

“Does that feel any better?” Kinsey whispered as he worked.  
Thomas nodded, and they lapsed into silence once more. 

 

 

It took Thomas a few days to feel secure about going out into the world again. He left the swelling go down in his foot, and instead remained at the flat to do some cleaning and reorganizing while Kinsey was away teaching. Kinsey did the shopping, bringing home food for Thomas to prepare and even a box of raspberry crisps just to cheer him up. Murray sent him more news of progress in securing a nonprofit license, and Riggs offered to set him up with a viewing on Wednesday for the Boutique Hotel. It was close, so Thomas wouldn’t have to strain himself, and it would at least cross one viewing off his list. Riggs had already compiled a handful of manors that he thought would do Thomas well, but he was determined Thomas would at least view the Boutique listing before moving on. 

“It’s a historic landmark!” Riggs had begged. 

It was also, as Thomas found out, covered in mold. 

 

Thomas went out on Wednesday, only stopping briefly to buy more lamp oil and coal for the flat, and met Riggs at the Boutique Hotel. Its washed front was slightly foreboding, particularly with the way that weeds were attempting to eat up its face. As they headed inside, Thomas was overtaken by the smell of rot and damp. He had to cover his nose, grimacing even as he observed the gorgeous Victorian architecture. To be fair, the Boutique hall was absolutely beautiful, with red marbled floors and large pillar arches doming the ceiling. She must have been beautiful in her prime, and even boasted a small pool in her lobby that would have jetted a fountain if it were still working. Now the fountain only boasted a frond cover of moss and mold, with the still water growing both like a factory. The rotting smell would be near impossible to get rid of, despite how beautiful the hotel was on the inside, and Thomas could feel his enthusiasm for the spot draining. 

For god’s sake, it was already a million pounds and more… how much would he have to shell out for water damage by the end of it? 

If the hotel was less of a project and less of a budget crisis, then Thomas could see it being a tangible option. As it stood, he was ready to ditch the listing and move on. 

“What’s nice about this is that you have built in accommodations for multiple shifting guests.” Riggs explained, gesturing about at all the space for people to sit and lounge. The furniture was covered by white tarps; Riggs paused to pull off one in particular only to find mold was growing on what had once been a white velvet couch. Thomas sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. 

“Laundry, kitchen, this place was made for guests!” Riggs urged. 

“And mold.” Thomas warned. Riggs’ enthusiasm seemed to dwindle a bit as he realized Thomas wouldn’t push over for his most expensive listing. 

“It’s true that this will be a project.” Riggs said, “But I know the owners will come down in price. It’s just an asking, it’s not fixed.” 

“Look, Mr. Riggs-“ Thomas cut him off. He wasn’t going to be taken for a mug, “I understand that this listing must be a terrible burden for you, but I’m not going to be taking it. It requires too much work, and even if the listing price can come down, the price of repairs will not. I’m sorry but I don’t want it. I’d like to view something else.” 

Riggs was deflated, but not easily defeated. He perked back up, clasping his hands together with a bright smile. 

“Well, that’s perfectly fine.” Riggs said, “You don’t have to like things just because I offer them to you. I suppose I’m more of a fixer than a buyer. I tend to see the beauty in every listing. Believe it or not this hotel was gorgeous in its hey-day. You could bring her back to her former glory if you gave her a chance…?” 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. Riggs carried on. 

“I tell you what, let’s ditch this coffin and go view something in the country. A bit of fresh air might do us all some good.” 

So that was that. 

 

Two days later, Thomas stood fixing his hair in the mirror at Kinsey’s flat, for an early train to Warwickshire. It would take them half a day to get there, and Thomas had a sneaking suspicion he would be staying overnight to avoid exhaustion. He packed a small valise, just to be safe, though he carried nothing more than bare essentials and a book of poetry to read in case he got bored. His trousers had mended in the wash, and were ready to wear again. He buttoned up his maroon vest in the mirror, noting that he was wider in the hips than usual. He wondered if there was symbolism behind his recent weight gain and prayed it had nothing to do with Ada or Kinsey. God forbid he go into heat now. Part of him wondered what Kinsey might do if faced with such a situation… besides run away screaming. 

But Kinsey certainly wasn’t running away now. Indeed, he was watching Thomas from the door of the bedroom, noting the valise at his feet and his ironed suit. Thomas had not invited Kinsey to join him simply because he figured the man would have to work. They also hadn’t spoken about Thomas’ outburst the other day, or the threatening phone call Thomas had received. Admittedly, they hadn’t argued either… but still. 

There was an odd tension between them. 

Kinsey walked forward, bypassing a pair of his cast off shoes near the foot of the bed. In a sudden move that surprised Thomas, he took Thomas from behind in his arms, and laid his head upon Thomas’ shoulder. 

Kinsey turned his nose to the crook of Thomas’ neck where his swollen scent gland lay, and took a deep breath. Kinsey sighed, closing his eyes. 

Thomas watched them both in the mirror, marveling at how well they suited one another. How they seemed to have been made from the same torn tapestry, jaded only to fit one another in a near perfect match. 

“… You’re right, and I’m sorry.” Kinsey whispered into his ear. His voice was slightly muted by skin and clothing, “I’m very sorry.” 

He held Thomas tighter, his arms secure and warm about Thomas’ tummy. “I just care for you so much. I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t want to admit I was nervous.” 

It made Thomas feel better, to know that Kinsey fully understood the implications of their actions. There was no optimistic view for the pair of them… either the Brigade would hate them or the Brigade would overrule them. 

“So you are nervous?” Thomas pressed, gently. He laid his hands carefully upon Kinsey’s encircled arms, noting the strength in the muscle and sinews. 

“Bloody hell I am.” Kinsey grumbled, “I’m such a selfish prick, I keep wondering if the Brigade is going to show up at the school and arrest me. God only knows what they’d do to you.” He paused, eyes flicking open to look at Thomas in the mirror. His mouth was obscured by Thomas’ shoulder, with only nose and eyes to be seen. “Please take me with you. I’ll be a very good boy. I’ll even buy you a penny lick.” 

Penny licks aside, Kinsey had to work, “You have to work.” 

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Kinsey whined, “I’m terribly ill. I had to call in sick this morning.” He coughed pathetically into Thomas’ shoulder as if on his death bed with plague. “You wouldn’t leave me all by myself when I’m sick, would you? I’ve been very good. I haven’t hoarded any newspapers… my clothes are in the closet. I’ve been on my best behavior-“ He closed his eyes again, burrowing his face deeper into Thomas neck. “An’ that’s not always easy with you around.” 

Thomas felt a light blush creep into his cheeks. 

He turned, and Kinsey let go of his waist so that the pair of them could be face to face. Thomas reached out and gently turned out the collar of Kinsey’s rumpled jacket. He smoothed Kinsey’s curled hair, trying to make some semblance of order in the wild chestnut locks. It was like attempting to herd cats. 

“Put on a better jacket and your cap.” Thomas said. “Do you have any walking shoes/” 

“Do you forgive me?” Kinsey asked, gentle but unsure. His honey eyes were so full of emotion that Thomas almost felt robbed of speech. He tried for sarcasm, desperate to retain his sense. 

“You don’t, do you.” He wondered if Kinsey had had walking shoes but had ruined them or lost them amid the rubbish of his flat. 

“Please forgive me?” 

“I bet you did at some point.” Thomas said, “I bet you ruined them. I bet you didn’t even wash them.” 

Kinsey didn’t speak. Instead, he looked at Thomas like a wounded animal with huge watering eyes. Thomas had to turn away at once. The power of Kinsey’s empathy and sweetness was strong enough to get him sick. 

“Stop that.” He mumbled. “How dare you. You ingrate.” 

Kinsey shucked his hands in his pockets, bowing his head.  
He was so virtuous in his penance that Thomas could not help but forgive him in that moment. He reached up, using Kinsey’s posture to his advantage, and placed the softest of kisses upon Kinsey’s forehead. 

“Do you forgive me?” Kinsey whispered, his eyes closed. 

“Yes.” 

 

The pair of them took the train to Warwickshire, getting second class seats and sharing an egg and tomato sandwich for breakfast. They bought a cup of tea from the trolley lady and spent the entire ride finishing a crossword puzzle from the London newspaper. It was nice, to simply sit side by side and enjoy the ride. Warwickshire wasn’t too far from London, at least not compared to Yorkshire or Lincolnshire, but the problem was that their destination (Wyck Hall) was essentially off the map. They would have to take the train into Cheltenham, a bus to Stow-on-the-Wold, and then another bus to Wyck Hall itself. They would have to find room at an inn in Stow-on-the-Wold, given that busses didn’t run after five. 

When the train stopped in Cheltenham, they practically had to run to catch their bus. It turned out to be nothing more than a wagonette driving by a team of four horses; they shared the back stoop with a couple of farm hands who were clearly taking a day off; one boy drug a thin reed through the dirt all the way to Stow-on-the-Wold, admiring the line his makeshift toy left behind in the clay. 

Stow-on-the-Wold was quiet, but beautiful. It featured several parks, around which were centered town amenities. It seemed they catered to farmers nearby. There were plenty of fresh produce stalls, and two inns to choose from. They decided on ‘Parson’s Bed and Breakfast’, a family run country house that was out of the way and had a widely recommended café in the bottom. Their appointment with Riggs wasn’t until two, so the pair of them had a few hours to kill while they enjoyed the country scenery. They decided to eat lunch at Parson’s, simply to try out the menu and settle their valises into their room. They would be able to sleep in two separate beds, but the area was cramped and their washroom didn’t have running water. 

It wasn’t really a problem though. Old fashioned living was close to their raisings. They’d both been brought up by mothers who’d scrubbed them in washtubs. 

 

It was pleasant, to sit down and enjoy a home cooked meal. Parson’s didn’t have much in the way of flourishing titles, but they offered bangers and mash, toad-in-the-hole, cottage pie, and even homemade toffee. Kinsey ordered the toad-in-the-hole, while Thomas decided to try the bangers and mash. They were served and waited on by Mrs. Parson’s, who reminded Thomas distinctly of a more kind Mrs. Patmore. They were able to sit out back, which was remotely peaceful and quiet had it not been for a farm girl desperately trying to round up a flock of errant geese. They were squabbling amongst themselves, stopping every two feet to bite at grass, and generally proved to be a nuisance until she smacked their behinds with a thin rattan cane. 

Thomas tried not to think about Mr. Carson; that experience had been scarring to say the least.  
When they’re food arrived, both of them dove in with a frenzy and ordered toffee chips to go.  
“Are you excited?” Kinsey asked, using his knee as a makeshift hat stand for his newscap as he wrangled his baked sausage. 

“Very.” Thomas said. He was much more eager to see an actual manor than some washed up boutique, “I have a good feeling about this one. The hotel didn’t have the right atmosphere. I want my sanctuary to be in the country.” He paused to take a bite of his mash; the gravy was sumptuous. 

“You know…” Kinsey mused, “It would be good to have a sort of back way out. A secret tunnel and all that.” 

This was good thinking; Thomas made a mental note to go into it with Riggs.  
Kinsey brushed the grease from his fingers off on the bottom of his vest. Thomas grumbled, leaning forward to whip out his handkerchief and tend to Kinsey’s soiled vest. 

“Stop that.” Thomas warned, “I have to wash your clothes, remember.” 

When he sat back and resumed eating, he found Kinsey wearing a peculiar forlorn expression. 

“Why, though?” Kinsey murmured. “Why do you wash my clothes? And cook me dinner? And… care for me?” 

That was a very good question, but unfortunately Thomas was not at liberty to answer it. It was too layered, too wrapped up in primal thoughts of being a good omega and caring for his alpha. He could remember when he’d been bonded to Lawrence. He’d despised every interaction with the man, and had wanted nothing more than to get away. With Robert Crawley, he’d felt so confused and even used at times. With Kinsey, Thomas had never felt anything but warmth and contentment. A feeling of belonging and… well… 

“You know why.” Thomas whispered.  
He refused to meet Kinsey’s eyes, lest his blush be taken notice of. Instead he busied himself with a bit of his bangers, using a full mouth as an excuse not to talk. 

For a moment, Kinsey said nothing. Thomas felt shame well up in him, because of course the man didn’t feel the same way- 

“There’s something you need to know.” Kinsey finally said. He sounded… tense. As if everything hung on their next interaction. 

“Yes?” 

“… I have things in my past that you don’t know about.” Kinsey’s jaw moved back and forth. He clenched his knife a little tighter and looked away across the back country lanes. The geese were finally gone, and thank god for it. “Things that would probably damn me in your eyes.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Thomas said, for nothing short of mass murder would make him feel different about Kinsey. 

Kinsey didn’t smile, “I was engaged once… to an omega who turned me away because I was a bastard.” 

Thomas paused, mid-cut of a sausage. Kinsey was still clearly ashamed, but he was meeting Thomas’ gaze dead on. There was a sort of frankness about him, a strange ‘judge me if you will’ expression that Thomas wasn’t used to. 

How had Kinsey been a bastard? That didn’t sound like him at all. 

“… How were you a bastard?” Thomas asked, setting down his utensils so that he could give Kinsey his full attention. 

Kinsey looked away, then down at his lap. He fiddled with his vest before pulling out a pack of black cats. He lit up one, taking a slight drag. 

Thomas hadn’t had a smoke in so long it shocked him. He suddenly wanted a drag, and didn’t refuse when Kinsey silently offered him his own cigarette. God… how the nicotine burned in his throat. It was beautiful and maddening all at the same time. He blew out a long plume of smoke, sighing as Kinsey scratched his jaw and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. 

Surely Kinsey hadn’t been abusive. Surely. 

“… Her name was April Olgate.” Kinsey explained, not looking at Thomas. “She was very beautiful, very wonderful. For years she was betrothed to me, while I went through school and got my degree. She kept asking me to put my career aside. To mate her, to nest her. I didn’t even know ‘nest’ could be used as a verb.” 

“Technically it can be used as one.” Thomas shrugged, “To nest. He nests. She nests.” 

“She gave me an ultimatum… and I chose my work.” Kinsey closed his eyes. It was like the concept still baffled him even to this day. 

But Thomas still didn’t understand. Why had April Olgate given him an ultimatum? Surely she’d understood that his career was his life. It wasn’t like Kinsey had had any direct control over his professors or the assignments they had gave out. Sometimes it simply wasn’t possible to try for children. For god’s sake the man was living on loans! 

“Why-“ Thomas asked, but Kinsey cut him off. 

“Because I felt a sense of obligation to the men and women I could save-“ But Thomas held up a hand so that Kinsey could hear him out. 

“Why did she give you an ultimatum?” He asked.  
Kinsey blanched, clearly amazed to receive such a question. He fumbled with his answer for a few moments, tongue tied. 

“She… felt I wasn’t dedicated to her.” Kinsey’s voice was soft with disbelief at Thomas’ understanding. Thomas just smiled. 

“Did you feel the same way?” Thomas asked. “Like you weren’t dedicated?” 

“… I can only be what I am.” Kinsey said. Thomas agreed whole heartedly “I live my life to pursue my passion.” 

“Is that not the sole definition of dedication?” Thomas said with a small smile. Kinsey chuckled. 

“Not to nesting.” 

“Mm, well that’s our job isn’t it?” Thomas muttered, returning to his lunch. Kinsey did the same, taking a hearty sip of tea. 

“It doesn’t bother you?” Kinsey asked. “That I’m not…” he drifted off, unsure of even what to say. 

“No.” Thomas said. “It doesn’t bother me. It comforts me.” 

Kinsey beamed. It was as if Thomas had touched his very soul by denying the stiff social norms they were forced to live under. Perhaps the pair of them were more suited for one another than they thought. 

“And what about Robert Crawley?” Kinsey mumbled, a strange look in his eyes. “Wouldn’t you rather have him, with all his money and comforts?” 

“…Rob…” Thomas reached out and gently took Kinsey’s hand upon the table. “I’d rather have you in a cardboard shack than Lord Grantham in a palace.” 

Kinsey looked flushed. He squeezed Thomas’ fingers, his own hands obviously sweaty. Maybe Thomas was making him nervous. 

“I try to… suppress it.” Kinsey admitted. “You know, those thoughts that alphas are supposed to get. The idea of biting, claiming, mating… I try not to dwell on it. Me mum says it’s unhealthy and so do most scientists but I can’t stand being distracted from my work. Not when my confusion could result in someone losing their life.” 

“I understand.” Thomas said, for he was the same way though no one was going to die if he turned into a simpering fool. “I don’t go in for it either. I have thoughts though.” 

“Tell me?” Kinsey asked. 

He snorted, “It’s a little embarrassing.” 

“…Please.” Kinsey rubbed his fingers. Thomas decided he would agree, simply because it was Kinsey asking and Thomas could never deny him anything. 

“I just… had this thought when I was younger. About having a nest in a flat.” Thomas could recall the vision easily. He’d been over a shop, curled up on the floor safe and content with a few children around him. They’d been small, infants… sleeping peacefully against his stomach. “I thought I’d have an alpha who would work below, and he’d come up to check on me and our pups. He’d say I was beautiful even though I probably looked a fright and wearing an old nightshirt.” He rolled his eyes. 

Kinsey was smiling though, like Thomas had given him a precious gift. Thomas glared, pointing a wary finger in the man’s face, “If you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll say you’re a liar.” 

But the pair of them divulged into a fit of laughter. 

“Desert?” Kinsey asked. 

“Why not.” Thomas agreed. 

When their waitress re appeared to refill their tea and take away their plates, they ordered a serving of bread pudding to share. 

Kinsey was still holding Thomas’ hand, resolute not to let go. As they waited, Thomas watched the way Kinsey’s eyes flicked continuously over his face. Like he was lost in a dream. 

“…Rob…” Thomas spoke up, whispering so that they would not be overheard. “What if the Brigade takes me? Will you save me?” 

Rob gently threaded their fingers together, “…The Brigade will not take you, and if they had I would not be able to save you.” He said, “Because if they succeed in doing so… it means that I will have died defending you.” 

Thomas was touched. 

The waitress returned with their bread pudding but neither of them looked up. Despite the heavenly aroma of their desert, both of them were more captivated by each other and how the afternoon light made a glowing calm bounce off their shoulders. 

Rob squeezed Thomas’ fingers comfortingly, “ I don’t think I have an oversized t-shirt, and I don’t fancy practicing below a flat… but I’ll come check on you at lunch. How’s that?” 

Thomas’ heart squeezed with emotion. He felt his eyes water up. He had to swallow several times before he trusted himself to speak. 

“… I’ve never had bread pudding.” He whispered. He blinked rapidly, using his spare hand to thumb away moisture from the corners of his eyes. 

“Here-“ Rob reached out and took up a spoon full of bread pudding. He offered it to Thomas, much like Gray had offered him a cup of tea. 

Thomas accepted it without a moment’s hesitation, swallowing the spoonful so that a burst of cream and spice filled his mouth. He liked his lips to chase a bit of syrup. It was heavenly; a little over sweet but he could manage. 

“Listen, I know this is… a bit too much to ask-“ Rob paused to fill up another spoonful, which he ate himself before nodding in contentment, “But since we’re onto round two there’s something you really have to know.” 

“Yes?” 

“… I desperately need a new briefcase.” Rob said, giving him that same wounded animal look as if Thomas held all the answers. 

Thomas snorted, buckled, and burst out laughing. 

 

~*~

They took a wagonette into the countryside, and this time sat on the side rail so that they could be hip to hip. Rob took distinct pleasure in putting his arm around Thomas‘ shoulders, taking in deep breathes of the clean country air and Thomas‘ beautiful scent. 

Feeding him a spoonful of bread pudding had felt invigorating, and here the pair of them were now eating from a communal bag of toffee without a care in the world. Every time Rob had interacted with April, his affections had felt forced. Like he’d been told that he must love her so in the end he’d agreed. But with Thomas there was a magnetic pull, an odd giddy flare that made him warm from the inside out. No one had strictly told him to care for Thomas. It simply had just happened. 

His brain was going off the rails. He ought to be alarmed. 

Even as they sat riding to Wyck Hall, Rob couldn’t help but ponder over Thomas‘ fantasy. It was true that he didn’t have an oversized t-shirt, and that he certainly couldn’t practice out of a flat. He would need space, and privacy for his clients not to mention medical support in the case of a crisis. But Rob had many work mates who went home at lunch to check on their omegas. Even the more surly alpha professors were doting on their mates; one in particular took it upon himself to call his mate three times a day to check up on her and ensure she was happy. Valentines Day was a torrid affair, with cards, chocolates, and flowers covering every inch of the office... christ, one time Rob had witnessed an omega coming up to the school with a cat collared in a silk pink bow. Apparently his colleague had been fond of the breed... 

Rob could see Thomas working from home, traveling to ensure omegan rights and keeping up with their household affairs. Maybe if they ever had children... 

But it wasn’t right to think about things without Thomas‘ consent. He’d suffered horribly, losing Ada at six months. They needed to speak about having children first, and ensure that they walked into the effort with a clear mindset and obvious goal. If Thomas wanted to try again, Rob would be more than willing. He would ensure Thomas‘ safety and health through the affair, and when the baby was born he’d take time off of work to help Thomas get acclimated to the new role of being a mother. 

Rob was struck with the beautiful image of Thomas in their bed, his arms wrapped around a soft white bundle that squeaked out bizarre noises. He’d gently rock the baby, cooing to it, and would look up when Rob entered the room bearing lunch on a tray. Rob would fetch him a shawl for his shoulders, kiss him softly upon the forehead, and peek over the white blanket to see his child resting comfortably inside. 

Rob was smiling like a gob smacked fool. If his father could see him, he’d tell him to get a hold of himself. 

About halfway to Wyck Hall, the heat and the comforting lull of the ride took over Thomas‘ senses. He laid his head upon Rob’s shoulder, and for a moment Rob thought Thomas was asleep until he started cracking his knuckles and Thomas reached up a hand to stop him. 

“Stop that or your fingers will go stiff.“ Thomas muttered softly. 

“That’s a wive’s tale.“ Rob reminded him. His mother had told him the same when he was a child. 

“Maybe.“ Thomas yawned, sitting back up and stretching a bit. He rolled his neck, popping his vertebrae before looking out over the rolling countryside. “Are we there yet?“ 

“Nearly.“ Rob looked out over the countryside, only to pause when the top crests of a large mansion peeked into view. Trees were becoming manicured and widely spaced, always a warning sign of wealth. “Ah- there she is!“ Rob pointed out as Wyck Hall came into view. She was quite pretty, made of white brick with expansive grounds. Rob could even see the greenhouses from the road. “Isn’t she beautiful?“ 

 

Sure enough, Wyck Hall was enchanting. Thomas gaped at the sight of her, his cerulean eyes lighting up with delight. 

“Oh Robbie…” Rob felt a jolt of emotion at the nickname “Oh god, she’s gorgeous. Look at that brick!” But at the turn a dime, Thomas looked to Rob, suddenly unsure, “Why on earth are they selling? Do you think it’s haunted?” 

Rob couldn’t deny it was peculiar. He shrugged, teasing Thomas with a grin, “Maybe.” 

“Stop that.” Thomas muttered, pushing him playfully. 

“I’m serious!” Rob took mock offense. “Maybe a rabid ghost is driving out the occupants. Listen for banging pipes and slamming doors…” 

“Is that the signs of a ghost?” 

“That and rattling chains.” Thomas rolled his eyes, grinning and shaking his head. 

They called for the driver to stop his team of horses as soon as the walk to Wyck Hill appeared. They climbed off, giving the driver a pence for his troubles, and started up the walkway hand in hand. The rolling grassy hills were endearing, particularly paired with the daisies which lined the walk. Rob could envision omegas taking picnics on the hills with their children, enjoying the sun and the clean air. 

Thomas was practically ready to skip he was so excited. Rob was excited for him. 

Of course, all this enthusiasm bled out of the air like a balloon punctured with a needle when they rounded the oval front walk of Wyck Hall to view two people waiting for them instead of one. 

Danny was there, of course, swinging his briefcase back and forth and looking delighted with himself. He was joined, however, by a familiar character with a top hat and an ivory cane. 

Thomas slowed up, eyes widening in shock. “What the hell-?” He whispered. Rob still clung to his hand, determined to show a wall of strength in the face of opposition, “What is he doing here?” 

Lord Grantham was unexpected, that was for certain, but Rob was stubborn and would not back down from his claim on Thomas… not when he cared for Thomas so intimately. 

“Walk through the country?” Rob offered breezily. He kept urging Thomas forward, though their gate was slower than before. 

“Oh sure.” Thomas was getting angry. Rob could feel his palm starting to sweat, “Sure. A walk through this particular countryside. On this particular day with our particular realtor.” 

“Very particular.” Rob agreed. 

As they approached within speaking distance of Danny and Lord Grantham, the pair of them stopped. Rob gave Lord Grantham a polite if cold smile. Thomas, however, wasn’t up for playing games. 

“I see you’ve found the place!” Danny bounded forward at once to enthusiastically shake Rob’s hand again. 

“I see many people have found the place.” Thomas corrected angrily. 

Lord Grantham was composed, but strangely somber. He took off his top hat in greeting, holding it pensively with both hands as he regarded Thomas’ angry defiance. 

“..Thomas.” Lord Grantham whispered the name like a prayer in a dark hour. “I know it must be a shock to see me. I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” 

“Refreshing.” Thomas wouldn’t be taken under the guise of gentility. “How did you find us? I suppose you’ve sent men after me?” 

“Not really.” Lord Grantham put back on his top hat. “There’s been a great deal of talk about your attempts at organizing a refuge for omegas. All I had to do was make a few calls-“ 

“Did you call Dr. Kinsey’s flat?!” Thomas demanded. His eyes were popping, “Was that you on the phone the other night?!” 

Lord Grantham was taken aback, but only for a moment, “No… but I see that you’ve already felt the wrath of the Brigade. Perhaps you can see the foolishness of your actions now?” 

“The only one foolish here is you!” Thomas pointed an angry finger at the man. Out of instinct, Rob reached out and gently took the back of Thomas’ elbow in hand, reeling in his angry arm to remind Thomas that they were still in the company of gentlemen. Admittedly Lord Grantham was making a poor impression but Danny was innocent in all of this and didn’t deserve to get caught up in a fight. 

“Leave!” Thomas ordered Lord Grantham. The man did not budge, his mouth set into a thin white line. “You’re not welcome here-!” 

“Easy now!” Danny interjected, shocked at the sudden display of hostility. He implored for the better nature of men. “Lord Grantham has been very generous with your case, Mr. Barrow. He’s even offered to pay my fees-“ 

But the talk of money just made Thomas angrier, “I don’t need-!” He barked, but Rob leaned in and spoke into his ear. At once, Thomas halted though there were still angry red splotches on his beautiful high cheekbones. 

“I’ll handle this.” Rob muttered softly. Thomas grew pensive, so Rob leaned back to speak to everyone present “Go on ahead and go view the house, Thomas. Lord Grantham and I have business to attend to.” 

Lord Grantham was glaring at him, but Rob refused to bend to a show of hostility. He’d suffered worse from patients, and he wasn’t getting paid to deal with Lord Grantham. If he was, his commission would be enormous. 

Danny was slightly cowed but stepped away at once taking Thomas with him. Thomas did not even look back, still too angry to remember his manners. 

“Look for ghosts.” Rob added, hoping to ease the tension. Thomas snorted. 

“I assure you, there are no ghosts.” Danny babbled as they mounted the steps. He fished with a large iron key and unlocked the front door. 

“Right, and the Boutique Hotel was just a fixer-upper.” Thomas snapped. “In.” He ordered, pointing for Danny to enter first. 

Danny was happy to do as he was told, though he paused on the threshold and called back to Rob. “There are beautiful green houses and even a tennis court if you’d like to view them! Go around the left hand side! You’ll even see horse pastures from the neighboring farm!” 

“Horse pastures.” Rob said, though he had no intention of taking a leisurely walk. “Thank you. We’ll go look at them right now.” 

“Yes.” Lord Grantham agreed, though his jaw was clenched and his words were terse. 

The door closed on both men.  
Neither made to go for a walk. 

~*~

The nerve! The sodding nerve of the man! 

Thomas could strange Robert Crawley. He was bordering on stalker motives now, to send men after Thomas. What had they uncovered? How deep was this conspiracy going to go? 

Thomas was almost too angry to focus on Wyck Hall. He suddenly wished he could reschedule the visit despite the fact it was so far out of the way and Rob had taken off work to travel with him. 

Wyck Hall was beautiful, Thomas had to admit. Though it was stone on the outside, this was predominantly a wood building. There was a large entrance hall, which opened up into a main reception room where you could either go up the stairs to the gallery floor or spread out into several sitting rooms and a library. It wasn’t too unlike Downton Abbey, save that Downton was much larger on the inside and made of stone. 

“Nine bedrooms, six receptions rooms, seven bathrooms-“ Riggs paused to open the library door so that Thomas could look inside. Once again, it was smaller than Downton Abbey and boasted more wood work. It likewise opened out onto the green houses through a small veranda, where you could easily take tea during the warmer months. Right now most of the plants were brown, having not been attended to properly in quite some time. Still... it could easily be spruced up. Wouldn’t it be charming to grow vegetables there too, to give the children an activity and keep them calm? 

“Gorgeous.“ Thomas agreed. The pair of them left the library, heading up the stairs to the gallery floor. They took a left, heading towards what would surely be the master suite. Most of the rooms were bare of furniture; the owners must have taken everything with them. The woodwork continued onto the ceiling, where murals had been carved of maidens and muses. “I love the woodwork.“ Thomas added. 

“All hand carved by an Italian fellow ages ago.“ Riggs explained. He opened up a bedroom suite; they entered to find it bare but hosting large wall length windows that looked out over the front of the house. Beyond it lay a balcony, where water stains showed that potted plants had once sat. “Now, I thought that perhaps a few of the reception rooms could be turned into nurseries or communal living quarters. Maybe even a hospital ward. You also have the attics and the basement just like you wanted. This house may not be plugged in to stock large amounts of simple rooms like the boutique hotel, but it has ornate rooms in wealth. You know these sorts.“ 

“Why are the owners selling?“ Thomas inquired, “Dr. Kinsey was joking, but surely it isn’t haunted?“ 

Thomas peeked into the washroom. It was made of ornate tile, checkered in rose and cream. The tub had four gilded feet... it was rather feminine. 

“Heavens no, and it isn’t mold either if that’s what you’re about to ask!“ Riggs added hastily. “No, no. They’re upsizing.“ Riggs smiled, “This house is too small for them.“ 

Thomas shut the door to the bathroom and exited the master suite. They continued back out into the hall and entered the next room over which turned out to be a valeting chamber. The room after that was a guest room, which Thomas entered to note that the carpet beneath was still in good condition. Hardly moldy. There was another balcony outside the window; Thomas went to it and poked his head out to look at the expansive grounds. He could see the tennis courts from this angle, but not much else. 

“You mentioned tennis courts. What else is available?“ 

“Yes, the former lord was fond of the game.“ Riggs said, poking his head out as well to get a breath of fresh air. There was a slight stale aroma, which was probably typical of unoccupied houses. “There are also stables, and even a pond. It would be a fine place for recreational therapy.“ 

“I agree.“ Thomas said. God only knows, a pond would have helped him with his broken leg back in March. “The animals would be nice for the children too. I have to peregrine falcons that could easily make their home here.“ 

“Oh yes!“ Riggs agreed. “Plenty of room for an aviary. You have fifty acres of workable land, after all.“ He paused, turning slightly more business in tone. “Now, it’s slightly smaller than you were probably hoping for but so is the price. We’re looking at 600,000 pounds.“ 

“Mmm...“ Thomas said, relaxing against the railing of the balcony. As always, the talk of money made him nervous. Particularly so when he would still have to stock this house and pay for staff. 

“Don’t let that put you off!“ Riggs urged. He was always the one to take the optimistic approach. “Remember, you’re going to have fundraisers, and have you seen any mold yet?“ 

Thomas grinned, in spite of himself. Admittedly, Riggs had shown him a much better place than last time. Still, there was something weighing on his mind, after his conversation with Rob over lunch. “This is going to sound slightly silly, but I was wondering if you could get me maps of the geographical outlay. I want to build a safe tunnel, some kind of a back way out in case of an emergency.“

“Let me look into that-“ Riggs paused to take out a small notebook from his coat pocket, which he flipped open to scribble into. “There should be something in the estate agent’s file.“ 

Thomas looked out over the grounds again, trying to envision where his tunnel would be. He’d build it from the cellar, and would have it connect somewhere... perhaps near the train tracks? Maybe he could look into neighboring estates and see if one would be willing to work as a safe house? Now that he thought about it, it might be better for omegas to enter from the safe-house tunnel as well. It would be too suspicious for everyone to come up from the front walk- 

He paused, noticing Rob and Lord Grantham facing off in front of the house. There was a bizarre tension in both men, and it made Thomas incredibly nervous. He did not want to lose Rob just because Grantham said something off putting. Rob was too precious to him, too important. 

“Excuse me-“ Thomas blurted out, pushing away from the balcony to head back to the gallery floor. 

~*~

A soft, supple wind shifted through the clearing; on its wings, it carried the heavy scent of testosterone and challenge. 

Rob stood his ground, hands shucked in his pockets and newscap jaunted over his eye. 

“I suppose you merely stumbled upon Thomas in London?“ Grantham challenged, “A sign of good fortune no doubt.“ 

“He came to my work and waited for me in my study.“ Rob shot down, “If that’s your idea of good fortune then so be it; you should know by now that Thomas is not interested in you.“ 

“I’m his alpha!“ Lord Grantham was positively furious at the slightest hint of dismissal. Rob did not shift, keeping a stern face, “I love him! I protect him! What are you but some quack? Some bizarre charlatan that needs to make a name for himself? And how better to do it than to get a title from a beautiful omega longing for love? Do you think I’m blind?-“

Rob held up a hand. He was not in the mood. 

“I didn’t come here to give you some therapy session, Robert.“ Rob warned. Lord Grantham went pink at his impertinence. “I’m not a quack or a charlatan. I’m a psychiatrist, indoctrinated by the London School of Medicine. I have a name all my own, and though it’s not prominent it’s mine through honesty and I am proud of it.“ 

Lord Grantham opened his mouth, but Rob cut him off, “I accept that you having feelings towards Thomas, but I find that I’m not partial to caring about them. You’re a grown man who can take care of himself, and I am not your psychiatrist. It’s not my job to help you through your rejection, nor will I had my position from you to try and spare your feelings.“ 

It felt good to speak the words aloud. To be humbled by their strength, “I care for Thomas, deeply... and I won’t start a war over who deserves him more. I don’t have the energy, nor do I have the patience or time. My being lays solely in the hands of Thomas. Make of that what you will.“ 

“How dare you attempt to take what is mine?“ Grantham’s ignorance was painting a very ugly picture of the man. Rob did not want to believe that Grantham was a bad man, but he certainly wasn’t making it easy on Rob. 

“Thomas is not yours. He’s a human being, he belongs to no one-“

“Then how do you intend to claim him? Where do you of all people get the divine right to be his alpha-?“ 

“I’m not claiming him at all.“ It was like he was explaining relationships to a child instead of a grown man. “Thomas and I hardly need one another to survive. We didn’t find one another out of some cosmic scenting program. We found one another because we....“ 

But that was the puzzle wasn’t it. How had they come together? Rob didn’t want to just pin it on fate... but really it had been the smallest change in his plans which had resulted in him venturing to Downton Hospital a day later than previously intended. Had he gone on his original date, he would have missed Thomas entirely. 

“Because we did.“ Rob finally summed up. It was hardly eloquent. “As a mentally functioning adult, you should be able to grasp how unhealthy the concepts of alpha and omega stereotypes are-“ 

“I won’t listen to this.“ Lord Grantham snapped, looking away as if Rob had been babbling to him in a foreign language. 

“I figured as much,“ Rob muttered, “But it doesn’t matter whether you listen to me or not. Thomas and I have decided to pursue a courtship. This is not up for debate.“ 

“What we have runs deeper than some feeble courtship.“ Grantham was starting to sound whimsical. “It is the pact of servant and master. Whatever rubbish you’ve put in his head, it cannot sway his loyalty to the abbey or to my family.“ 

“He is not a mindless drone!“ Rob finally lost his patience, “He’s not some dog that will come every time you call, he’s a human being and he deserves better than what you give him credit for!“ 

Grantham opened his mouth with an angry retort, but deflated as he glanced over Rob’s shoulder. Rob looked around, surprised to find Thomas already walking out of the house. He’d only been inside for about half an hour. Did he not like Wyck Hall?

“Robbie.“ Thomas greeted him with warmth, finding his hand as easily as he’d left it. “I’m not too fond of this one. It’s a bit small, and I’m not sold until I can see the layout of the land.“  
He completely ignored Grantham, and for whatever reason it gave Rob a viciously smug feeling to see the man deflate even further. 

“Ah, well,“ He held Thomas close, snaking an arm about his hip. He supposed it was a bit of a let down, given how far they’d come, but it had been nice to get out of London for the day, “A hit and a miss. It’s a step in the right direction though?“ 

“Thomas, I understand if you’re angry at me. I admit I acted with haste.“ Lord Grantham spoke in a rush, flustered, “But it’s time to come home. You’re attracting far too much attention. You’re treading on a dangerous path, and if you keep going up it I may not be able to save you.“ 

“You think the abbey constitutes as his home?“ Rob was growing angry again; the image of Thomas puttering about his flat putting it to rights and making him tea had become far too precious for him to give up. Thomas shouldn’t have to go back to the abbey... he should be able to go where he wanted! 

“Better with his family than with some quack.“ Lord Grantham snapped, unable to continue being polite anymore. But this just infuriated Thomas, who for some reason took deep personal offense to the term. 

“That’s not true!“ Thomas shouted, furious as he clung to Rob’s side. He looked to Rob, desperate, “You know that’s not true, Robbie, you’re not a quack.“ 

Of course Rob knew it was true, but it was sweet of Thomas to jump to his defense. “I know, Thomas.“ 

“Dr. Kinsey is not a quack!“ Thomas repeated, this time to Lord Grantham who was growing reluctant after being called out, “And you ought to apologize for referring to him in such a way. He’s saved lives! He’s changing the face of psychology!“ 

Rob declined to add that he was literally doing neither of these things. It was an argument they could have later. 

“While keeping his own hidden.“ Lord Grantham warned. Rob narrowed his eyes at the ugly insinuation. Did Lord Grantham truly think he was such a cad? “You know that he’s just using you, Thomas! Using you for your newfound fortune! I’ve done a bit of digging into his financial situation. He’s a pauper, living on loans from his mother! Is that the kind of man you want to care for you? Someone who can’t even fend for himself without hiding behind his mother’s skirts? I thought you smarter-“

“Oh, blow it out your arse!“ Thomas cursed. Lord Grantham did a double take, shocked at Thomas‘ vulgar tone and language. “How dare you speak to him like that?! How dare you! I held you above that, Robert Crawley! I thought you were a better man-!“ 

“Thomas, he wants you position! Your money! Your womb! Can’t you see-“

“Not everything is about sex and money, Robert!“ Thomas snarled. “Not everything is about being an omega or an alpha! Could it not be that Robbie likes me just for who I am? Is that so impossible?” 

“He doesn’t even know who you are!” Grantham was getting emotional. “I know who you are!” 

“Oh stuff it.” Thomas was playing hard ball, “All I am to you is a servant. Someone you can control. You never cared about me when I was a beta. I was a nuisance to you- you nearly chucked me out on my arse with nothing and nowhere to go! Just because I was an inconvenience! You and Carson both, you nearly bullied me to death-!” 

“No!” 

Without warning, Grantham lunged forward and clasped Thomas’ one free hand in his own. He tugged at Thomas, not to take him away from Rob entirely but to at least hold his hand like he had any right. Thomas was scandalized, gaping at how Grantham clung to him. 

“No… No, Thomas no.” He begged. “God, no.” 

“Stop it!” Thomas yanked his hand away, outraged. “Let me go!” He held his hand to his chest, over his heart. “Are you losing your touch? What part of stay away do you not understand? What are you going to do, sneak up on me and scent me again?” 

“Thomas, just listen to me.” Grantham begged, “Just hear me out- five minutes is all I ask!” 

“Five minutes is all you’re getting.” Thomas certainly wasn’t going to give him a second more. 

“Look at him!” Grantham gestured to Rob angrily, “What do you really know about him? You’re a stranger to his past, his true motives. For all we know, he could turn out to be exactly like Gray! Things could start off wonderfully-“ 

“They didn’t.” Thomas growled. “He was a prick from the start.” 

“And then turn into something horrific-!” Grantham just carried right on, “What’s going to stop him from abusing you? From locking you away? Dear god, have you not even considered that he might even be working for the Brigade?!” 

Jesus would this horse shit ever end. “Give him the rest of his five minutes and I’m going to be a German spy.” Rob sneered under his breath. 

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t.” Thomas had had enough, “We’re done, Robert. We’re done. I’m living my own life now-“ He gestured between himself and Rob. 

But Grantham’s patience had finally gotten to the end, “I warn you, if you depart from me the abbey will no longer be open to you. Baxter, Mrs. Hughes; those doors will be closed to you! If you go down this road, you don’t get to come back!” 

 

As soon as the words had crossed his lips, Grantham looked regretful. Thomas was shocked, gaping at the man like he’d turned into a three headed monster. 

In a way, he had. 

“… You…” Thomas whispered, shaking his head. “You are a selfish prick. And I hate you.” 

Thomas jerked away from Rob. He stormed off, back up the walk towards the main road. 

“Thomas-!” Grantham called out after him. 

“Go jump in a river!” Thomas roared, his voice faint. 

Grantham was dismayed. Rob shrugged, unsure of what else to do anymore. “Hope you know how to swim.” He said. 

 

 

They left Grantham and Danny to close up the house. Thomas was much too upset to be plagued upon for chatter. 

Instead of taking a wagonette home, Thomas walked and Rob trailed behind, allowing him to have his space so that he could fume properly. Too often, he’d found in the past that people demanded immediate responses from Thomas when really what he needed was a good sulk. There was nothing wrong with taking time to vent for personal reasons; when Thomas was ready to talk, Rob would know. 

They made it back to the village around six, when the sun had all but vanished from the sky. There was a cool frost upon the ground; winter had not yet fully lost its hold. It was difficult to say when spring would truly begin. England often had chilly months that were rocked away by scorching heat only to be sucked back again by winter’s call. Then again, this persistent chill might have less to do with weather and more to do with the fact that Thomas was pointedly furious. 

Rob could not blame him. 

The Parson’s Bed and Breakfast didn’t have much of a night crowd. It was more or less known for its breakfast buffets. The only people in the inn were clearly taking up lodgings, so Rob and Thomas got the run of the place as they requested a small dinner of soup and freshly baked bread before turning in. Rob knew it was in poor taste, but he felt horribly exhausted and almost immediately kicked off his shoes to fall upon his single cot. He slung a hand over his eyes, blocking out the light of their shared oil lamp which sat on a rickety table between their cots... but in truth Rob was watching Thomas from behind the crook in his arm. 

Thomas moved with a strange rigidity for a few hours, yanking off his neck tie and seething under his breath. But as the light finally slipped away outside and crickets struck up their nightly symphony, Thomas seemed to shake off the last of his discomfort and went to take a bath. 

A bath in this hotel required there to be a kettle of hot water on hand, which was typical of lower income households. Thomas fetched Mrs. Parson’s, whose sister-in-law seemed to be the night-duty maid. She brought Thomas several buckets of hot water, which were pooled together in a steep wooden wash barrel. When at last Thomas was finally ready to take a bath, the sister-in-law left them in peace and Thomas shut the door to the bathroom. 

Of course, the lock was shoddy so the door managed to creak open an inch. It wasn’t much, but if you were at the right angle you could see inside. 

Somehow, though Rob was unsure of the timeline, he found himself transported from laying on his bed to standing in the doorway of the bathroom. 

It was dark inside, with steam filtering through the air. Instead of sitting in the washtub, Thomas was sitting beside it with his back to the door. 

Thomas was washing himself on his knees, a thin towel slung low about his hips as he perched on the balls of his feet. 

He ran a soapy cloth up and down his arms; wherever the rag went, a golden trail seemed to follow. Maybe it was just the reflection from the oil lamp. 

Thomas paused, looking over his shoulder. He saw Rob in the door and paused. 

“…Excuse me,” Rob looked away, burning with desire. “I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“You’re not prying.” Thomas whispered. Even his voice was like silk. “Come in.“

Oh but that was a dangerous phrase. Rob knew it was rude to intrude upon such a private moment, but what was he to do when Thomas gave him permission? He could hardly deny when Thomas gave him a cup of tea, much less deny when Thomas gave him exactly what he wanted. Rob stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do, but as Thomas crooked his finger Rob was drawn like a fish hooked to a line.

He stumbled inside and shut the door, making sure that the heat and steam of the washroom didn’t sneak out. 

Thomas continued to bathe, running the cloth up and down his chest. Rob could only see a sliver of Thomas‘ front, but even that shone like gold as he wiped away the days dirt and grime. Rob was entranced, practically salivating as Thomas looked over his shoulder once again and gave him a tiny smile. 

“Come sit down.“ Thomas murmured. “You must be tired. You don’t need to stand.“ 

Admittedly, Rob was exhausted. He crumpled to the ground next to Thomas, getting the seat of his trousers soggy from the draining stream of Thomas‘ makeshift bath. The water felt warm on his skin, and smelt incredible. Some strange mix of pheromone and sweat. 

“Are you okay?“ Rob asked, unsure of how to best broach the subject concerning Thomas and Grantham. “I know today must have been hard.“ 

Thomas smiled, and shook his head. “I’m always okay when you’re around.“ Thomas said. It prompted a flood of emotion in Rob, making him thick headed and loose lipped. 

“Yeah well...“ He mumbled, but his voice trailed off into silence. 

Thomas reached around back, trying to wash along his spinal column... but it was hard and his arms were pinched. He pouted. 

“You know, it’s hard to wash my back. Would you help me?“ 

God would he ever. “Yeah, o’course.“ 

He took the damp rag from Thomas, undoing his shirt sleeves to roll them up to his elbows. He dipped the rag back into the steaming washtub, lathering it with a bit more goat soap before beginning to wash Thomas‘ back. 

The soap ran in slim trails down the plains of muscle. It was beautiful to observe, like art in motion, and Rob had to pause to take a deep breath when his chest began to ache. 

Unbidden, unasked, Thomas bent low to stretch himself along the floor. It exposed him even more, the towel around his hips slipping loose and fluttering to his thighs.

He smiled at Rob. 

“…Oops.” He whispered. Rob highly doubted it was an accident. 

Thomas’ arse was round, swollen from a rush of omegan hormones. Rob heard a stream of babbling noises fall from his lips, none of which truly expressed the delightful experience of staring at Thomas Barrows Arse. 

Blessed God above. What sacred fountain did he toss a penny into when he was young? 

“…Would you?” Thomas whispered. 

Rob looked from the rag in his hand to Thomas’ beautiful round arse.  
Yes. Yes he would. 

He reached forward, and began to wash. Thomas let out the tiniest moan, whimpering as Rob gently fingered the top of his cleft. 

“…Lower…” Thomas whimpered. 

Rob’s mouth was hanging open. He reached with one hand, his rag dropping away till his soapy fingers found the very center of Thomas’ being. 

That sweet little spot… so plump. So tender.  
Dripping wet. 

He swallowed a mouth full of saliva, eyelids drooping as he brought his hand back out to see a pink foamy substance at the tip of his fingers. 

Slick. 

“…Rob…” Thomas had his face pressed against the floor, whimpering as he spread his legs wider. “Please… More…” 

So Rob gave him more. 

 

~*~

Rob gasped awake. 

 

 

It was the dead of night, probably close to early in the morning. 

Rob was soaked with sweat, his heart pounding wildly in his ears. He was gripping the covers beneath him in an iron tight hold, and worst of all a hot wet patch between his legs was growing. 

The smell of musk left nothing to question. Rob’s cheeks burned in shame. 

He slowly sat up in bed, nervous to look around and find Thomas watching him. God forbid he’d moaned in his sleep or something. And oh…! What a dream it had been. A beautiful beautiful dream of Thomas. Of his arse… spreading for him- opening- 

Rob shuddered violently; his cock was so hard it hurt. He hadn’t had a wet dream in years- god, it had been before April. Rob had always held himself above those primal urges. Above stereotypical alpha thoughts that resulted in sexual violence. 

But he was desperate now. He had to touch himself or he would go insane. 

 

Rob looked over his shoulder, and found Thomas laying in his own bed. 

He was asleep like an angel, curled up on his side. His chest rose and fell slowly, the tiniest noise emitting from his mouth. It wasn’t a snore… something much softer and sweeter. 

Rob wanted nothing more than to wake Thomas. To see those beautiful cerulean eyes swallow him whole. They would kiss, and become one. Not in bodies, but in souls. They would hide nothing from each other. They wouldn’t be afraid anymore. 

But there were other things that demanded a more immediate attention. 

Such as his raging erection. 

 

Flustered, Rob carefully crawled from bed, determined not to wake Thomas, and trod into the bathroom. 

It was cold, quite, and dark. The washtub had been poured down the drain, leaving the barrel bare. It was now upside down, making the perfect sitting spot. Rob locked the door to the bathroom, and stumbled over to the barrel to collapse atop it. 

He was shaking. He felt…muddled. Confused. 

What was up? What was down? 

Rob took a deep shuddering breath, fishing with one trembling hand to take his cock from his pants. 

He curved his fingers, gaping wordlessly as he began to fist his erection. 

He could see colors bursting before his eyes, beautiful images of cerulean eyes and soft pale flesh. 

How would he take Thomas? 

Oh, but if only…. 

Maybe on his knees, with Thomas’ beautiful red lips wrapped around his cock. They’d go slow, savor every moment… Thomas would whimper and moan, his tongue hot and slick against—

“-ah-“ Rob shuddered, precum slipping through his fingers as he sped up the tempo. 

But then, how he really wanted Thomas, really deeply truly, was on his back. He wanted to take Thomas from the front, to spread his legs and let them wrap around his waist. Thomas would writhe, buck, and scream in ecstasy. He’d been raped before, broken and beaten… made to fear every bedroom encounter. 

But not this time. 

Rob would swear every second to his own sensations. Anything Thomas wanted, he would have. Slow and soft? Rob would take every stroke like the pull of a bow across a set of violin strings. Hard and sharp? Rob could snap into a rhythm like a bucking bull. If Thomas wanted to sit up, and balance against Rob’s lap, Rob would wrap his arms around Thomas’ waist and let him set the pace. Hell, he could lean back against the pillows and watch Thomas ride his cock. 

Oh- that was an image. 

Thomas, bouncing, riding him at a flagrant gallop, black hair in his sweating face and eyes pinched shut with ecstasy. 

_“Fuck me Robert Fuck me Robert Fuck me Fuck me-“_ He’d chant, his fingers scraping down Rob’s chest to leave fiery red trails. 

But Rob would just hold on tight, hands clenched around Thomas’ swollen hips. 

Thomas would throw his head back, screaming when he reached his zenith. 

_“Robert, take me I'm yours-!!!”_ He’d howl, cum spurting from his sweet little cock even as his gloved muscles milked Rob dry. 

He’d hold Thomas still in his lap, keep him safe as he rode out the waves of his orgasm-!

He'd bite into his neck, tear into sweet flesh and let blood pool in his mouth. They'd be bonded forever, never to be parted. He'd be swollen with Rob's seed, dripping so that every alpha would know just whose cock Thomas belonged to. He'd be Robert's obedient little omega. His perfect mate. His breasts would swell, primed for milking...! Rob could imagine himself taking a mouthful, just because he could, sucking Thomas in and savoring his sweet little moans at the sensation of Rob teasing his nipple with his teeth-! 

 

“Gye-!” Rob blurted out, unable to fully keep quiet. 

He came all over his hand, and the cold tile floor. Ropes of cum shot from his cock, arching in the air only to splatter as he gasped for air and clutched at the barrel beneath him. 

For a moment he had to stay absolutely still, aftershocks of his orgasm making him sensitive and sore. He drew in one deep breath after another, shivering in the cold as the night air finally set back in. 

He suddenly felt horribly ashamed of himself; filthy to boot. Now there was cum all over the floor, and who could he blame but himself and his ridiculous imagination? 

Of course, it was natural to have these urges, but Rob was under no illusions about a timeline. There was so much progress to make before he and Thomas might potentially fall into bed with one another. It was a pipeline dream, and not even the end destination. When Rob imagined a life with Thomas, his mind didn’t automatically jump to marital sex. Instead, he thought of Thomas making him tea and ironing his suits… of Thomas arguing with a client for the sanctuary on the telephone with one hand while holding their baby with another. 

Of Thomas, snuggled up with him on the couch, the pair of them wrapped in a flannel blanket. 

 

But that was just a dream and nothing more.  
And Rob was a fool for indulging it. 

 

~*~

 

Underneath a bar, on the Southside of London, ten men met in secret. 

 

They were broad and tall, each of them muscled and branded with tattoos. They came from all walks of life. Some were dock workers. Some were lawyers. One was a judge, and the other a high profile doctor. Each of them had been called by their leader, and asked to meet in the old way. The last time they had done as such had been during the war when omegas were being sent to the front lines in secret. 

Now, they were joined to discuss another omega... but this one was a little too outspoken. 

 

“So he refused the hotel.“ The leader mused. Alden MacNaire stroked his chin, gently tugged at the blonde whiskers which dripped from his face. 

“Too pricy.“ Said his most prized spy, pausing to take a small sip of ale. “He likewise doesn’t want the manor in Warwickshire. Got the call from Ben only an hour ago.“ 

“He might fall out of love with the idea altogether.“ The police chief, Thane, tried for optimism. “Omega’s are fickle.“ 

“Not this one.“ Alden remained convinced, taking a sip of his ale and smacking the empty tankard against the table, “He’s a trouble maker.“ He paused, rubbing his chin some more. He glanced about the room, at his own little private army, and marveled at their speed and intelligence. Surely there was no greater gathering of alphas in the world. “What’s next?“ 

The spy was the first to speak, “Well, there are a few more properties he’s going to view. Let’s hold off and see what he does next. As soon as he finds a place he likes, then we can really make our move.“ 

Alden made several grumbling noises, and rose from his seat. He was getting agitated, and paced to try and sooth his nerves. 

“I don’t like this,“ Alden admitted, “I don’t like this at all.“ He turned away to look out the slim window that rested high in the ceiling. It was at street level, and every so often a shadow would flick across it as someone walked home above them. “First alpha he takes to goes blind. Second alpha starts slagging around with his own sister. S’not right. Not decent.“ 

“Any good omega would be able to hold their alpha accountable.“ Dr. Calhoun warned, and there rose a murmur of agreement from around the table. 

Thane wasn’t convinced, “You think he’s doing it on purpose?“ 

“Not sure.“ Alden admitted. “I want to see how this situation folds out.“ 

He took a moment, collected himself, then began his slew of orders: “Thane-“ He pointed as his spoke, “I want the police monitoring Kinsey’s flat and any other property he picks up. Brown, watch his bank accounts. Nichols, watch his public movements.Woodford, watch the hospitals for any disappearing omegas in case he makes an early jump. If the brat sneezes, I want to know about it.“ 

The men accepted their trials without hesitation or complaint. They were eager to advance their cause. 

“Cal,“ Alden turned to his second in command, “I want you to do some digging into this Kinsey bastard. Find out everything about him. He might be our way in.“ 

“Naturally.“ Calhoun’s tone was cold. He had not forgotten his public disgrace at Downton Hospital. 

“And as for you...“ Alden paused, rounding the table to brace his hands upon the square shoulders of the spy. He was a young man, with a striking jaw and a thick coif of blond hair. He looked strikingly like his father. “Just keep up your hard work. You’re doin‘ me an‘ your mother proud... You an‘ your brother both.“

Alden clapped his other hand upon the man sitting next to the spy.  
He looked more like his mother, with curly black hair and paler skin. 

They were known as Averill and Ambrose. The two oldest children of Alden MacNaire, born into the world by his first omega Francine. They were, by far, the most important members of the Brigade when it came to spy missions. Both were equipped to handle life outside of Dover. Where one faltered the other one flew. 

With his rugged good looks and bulking muscles, Averill often took spy missions among the laborers and lower class. He did not possess the finesse or finance to behave amongst the upper class... that was where his younger brother came in. 

Ambrose was not as bulky as Averill, nor was he as skilled with his hands. He was, however, a smooth talker and for most of their joined missions did work with the upper class. 

Their mission was simple. Infiltrated Barrow’s omega sanctuary, and bring Barrow back to Dover alive. 

It had been Ambrose MacNaire on the phone. 

“Father,“ Ambrose spoke up, “I have an idea.“ 

“Yes?“ Alden massaged his son’s shoulder; Ambrose had always been the more verbal of the two. It was he to report on missions, and he to do most of the paperwork his brother despised. They were like day and night, melding fluidly together by their father’s forceful nature. 

“The omega mentioned to Riggs that he wanted to look into making an escape exit.“ Ambrose paused, fishing through his vest jacket to withdraw the note that Rigg’s had scribbled down Thomas‘ command. Ambrose handed the note over to his father, who observed it before taking a deep whiff.

“Beta.“ Alden muttered, unimpressed. He handed the note back to Ambrose. 

“I feel it might behoove us to befriend the omega under false pretenses. When he starts seeking the help of weak alphas, we could easily blend in and tear him apart from the inside.“ Ambrose said. “We would have better access to his plans, and could cut out many gray areas.“ 

Alden was not pleased. “It’s not the way of the rod, for an alpha to do an omega’s bidding.“ 

“Told you.“ Averill chimed in, resulting in Ambrose giving him an ugly glare. The pair of them were heavily competitive. They had always been tussling with each other, even in childhood. 

“If we do it for father, then it’s not an omega’s bidding.“ Ambrose said. 

Alden smiled tenderly, tussling Ambrose‘ dark locks. “I’ll allow it... if only for our cause.“ 

Averill pulled an angry face, but kept his thoughts to himself. 

Alden looked out across the room and regarded his team... Doctors, policemen, laborers, lawyers, teachers, judges, lords, and even a mortician. All of them were key in keeping a rigid handle on English society. All of them were Alden’s prized possessions. 

“As Alphas, it is our sworn duty to protect omegas... even from themselves. I want you to study this face.“ He paused, returning to the head of the table to tug a waxy photograph from within its protective paper sheath. He held it up above the crowd, to reveal a photograph of Barrow having lunch with Kinsey and Riggs outside of the Shepherd’s Brood. Thomas was looking over his shoulder, staring directly into the camera though he hadn’t known his picture was being taken. He looked apprehensive... beautiful but worried. 

The photo was passed around. 

“Likewise, study this scent.“ Alden added. From within his pocket, he pulled out a torn fabric of Thomas‘ black dress. It had been a lost fragment during the fall that had cost him his first child, and had remained hidden in Gray’s possession until his death. 

The cloth was treated with care, passed from alpha to alpha as each took a deep scent. 

“... Averill.“ Alden spoke up as the fabric reached his oldest son. “What do you smell?“ 

Averill brought the cloth to his nose, and inhaled deeply several times. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the subject at hand. 

He had been primed for these kinds of missions from birth. Once, he had been blindfolded for six months and made to search his way out only through sound and smell. It had resulted in him nearly going blind, but had amplified his other senses tremendously. 

Even his father did not know that for the first month, Averill had clung to his mother’s skirts, frightened of everything around him. He had only been five at the time. 

“...Omega. White peach.“ Averill muttered softly. “Grapefruit... hint of white apricot... spring jasmine... you can barely smell it but it’s there. Blackcurrant. A deep under-thread. Probably comes out more when he’s in heat.“ 

Averill passed the cloth to his brother, who continued to sniff. He could not scent nearly as well as Averill could. 

Alden grinned, deeply impressed with his oldest son. He would make a fine leader of the Brigade, one day. He paused, fetching another scrap of cloth from his other pocket. It was a handkerchief, nabbed by one of the night janitors from the London School of Medicine. Its owner was Dr. Robert Kinsey. 

“And this?“ Alden tossed the handkerchief to Averill, who caught it and brought it up to his nose. 

He took a sniff. 

“Alpha.“ Averill deduced rapidly. He paused to take another sniff, “White tea, tea rose, earl gray tea... it’s all sort of muddled in there. But there’s more. There’s ginger as well... and a heavy white musk.“ He paused, glancing at his father. “Kinsey?“ 

“Correct.“ Alden said. “The omega sympathizer.“ 

A round of ugly muttering went up around the room. While the alphas were quick to scent Thomas‘ cloth, only a few were willing to sniff Kinsey’s. 

“I urge each and every one of you not to underestimate this omega.“ Alden warned. “He is incredibly cunning and deceitful. The minute you turn your back, he’ll strike like a snake. He’s forgotten his place. He’s confused, and needs to be reminded of his nature. In order to save Barrow, it will require seamless coordination of all our efforts.“ 

“And when you have him?“ Thane asked, glancing up from Kinsey’s handkerchief which he held to his nose, “What then?“

“Simple, boys.“ Alden said, a dark grin making him look maniacal. “...I’ll keep him.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any question or concerns, do not hesitate to comment.


	21. Two Turtledoves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Kinsey exchange courting gifts.  
> Meanwhile, Thomas has a breakthrough on the location of the sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this was slightly late. I got fired from my job this Saturday; came completely out of nowhere and frankly was completely undeserved so I'm just slightly rattled. Whatever. You get up, you move on, you find a new job. 
> 
> Anyways, I wanted to once again thank the lovely loccorocco who drew fantastic fanart AGAIN. I may or may not utilize her image of a man with a top hat for the raspberry crisp box. You have to admit it's precious.   
> http://loccorocco.tumblr.com/post/156887685527/local-university-professor-sighs-for-the  
>  
> 
> no warnings for this chapter. Isn't it nice?  
> Oh actually there is one warning: sweetness.

_Litigo 1:42: "And so the supreme alpha gave his omega the sun as his courting gift, that she might never be cold again. And she to her master gave him the stars, that his nights might never be without the comfort and light of her touch. And they were with one another wherever they were."_

 

As it so turned out, Thomas was much pickier than he’d originally thought. 

There were plenty of good houses in England, be they country manors or hotels in need of a renovation, but none of them were up to Thomas’ standards when it came to setting up a sanctuary. They were all so flagrantly decorated and obvious that Thomas was certain he wouldn’t be able to set up shop for a week before someone would be on his tail and forcing him in irons. He wanted something subtle, but with the ability to house large amounts of people and strong enough to defend against the Brigade. Such a place didn’t seem possible, what with beauty giving way to fragility and modest houses usually being small or remote. 

Thomas was ready to tear his hair out, slumped in his seat at Kinsey’s living room table with Rigg’s. The pair of them had an array of properties spread out, and were sorting through them to see if any caught Thomas’ eye. After the disaster of Wyck Hall, Thomas had been loath to trust Riggs again but Kinsey had sworn to the man’s character. Riggs seemed ashamed that he’d so willingly given away Thomas’ information, and by all rights he should be. Thomas had strictly told him at the start of this business to not trust alphas. Was the man deaf, or had he just not taken Thomas seriously? 

Around one in the afternoon, Thomas called for a break and made a pot of tea. He decided despite not being in a good mood with Riggs that he would be decent enough to share his box of raspberry crisps. It was by no means a small feat… Thomas could go through a whole package in one sitting if he wasn’t careful. 

“Now, I know you’re particular but you have to be open for some wiggle room.” Riggs urged. Thomas poured him a cup of tea, but left it up to Riggs to make it to his specialty. 

“I’m open.” Thomas grumbled, “But my priorities are not.” 

“But surely you can see that these halls are more than worthy of your cause.” Riggs waved two in Thomas’ face that were top contenders, both of them modest country homes not too far from the towns they loomed over. “For god’s sake, this one used to be a queen’s-!” 

“That’s the whole point!” Thomas snapped, flopping back down in his chair to blow loudly upon his tea, “They’re too grand. I need something strong and built like a fortress, but not obvious. People’s lives are at stake. Every detail is worth noting.” 

“I doubt you’re going to find a modest fortress, Mr. Barrow.” Riggs warned, “At some point you will have to come to terms with the fact that the Brigade will know where you are.” 

But Thomas couldn’t come to terms with that. To do so was suicidal in his position. 

Thomas continued to pull out sheets while Riggs made his cuppa to his delights. It turned out he was like Kinsey in that respect, white no sugar, which was good because they were almost out of sugar anyways- 

Thomas paused, seeing a rather aged piece of paper beneath many of Riggs more prominent listings. He pulled it out, and saw that it wasn’t for a manor or a hotel at all. Indeed, it was an old iron furnace in Moira. 

Thomas was intrigued, and bent over the paper to examine it further. Extensive grounds including both the main factory, ore mines in the hills, filtering houses, and even a canal bridge for transportation of iron. 

“Mr. Riggs?” Thomas spoke up, looking to find that Riggs was digging through his last box of raspberry crisps to find one that hadn’t been crumpled in the package. 

“Mm?” Riggs looked up, noticed what Thomas was holding, and paled. “Oh no- no Mr. Barrow, please don’t make me talk about that devil.” 

“Talk or I’ll take my business elsewhere.” Thomas warned. Cowed, Riggs returned to the table sans one raspberry crisp and took the paper from Thomas to turn it around so that he could point out the credentials. 

“This little gremlin is Moira Furnace.” Riggs grumbled. Thomas perched his chin in his hand, fascinated. “She was built by the Earl of Moira in 1804, but shut down recently due to lack of funding and poor investments. She’s out of shape and on the banks of the Ashby-de-la-Zouch Canal so she’s taking on water damage. No one wants her. I’ve had her for years and I can’t get rid of her. 

“What’s the asking price?” Thomas asked, blowing on his cup of tea before taking a sip. It still scalded his tongue. 

“Eight thousand.” Riggs admitted. “Which is more than she’s worth at this point.” 

“What does she include?” 

“She had it all in her hey-day.” Riggs shrugged, looking slightly wistful as he lamented his poorest listing. “A blast furnace, an attached foundry, bridge house and loading ramp… she had her own railway too, not to mention direct access to the ore mines nearby. Course, it’s all gone to rot, now. There were overheating problems, mining subsidence… the whole place reeks of Sulphur.” He paused, suddenly looking very suspicious at Thomas’ growing smile. 

A railway into the mountains?  
Oh yes. That could do fine. 

“Why are you asking about this place?” Riggs asked. 

“I want to see it. Set up a listing.” Thomas tapped a finger on the table impatiently. 

“Oh, for god’s sake, don’t make me go back there!” Riggs whined like Thomas was sentencing him to a grueling punishment, “I stink of Sulphur for days! It takes three washes to get the smell out of my clothes! You don’t want this place. It’s a mad house. I’m hoping one day it collapses into the ground and spares me the trouble of having it condemned. And it’s haunted, I’ll mark you! Men died in this place! Horrid, horrid deaths- they burned to death!” 

Thomas grinned “Good.” 

“Good?!”

“Take me there.” Thomas tapped the table again, “Schedule an appointment.” 

“There’s nothing to schedule.” Riggs was gaping at him like a fish out of water, unsure how he could have been stuck with a client so mad. “No one lives there, I have a key. I could do anything I wanted with it and no one would care. No one wants it!” 

“Then no one will mind if I take a look.” Thomas shrugged. 

“No one, but God and men fond of their working noises!” 

“Riggs.” Thomas shut him down, glaring at the man. He’d more or less practiced the look over the years he’d spent haunting the abbey and as a result was easily able to shut Riggs down without so much as a blink. 

Riggs paled, unused to Thomas’ sharp glare. 

“Take me to Moira Furnace.” Thomas commanded.  
Riggs looked ready to cry. 

~*~ 

Despite Rigg’s initial frustration, he was easily bullied into doing what Thomas wanted. He was a bit like William Mason, all puppy-dog-eyed and hopeful for the future. It was easy for Thomas to squeeze the resistance out of him. Of course, even if Rigg’s was easy to manipulate, a stint on broken cobblestone was not. With this in mind, Thomas made the bold decision to call Dr. Clarkson at Downton Village Hospital, and scheduled for him to make a home visit in London. 

This ordinarily would have been out of the question, despite Clarkson’s understanding nature. London was much too far for an ordinary house call, and there were plenty of other doctors within distance who could remove Thomas’ splint. But Clarkson was good friends with Kinsey, and the pair hadn’t seen each other in ages since the feud between Kinsey and Grantham had begun. With this in mind, Dr. Clarkson took a day off of work, and traveled up to London in order to mend old ties and see his college chum again. 

Kinsey was practically giddy, bouncing about the flat as Thomas made to set up a pot of tea on a wooden platter. In his footman flare, Thomas was able to set up a bowl for cream, sugar, honey and lemon, while likewise putting out a vase of simple woodland flowers and a platter full of almond biscuits. 

“So where did you and Dr. Clarkson meet?” Thomas asked. Kinsey could barely settle down, constantly re-adjusting his tie in the cracked mirror above the standing piano and shuffling papers to and fro. 

“In medical school!” Kinsey gave Thomas a dashing smile which secretly made him swoon. “He was an intern and I was a student.” 

“Aww…” Thomas put on a baby voice just for show, “With your little glasses and your curly hair. Did bullies tease you?” 

Kinsey harrumphed, “No but there were a few professors I wanted to chuck a brick at.” Kinsey paused to check his watch, only to beam. “He’s probably here by now. You wait and I’ll fetch him from the bakery below.” 

Off Kinsey went, leaving Thomas alone by himself to continue setting up for tea. Thomas hummed Claire de Lune as he went, folding a few napkins and placing them in a fan formation beside the tray. It felt nice to present a table again, to be proud of his work. He hadn’t done this since last June (and even then Carson had been breathing down his neck, determined for Thomas to be fired). It only took Kinsey a few minutes to summon Clarkson from down below; Thomas heard them before they entered, laughing and talking up a storm. It was a far cry from the Dr. Clarkson that Thomas had grown accustomed to, and a shocking reminder that he’d only ever known one side of the man even after twenty years of being in his company. 

“-and to think he graduated ahead of us!” Kinsey was babbling. Clarkson snickered as they entered the flat, trying to recompose himself as he saw Thomas again. 

“Dr. Clarkson!” Thomas stuck out his hand, hoping to be warm. 

“Mr. Barrow-“They shook hands, but Clarkson still retained a slightly stoic edge around him. 

“Oh go on, Dick. Let your hair down.” Kinsey scoffed. “You don’t have to worry about Grantham breathing over your shoulder now.” 

Clarkson started to smile, but he looked very tired on the subject so Thomas didn’t press him. He wondered if Clarkson had been suffering too in light of Thomas’ pull back from the abbey. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, Thomas.” Clarkson said, “Old habits die hard. I’d like to see your foot first before we have tea.” 

“And the other thing.” Kinsey added, which picked up Thomas’ curiosity. What else was Clarkson here for? 

“Yes.” Clarkson said, gesturing for Thomas to follow down the hallway to the bedroom, “If you’ll follow me?” 

 

There wasn’t particularly an operating table or an examination bench, but Clarkson made do with Kinsey’s bed. He was stunned by the order and cleanliness of the flat, and kept looking around as if he thought to see a stack of old newspapers hiding in the corner or a vest off its hanger. 

“I say you’ve done a number on this place.” Clarkson praised. 

“How do you know it wasn’t Dr. Kinsey?” Thomas sat down on the bed, bending over to roll up his trouser leg to the knee so that his splint was exposed. 

“Because I know Rob.” Clarkson grumbled, “And I know his habits. Prop your foot up on the bed, please?” 

Thomas did as he was told, laying back against the pillows so that he was more relaxed as Clarkson sat beside him on the bed and put Thomas’ foot in his lap. He began to unlace the splint with practiced care, pulling the leather threads through their eyelets to wrap them in a sailors knot lest they grow tangled. 

“How’s the village?” Thomas asked, thinking of the staff at Downton and of Baxter. “Have you heard anything from the abbey?” 

“Nothing that you’ll care for me to repeat.” Dr. Clarkson admitted, “Lord Grantham is very angry with you, and his feelings are shared by many below the stairs. You’re considered a bit of a runner back home. They feel you’re slightly selfish for abandoning Lord Grantham after all he did to save you from Lord Gray.” 

Thomas winced as Dr. Clarkson paused; he glanced up to meet Thomas’ eye with a warmth Thomas hadn’t expected, “But there are those that know the truth, and they’re happy for you.” 

“Baxter?” Thomas asked. Dr. Clarkson smiled and nodded. 

“And Mrs. Hughes.” He added, “You’re the bane of the Carson marriage as I understand it. Mr. Carson sides with Lord Grantham, and Mrs. Carson thinks you’re happier striking out on your own. I can tell you that Carson has taken out his own subscription in the London Gazette, just for a chance to read articles about your comings and goings. The whole downstairs seems enraptured by your plight.” 

Clarkson paused as he pulled off Thomas’ sock, examining his broken foot and running his slender fingers up and down Thomas lightly discolored arch. “Excellent. The swelling has been erased, and the coloring is much better. Flex your foot for me?” 

Thomas did so, curling his toes and pointing them all the way to Clarkson before curling them back up and pointing them towards the sky. He felt a bone near his ankle pop. 

“Sit up?” Dr. Clarkson helped him, offering a hand as Thomas pulled himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed with his feet swinging over the side. 

“Put weight on your foot without your splint.” Dr. Clarkson ordered. Thomas stood, cautiously, and found that it was quite easy to stand on both feet without aid. “How does it feel?” 

“Fine.” Thomas shrugged, baffled. “It feels just fine.” 

“Stamp on your foot, carefully?” Clarkson said. Thomas smacked the ground with his right foot, feeling a slight shock go up his calve muscle but nothing else. “Any pain?” 

“A small bit.” Thomas said. “But it’s honestly more in my calve.” 

“Good.” Clarkson rose up, offering his arm to Thomas, “Take hold of my arm and stand on the tips of your toes?” 

Thomas used Clarkson’s arm for support, rising up on his toes like a ballerina. “Any pain?” 

“None.” 

“And now, the balls of your feet?” Thomas dropped back down to rise up only on his heels. It was difficult, and uncomfortable, so he dropped almost immediately to stand normally. 

“Any pain?” 

“Yeah.” Thomas grumbled, worried he’d have to wear the damn splint some more. “But nothing I can’t manage.” He let go of Clarkson’s arm, slumping back down onto bed to put on his sock. His foot was rather chilly on the bare floor. 

“It’s not surprising.” Dr. Clarkson went to the bathroom and washed his hands, speaking up over the running water “Your main breakage was near the ankle, so naturally you’d have the most pain there.” 

He wiped his hands on a flannel and returned to the bedroom to roll up his shirt sleeves. 

“Take it slow; don’t go running up and down stairs. Do exercise, such as walking for extended periods daily. You’re more than free to wear shoes normally now, and go without your splint.” 

Thomas felt like cheering. At last, he was back to normal!  
Or so he thought. 

“Dr. Kinsey also mentioned that you spoke with him about another malady.” Dr. Clarkson said, “A bruising and leakage in your right breast?” 

Thomas was shocked, blushing as he looked down to avoid Clarkson’s eyes. Christ, did the man know what he’d done? Oh god, Thomas couldn’t stand the shame. Why would Kinsey reveal such an awful secret to Clarkson? Why, when Thomas had trusted him-? 

Thomas almost felt like crying at the unfairness of it all. 

“I assure you, Rob hasn’t been telling everyone he meets.” Dr. Clarkson said gently. “He called me and spoke with me privately, he was worried for you. He asked me to check on the issue with you today. Will you take off your shirt for me?” 

Thomas shook his head at once.  
No, it was wrong for Clarkson to see him without a shirt. Clarkson was an alpha and…  
Thomas didn’t want anyone to see him in that way save for Kinsey. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t decent. 

“Would you rather I bring Rob in here?” Dr. Clarkson asked.  
Thomas nodded after a moment, still refusing to meet Dr. Clarkson’s eyes. 

Dr. Clarkson left without another word, heading back into the hall to call for Kinsey. 

“Rob-!” 

“Oh it’s just as well-“ Kinsey was grumbling, “I can’t find that ruddy book I borrowed. I must have left it at work; I’ll have to mail it back to you. Sorry old chap.” He appeared in the door, pausing when he noticed Thomas’ withdrawn expression. 

“Your flat is much cleaner.” Dr. Clarkson praised, shutting the bedroom door so that the three of them were sequestered inside. 

“It’s all Thomas’ doing.” Kinsey said at once, “You know me; I couldn’t wash a saucer if my life depended on it.” He laughed at this, reaching out to gently rub at Thomas’ lower back. “Are we okay?” 

“… I don’t want to be seen without my shirt on, unless it’s by you.” Thomas admitted, the heat returning tenfold to his face at the stark silence which greeted his honesty. “… It makes me feel… cheap.” 

Kinsey stood behind him, massaging his shoulders with a gentle squeezing pulse as Dr. Clarkson waited patiently before them. 

“It’s alright.” Kinsey murmured in his ear. “Dick is a good friend of mine, and a fantastic doctor. I trust him, so you can too. He’s the only one that knows.” 

“It will be quick.” Dr. Clarkson added. 

Embarrassed but assured, Thomas silently began to unbutton both his vest and his shirt sleeves. He shrugged them all, allowing Kinsey to fold them over his arm before returning to massage his now bare shoulders. 

Dr. Clarkson stepped forward, cautious, and pressed four fingers along the outer shell of Thomas’ still swollen breast. Thomas hissed at the pain; it was like Clarkson was pressing on a bruise. 

“Painful?” Dr. Clarkson pulled back at once. Thomas nodded, closing his eyes. 

“Have you seen any condensation in the past week?” Thomas shook his head, “Any shooting or tingling sensations in your breast?” He shook his head again. 

“One last touch. “ Dr. Clarkson moved his hand beneath Thomas’ breast, using the curve of his hand to cup and lift the tissue. Thomas winced audibly, and Dr. Clarkson let go at once. 

“That’s all I need to see.” Dr. Clarkson said. At once, Thomas took back his shirt and vest to redo the buttons. Dr. Clarkson returned to the bathroom to wash his hands once more. 

“Your hormones are still out of balance.” Dr. Clarkson admitted, wiping his hands on the flannel again, “I want to put you on a prescription to try and get your body back into a normal rhythm. You may have noticed that you’re producing much more estrogen now. Your body shape is changing; the tone of your voice is also rising.” 

“Is it?” Thomas was baffled, and reached up to touch his throat. He hadn’t noticed the change. 

“Mm, slightly softer.” Dr. Clarkson clarified, “But it’s hardly consequential. It’s not like there’s a contest for sounding the manliest.” He rolled his eyes at this. 

Kinsey chuckled, rubbing Thomas’ back. It felt good to have Kinsey behind him, to know that he was supported come hell or high water. He was still horribly embarrassed at being caught out in regards to William Bates. 

“I suppose I won’t hide from you that I know what happened with the Bates’ baby.” Clarkson said. Thomas flushed, closing his eyes. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of Thomas. The Bates’ are not angry with you and the baby is quite healthy. I understand why you acted in such a way, but please realize that you can’t go around feeding every baby that cries. Producing milk is a delicate process for male omegas, and puts a great strain on your body. You were only just starting to develop milk when you suffered your miscarriage. The rush of hormones caused your lactation process to be upset, which is the only reason you were able to nurse William at all… but prolonged abuse of your system could result in you not being able to breast feed again.” 

Thomas nodded, wishing this conversation could just stop. 

“…It’s… complicated.” Thomas muttered, “I don’t go around to every baby-“ 

“I know.” Dr. Clarkson cut him off, “But William Bates is Anna’s baby, and is hers to nurse.” 

The fact stung. Thomas shrank back, leaning against Kinsey’s chest unconsciously. 

“I know that you’re courting Rob, and I know that if things progress smoothly the pair of you might have a discussion in future regarding children. If you decide to have children again, then we’ll talk more on your ability to breast feed. Until then, put it out of your mind.” 

Thomas nodded. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dr. Clarkson stepped aside, heading for the door. “I’m rather famished for tea.” 

Suddenly alone with Kinsey, Thomas hung his head. He felt like a right fool, but Kinsey wrapped his arms around Thomas and nuzzled him gently upon the cheek. 

“It’s okay.” Kinsey whispered in his ear. “Really. Truly. It’s okay.” 

It was good to hear the words aloud, even if Thomas didn’t truly believe them. 

 

Of course, the visit picked up pleasantly from there. The three of them clustered around Kinsey’s living room table to indulge in tea and biscuits. Dr. Clarkson when unwrapped from his usual medical façade, turned out to be heavily sarcastic and quick to make a dry quip. Kinsey was so bubbly and bouncy that the pair of them ended up doing a comical routine, with Kinsey offering up fond memories of their time in school and Dr. Clarkson shooting it down like a hunting target. 

“You speak as if we didn’t have fun-“ 

“Oh yes, elbows deep in a cadaver- someone get me my smelling salts!” Clarkson sneered, rolling his eyes. 

 

But the real prize came when Kinsey paused in conversation, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Damn these specs.” He muttered under his breath. “They’re as good as dust. I wish I could get new glasses.” 

Thomas caught Clarkson’s eye, silently imploring the man to aid him in his quest. 

 

After sharing food with Kinsey, the next step in any honest courtship process was a gift. Thomas had initially decided that he was going to get Kinsey a leather briefcase, something fine with gold clasps and an embossment near the top. Now, however, Thomas wanted to get him new glasses, as well as something else… money. He knew Kinsey was living on loans, and had to pinch every penny that came his way. Thomas had money now, and wanted to share it with Kinsey. The question was, how much? 

Thomas had already decided to sequester one of Gray’s old patents in Kinsey’s name, and to use whatever money was laundered from it to help build up Kinsey’s savings. While he was away in Vienna (for Thomas was certain Kinsey would win a spot) the money could continue to grow as an investment. It would be the perfect surprise, and one the Kinsey would be able to negotiate by himself. 

But the glasses? That was a different animal altogether. 

 

“Rob, would you mind going downstairs and getting us some fresh scones?” Thomas asked, fishing some money from his vest pocket. “If they have the blueberry ones, try to get those first.” 

“Good idea!” Kinsey took the money at once, “I’ll be right back. Don’t be too naughty-!” and with that he was gone again, slamming the door in his haste to get the best scones from the market. 

Dr. Clarkson blinked, befuddled. 

“I need your help.” Thomas spoke in a rush, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Kinsey was well out of earshot. “I’m getting Dr. Kinsey a courting gift and I want it to include glasses, but I don’t know his prescription.” 

“Thomas, I can’t divulge that kind of information.” Dr. Clarkson folded his arms over his chest, disgruntled at Thomas’ constant desperation to bend the rules. 

“Oh for god’s sake, I’m not asking for his prescription history I’m asking for his bleeding glasses!” 

“Well his bleeding glasses are a part of his prescription history.” Dr. Clarkson warned, “And I don’t know them!” 

Thomas glowered, Dr. Clarkson blinked again. 

“I may have overheard one or two things-“ Dr. Clarkson went on. Thomas scoffed, wondering if it were possible for a man to be more stubborn than Clarkson. He gave Carson a run for his money. “But I cannot confirm them.” 

“Do you at least know what pharmacy he uses?” Thomas demanded angrily. 

Dr. Clarkson shrugged, “Quite possible.” His lack of confirmation made Thomas’ eye twitch in irritation. 

“I’m trying to get him a courting gift, not spy on him. Please, won’t you help me? I thought you two were friends!” 

“We are friends, but we are also doctors.” Clarkson advised, before adding, “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you foot the bill, I’ll call the pharmacy and have them prepare a new pair of glasses. There’s one with a tortoise shell frame that would do quite nicely; he’s made comments that he favors them in the past.” 

“Fine enough.” Thomas knew when to take an offer and when to let one slide. This was as good as he was going to get with Clarkson. 

“I should also mention…” Clarkson paused, his eyes turning oddly stoic despite the warmth of their environment, “That I have known Robert Kinsey for a very long time. He is the greatest of men, and one of my closest friends. I understand that in the past you’ve gone through some… phases…” he spoke delicately but it made Thomas’ blood run cold, to remember his life back in 1912. He’d been so horribly unhappy, so bitter and furious at the rest of the world. 

“Try not to go through a phase again.” Was all Dr. Clarkson said. 

Thomas pursed his lips, keeping his more acerbic comments to himself. He could lay responsibility on another’s shoulders. Blame his father, Carson, Bates… but in the end it wouldn’t matter because none of these men had put a gun to Thomas’ head and demanded for him to be difficult. His decision to act cruelly had been squarely on his shoulders. It had resulted from years of neglect, but it had been his choice. He’d been warped and abused, but it had been his choice. He’d been right to be angry… but it had been his choice to be angry. 

It made Thomas sick to his stomach. 

“Back!” Kinsey called out, his cheery tone and warm air shocking in the light of Dr. Clarkson’s conversation with Thomas. Kinsey shut the door, and sat a warm bag of blueberry scones onto the table. “Nabbed the last three- tah, love.” He gave Thomas the change, depositing a smattering of coins onto the table which rolled and rested near the edge of Thomas’ saucer to lay gleaming in the oil light. 

Kinsey paused, noting Thomas’ face. “Something wrong?” He laid a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts. Thomas flashed him a fake smile, which seemed to disturb Kinsey. 

“Nothing!” Thomas assured him at once. “Nothing at all, let’s have those scones-“ And he stood up to go fetch the butter dish from the larder. 

~*~

Late that afternoon, close to supper time, Rob walked Dick to the train station. It was unfortunate, but Dick’s occupation as sole doctor to Downton Village made it impossible for him to stay more than a day away without preparing extensive backup. The doctor covering for him wouldn’t be able to do so for more than forty eight hours, and Dick needed to return home in time for the shift change tomorrow afternoon. Rob was reluctant to let Dick go, but at the same time he wanted to impress upon the man Thomas’ importance to him. 

He’d noticed Thomas’ bitter air upon returning with scones. Something had been said in his absence that had troubled Thomas greatly, and that wouldn’t stand in Kinsey’s eyes. 

The pair of them sat side by side on a rickety wooden bench at the end of Elephant and Cross’ platform. They bought chips while on their way to the station, and now ate them from a shared bag made of refurbished newspaper. A large stain of grease had soiled the image of a famed Lord on his wedding day, muddying his cheesy grin till it looked like a blur. 

“So you’re serious about this?” Dick spoke up, “About Thomas, I mean.” 

“Mhmm.” Rob had to pause to swallow a mouthful of chips, wiping at the edge of his mouth with the back of his hand. He almost wiped his hand on his trousers until he remembered Thomas, and then wiped his hand on the bench seat instead. “I’m in love with him.” 

“And you want to mate him? To bond with him?” Dick added. Rob nodded again. 

Dick paused, turning to give him a most sympathetic expression which made Rob’s teeth hurt. He hated being viewed with pity when it was undeserved, “Rob, he was your patient. Surely you can see how this might be… unethical.” 

Rob bristled. 

He knew that Dick was right, but at the same time his love for Thomas had grown so strong over the past weeks that he found he couldn’t part now. It was unfortunate that the pair of them had not met in a more natural fashion, but Rob would take whatever he could get where Thomas was concerned… even if it meant he might lose his medical license should one of his associates uncover the truth. 

“I love him, Richard.” Rob murmured. “And that’s all that can be said.” 

Dick sighed, resting back against the bench and casting his eyes up to the sky. It was slowly beginning to dot with stars, an evening chill hinting at the air. 

“Lord Grantham is not a bad man.” Dick murmured, “But you bring out the worst in him.” 

“I know.” Rob was under no illusions on the concept of Grantham’s character. “He’ll get over it.” 

“You better hope he does.” Dick muttered, “He’s got more money that we’d ever dream of.” 

“Good, that ought to distract him.” Rob said. Dick held in a laugh as best he could. The quite that fell afterwards was calm and gentle, lulled by the sound of a train approaching far down the tracks. They didn’t have much time left to speak. 

“…Why was Thomas so glum, after I came back from the bakery?” Rob asked. 

“I reminded him not to be a pest.” Dick explained. Rob was suddenly cross with the man. 

“Thomas is never a pest-!”  
“Then we know two very different Thomas’.” 

Rob grumbled under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re a pest.” He muttered, hoping Dick wouldn’t hear. 

“What was that?” 

“I said give it a rest.” Rob lied. 

“No you didn’t, you said-“ 

“Why did you have to go and dampen the mood?” Rob demanded. “I love him! He’s never a pest to me!” 

“Because you are my best friend.” Dick explained which instantly shut Rob up from the force of affection it stirred in his chest. Dick was the only man to ever claim him as such, and he’d never seen himself as being able to hold such a title naturally. He was much too selfish. “And I take your happiness very seriously. So forgive me if I had to question Thomas’ abilities to make you happy. I remember how broken up you were over April Olgate. I don’t want that to happen again. You deserve to be completely and utterly happy.” 

“I am, when I’m with him.” Rob whispered, shrugging blissfully. He smiled, feeling slightly high on the euphoria of it all. “I’m in love and I couldn’t be happier.” 

Dick smiled, pleased. “Good.” Dick said, and he meant it honestly. “Thomas is difficult but I believe that beneath his stubbornness he can be a man of incredible character. He and Carson, the butler, they never got along. I think it made for a hostile working environment, which in turn made Thomas hostile. He never got along with his old workmates. Maybe he’ll have a better life here with you.” 

“Maybe.” Rob smiled.

The train appeared down the tracks, and came to a slow rolling stop with a great belch of steam the hissed in the cold night air. For a moment, there was a flurry of passengers disembarking, valises being loaded onto carts, and new luggage being tossed into the fray. Dick lined up with the rest of the night voyagers, waiting patiently with ticket stub in hand. Rob was forced to watch from the departing gate, unable to get close to the train without a valid ticket. 

As Dick approached the foreman and had his ticket torn, he called back out to Rob. 

“For what it’s worth, you deserve him more!” Dick praised.  
Rob beamed, waving goodbye. 

 

 

 

Yet despite ending his visit with Dick on a good mood, things got distinctly stranger with Thomas. 

It wasn’t that Thomas was avoiding him per-say, but he did seem to be hiding something. When asked, Thomas would be coy and avoid answering, insisting that he needed to ‘meet with Murray about something’ though he couldn’t specify what the ‘something’ was. There was also the matter that Rob was now (for whatever reason) not allowed to use his hallway closet. Indeed, Thomas had thoroughly placed it off limits insisting that he’d seen a rat inside. When Rob had tried to get to the bottom of the matter, Thomas had chased him out of the house to buy rat traps. 

Bizarrely enough, they remained untouched despite how many times Rob laid them out with bait. Clearly they were either dealing with a very smart rat or a very sneaky omega. 

On the morning of June 15th, Rob went to work with his briefcase tucked underneath his arm since the clasps were acting up again. The last thing he needed was for 150 alphabetized and graded term papers to go flying to the London wind. 

Thomas was heading out for the day, intent on visiting another property. He claimed he wouldn’t be long, and would leave shortly after lunch… but there was something funny in the air that Rob couldn’t put his finger on. It was like Thomas was keeping a secret from him, but it lacked all the fear of a foul announcement. Instead he seemed almost giddy. Rob was selfish for thinking it could have anything to do with him, but he couldn’t help it. He was almost hoping that Thomas would cave and spill the beans but Thomas had an iron lock on his lips you couldn’t pry open with a crow bar. 

A box of raspberry biscuits, though…? Maybe. 

He arrived at work to force his way through a cluster of undergraduates that were desperate to know their grades, having to walk sideways just to get up the stairs and away from the pleading throng. 

“Will you have it posted by lunch?” 

“Did anyone fail?” 

“Who got the highest grade?” 

“Can we do any work for extra credit?” 

_Yes, Yes, Can’t remember but I think it was you, and NO._

By the time he made it up to his office on the fifth floor, Rob was ready to throw a bucket of ice water on the hoard of them. They were like yowling cats, particularly the alphas that already had an inflated sense of entitlement. 

He found the door to the psychology department locked, which was always a good sign. He rapt upon the glass pane, caught Alan’s attention, and stepped aside so that the assistant could let him in so that the door was shut on the student’s faces. 

Just for good measure, Rob reached up and drew the blind down on the window so that none of the students could see in. 

“Christ-“ Rob hissed, shelling out of his traveling coat and taking off his fedora. “What a nightmare. Have they been that way all morning?” 

“Dr. Reyes locked the door.” Alan admitted, which made sense because of all the psychology staff, Nathan Reyes was by far the least patient with student idiocies. 

Feeling stuffy, Rob pulled a bit at his tie; Thomas had been a little over eager this morning, making sure he was dressed to impress. It was the last day before break, and if all went as planned there would be a faculty lunch around two. 

As he unlocked and entered his office, however, all thoughts of a faculty luncheon were cast aside by the sight of a large white box sitting upon his desk. It was wrapped in a red bow, and looked completely ridiculous in contrast to the piles of books and stacks of paper clustering his room. 

“…Alan, what’s this?” Rob stepped back, glancing at Alan who was sitting at his desk and writing up the final report for scheduled maintenance projects during break. A few places of flooring needed to be re-tiled and several facilities were in need of pipe repair after winter. 

“Oh, that’s from your omega!” Alan chirped. Rob froze, eyes glazed wide like a buck caught in the sights of a hunter. “He came by earlier and dropped it off. I didn’t know you were courting, Dr. Kinsey! He seemed a decent chap.” 

Thomas had… Thomas? 

Rob poked his head back into his office, staring at the enormous present.  
He had a feeling he knew why his hallway closet had been off limits for the past week. Rat be damned! 

Cautiously, Rob approached the box and tugged experimentally on the red silk bow tying up the top. He didn’t get more than a few inches before a hearty voice directly behind him made him jump a foot in the air. 

“What’s in the box?” 

Dr. Reyes had come out from his office, and was gloating in the doorway with his rotund belly poking into the room. He was an alpha, and had a brassy nature that set most everyone at ease. He liked to sneak up on people, though, and Rob had a habit of jumping every time he was caught off guard (much to Reye’s pleasure). Reyes was one of the few psychology doctors that Rob got along well with, and had been over to the man’s house several times for supper in his more poverty stricken years. He had a brood, of two charming omegas that constantly insisted on feeding Rob till he could hardly buckle his pants anymore. One dinner had erupted in chaos, however, when Reyes had snuck a toy cockroach into his younger mate’s chicken casserole. Upon accidentally finding the roach, the omega in question had burst into hysterical tears, horrified at having ‘ruined dinner’ until Reyes had told them all his joke and had received a slipper to the face. 

“You are a wicked, wicked man!” His mate had shrieked, even as Reyes had chased her around the table begging her forgiveness. 

All in all, Reyes was a pleasant man but he also had a dark mischievous streak. 

“I obviously do not know, seeing as I have not opened it.” Rob warned, and resumed pulling off the ribbon. 

“Met your omega this morning.” Reyes said, “Cute little thing, pretty too. A bit shy though-“ 

“He’s not mine!” Rob snapped eager to set the point straight. “We’re courting, that’s all.” 

“Same difference.” Reyes heaved an enormous groan, falling into Rob’s guest chair and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee so that he could pick a bit of fuzz out of his sock garter. “Did you see the hoard out there? Like mindless animals, I tell you. Anyone fail?” 

“Three.” Rob muttered, finally pulling off the last of the ribbon to start on the box proper. It was taped shut, so he had to use his scissors to un-pry the top lid. When it came loose, he was faced with a slight sheet of white tissue paper which gave way to rich red leather snapped with golden clasps. It was the handle of something, and Rob’s heart pounded as he began to tug the gift out. 

The fit was tight; he had to use Reyes as leverage with one man tugging and the other man pulling so that the box came away from the gift. 

“Who screwed up?” Reyes grunted as he tugged. “Christopher Lane?” 

“Of course Christopher Lane-“ Rob snapped, for the man was an all-around idiot who cared about nothing save for knots and gloves. “And his mate Kramer.” 

“Good.” Reyes grunted as another inch came free, “I never liked them anyways. Who else kicked it?” 

“Huette.” Rob admitted, “But he only showed up the first day and never came back, so there’s a surprise.” 

“I think he dropped out.” Reyes shrugged. 

The gift came free with a final wave of tissue paper falling to the floor and covering their feet. 

It was a briefcase… a brand spanking new, red leather, golden clasped briefcase. At the top lay the embossment: _“Dr. Robert M. Kinsey”_

Rob gaped, blown away by the beauty of it all. 

“Oho!” Reyes was going to tease him mercilessly for this, “That’s a courting gift, that is. Open her up!” 

Fumbling with sweaty hands, Rob knocked the box off the desk and opened the briefcase to peer inside. She was a bit like an envelope, unlike his last briefcase which had had top clasps. She required a key to unlock and a button to press, but seemed to be initially unlocked as Rob pressed her button to swing the top flap over. 

 

It opened like an accordion to show him plenty of room inside. Excellent pockets for papers, pens, anything that he might need, really… but most telling of all there was a letter, and another slim white box tied in red ribbon. 

“For goodness sake, Thomas!” Rob moaned, picking up both the letter and the box from inside. Reyes hopped off the chair (no slim feat for a man of his size) and immediately dug around Rob’s new briefcase. 

“Thomas, eh? Thomas has been a very naughty omega; ought to put him over your knee and show him the what for.” Reyes chortled. 

Rob shot him a dark look which shut Reyes up. “PTSD from an abusive relationship. Any type of playful exchange would probably send him on a spiral. Absolutely not.” Rob growled. 

Reyes nodded; as men of psychology and doctors integrated deeply in the scientific community, both understood the horrors of PTSD. 

“Best put him _on_ your knee and give him the what for.” Reyes corrected, which brought a deeply pleasing image to mind of Thomas sitting on Rob’s lap with their legs intertwined across the length of the couch. 

Oh yes. Thomas was certainly going to be getting a good ‘what for’. 

He opened the letter, its thick envelope bearing no seal but the internal layer revealed to be gold. The letter inside was made of fine parchment Rob had never seen before. Perhaps Thomas had borrowed stationary, but whom from? 

He paused, his heart hammering as the opened letter revealed a flood of notes.  
Money… more money than he’d seen in years! 

“No…No, no, no.” Rob muttered, for this was ridiculous! A briefcase and glasses were one thing, but money?! No, he couldn’t accept money from his omega. It wasn’t right. This belonged to Thomas, despite Rob’s financial difficulties. 

_“My wonderful Robbie,_

_I hope you like your briefcase and your glasses. You deserve only the best. You work very hard, and shouldn’t have to worry about money .In future, I’ll make sure you never will._

_All my love,_  
_Thomas B.”_

 

Rob folded the note back up, hiding the money against his chest. Unfortunately, Reyes had already seen it. 

“He give you money?” Reyes asked, though the truth was clear. 

Rob nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His mind was whirring like an out of control machine, calculating all that would need to be done for him to take this day of work off and return home before Thomas left for his afternoon listing. He was growing feverish, his mind muddled with images of Thomas on his lap, of what it would be like to kiss Thomas sweetly and claim him- 

But Rob didn’t deserve that honor. He hadn’t earned it yet. 

He was grinding his teeth and hadn’t even noticed it. He stopped immediately, wincing from the slight sting in his jaw. 

“How much?” 

Rob re-opened the letter, carefully thumbing through the folded notes and checking twice just to be sure. When he realized the amount, he felt slightly faint. 

“… Oh Jesus.” Rob whispered, closing his eyes and looking away. He took a long, suffering breath, and then answered Reyes, “Two hundred pounds.” He mumbled softly. 

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘two hundred?” Reyes demanded, agog. “As in more than one?” 

Rob pursed his lips, folding the letter again. He opened his old briefcase up and began to transfer everything over to the new one as rapidly as he could. 

“You’ve got to go.” Reyes urged. 

“Tell them I’m sick. Tell them anything. I’ll give you my papers-“ Rob handed over the tethered bundle at once. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Reyes assured him, gloating at the sight of Rob in such a frenzy. Rob was always the one to hold himself above the standard of a raving rutting alpha, now here he was dropping everything to dash back home. “You have a nice break, yeah?” 

“Oh sod off.” Rob snapped, well aware that Reyes was making fun of him even if it was good-natured. He closed his new briefcase, and ran back out the door forgetting his coat and hat behind. 

Students milling in the hallway were all but shoved aside; with his new glasses, Rob could see clearly without having to fear them falling off his nose. Half of them were desperate to get his attention, but Rob couldn’t care less. They would be handled by Reyes. Today, Rob’s attention was solely devoted to Thomas Barrow. 

Normally he took the bus to work and back home again; this time he did not. Instead, Rob ran the whole way home, having to pause twice to catch his breath back. Christ, he was out of shape, but he was also desperate to catch Thomas before he left for his meeting with Daniel. As Rob finally reached the bakery below his block of flats, he all but tripped on the cobblestone alley to get to the door and up the stairs. Everyone was at work or school by now; no one was home save for a few omegas that looked after their flats. As Rob mounted the last set of stairs he was almost dripping in sweat, and sagged against the wall next to his door as he fumbled with the lock. 

He slid inside, hoping to see Thomas sitting on the couch reading, or in the kitchen preparing a pot of tea. 

But the flat was dark and quiet. 

“Thomas-?” Rob called. He stumbled down the hall to the bedroom, and flung it open to found the bed made up but likewise deserted. 

He listened at the door of the bathroom but could hear nothing inside. He knocked hesitantly, and pushed the door open to find no one waiting for him. 

“Thomas-!” Rob shouted, his voice carrying across the flat. 

But as he returned to the main room, in a panic to think Thomas gone, he noticed a piece of paper on the living room table underneath what was clearly an unused train ticket. 

_“Come and find me. By the river.”_ the paper read. Rob slowly took up the train ticket to see that it was actually a combined ticket. The first was to take its bearer from Elephant and Cross to a town in North West Leicestershire called Hugglescote. From there, a smaller train was to depart from Hugglescote to Moira. 

Oh it was to be a game of hide and seek, was it? 

Rob was more than certainly up for that. 

~*~

Oh yes…  
Yes, this would do wonderfully. 

Thomas stood before Moira Furnace, looking up at her broken brick and destroyed roofing. Weeds had grown up around her base, completely obscuring the bottom layer of brick work. It was clear that certain sections of the furnace had been completely torn away with time; chunks in the brick and concrete showed where molding might have once held two buildings together. Openings that had once channeled heat from the blast chamber were now sprung up with weeds, and birds could be seen flitting out of gaps in the attic where iron bars blocked what once might have been glass windows. 

Oh yes.  
Yes she was beautiful. 

“Oh…” Thomas whispered aloud, taken up by internal images of Moira Furnace turned into an omega sanctuary. This would be a fortress fit to hold dozens upon dozens of omegas! “She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Beautiful.” 

“I mean-“ Daniel Riggs stood at Thomas’ side, his briefcase in one hand and his bowler hat in another. He was, in a word, confused. ‘If that’s what you’re going for?” 

“Tell me everything!” Thomas begged, taking off down the weed soaked hill where a sudden slope gave way to a broken cobble stone road wove around the base of the furnace. This might have once been used by men with carts and horses to bring supplies and sell goods. “Absolutely everything-!” 

He ducked around the opening at the front of the furnace, coming before a door that was welded shut. It was incredible! Made of solid rusting iron with only a slip opening in the top for communication. There was no doorknob, only a small slit where a lock lay inside. Perfect!

“Can I go in?” Thomas demanded, cutting Riggs off mid babble. 

“You really shouldn’t, but-“ Riggs fished with the key; Thomas snatched it from him and hastily jammed it into the lack. 

“Bugger it.” Thomas snapped, “You said no one would care and I want her!” 

He opened the door wide, only to be consumed by blackness and the sudden strong smell of Sulphur and ash. 

“Well I don’t know what to say!” Riggs begged as Thomas vanished into the gloom. “Mr. Barrow- Thomas- wait for me!” He hastened inside before he was lost entirely. 

If Moira was damaged on the outside, it was nothing compared to the wreckage within. 

There were deep grooves in the stone floor where tracks might have once been used to cart through piles of raw ore from the caves nearby. They were covered in soot and ash now, littered with spiders and cobwebs so that things seemed to move in the darkness. 

“What I’d give for a torch-“ Riggs bemoaned. “Careful where you step, Mr. Barrow. There are holes in the floor connected to the basement below. She was built to house ore from the caves nearby. Of course, that all went to hell in 1811.” 

“What happened in 1811?” Thomas asked, looking up at the cathedral ceiling overhead. You could see a balcony; clearly there was a set of stairs around here somewhere to lead to the second floor. 

“You name it.” Riggs scoffed, kicking a small bit of stone that had been knocked loose from the floor. “Bad design, bad construction, bad raw materials, bad management… I’ve got a whole folder full of documents from old supervisors trying to pin the blame on everyone else. The furnace had to be abandoned in ’11 with a final charge still inside. Would you like to see?” 

Oh god did he ever. 

Riggs had to be careful, navigating them through cramped passage ways and down a long corridor through which the railing continued. Clearly the carts would have gone right up to the blast furnace door. When they reached the door proper, they found the whole thing melted shut. The only way to see inside was through a small crevice at the top, and both men stood on tip toe to look inside. 

There was nothing but melted ore in grotesque lumps that broke the horizon. High above there stood a chimney opening, which sheltered light down inside. Birds had made nests all over the place; mostly owls. 

If this had once been a working furnace, it was nothing now. Just… wreckage. 

“That’s the blast furnace.” Riggs said. Thomas tried to look up into the chimney, but couldn’t see very far. “Overheating was the death of her. The whole door is melted shut. You’d have to shock her open with a charge of dynamite I fear.” 

Thomas wasn’t above such extreme measures. This tower could prove dead useful for escape and lookouts on the horizon. He would certainly be utilizing it if he was lucky enough to buy Moira Furnace. 

“I want to go up!” Thomas decided, and all but abandoned Riggs in the hallway to head back out into the main engine room. He searched the walls, determined to find the stairs; they turned out to be rotten wood and dangerous to climb. Thomas scaled them one at a time, certain that if he moved faster he’d fall through and break his neck. 

Riggs was at the bottom, panicking. 

“Mr. Barrow, for god’s sake!” Riggs howled, “If you hurt yourself, your alpha will kill me!” 

But that just got Thomas more excited. Wouldn’t it be grand to see Rob get protective over him? It made Thomas shudder with delight. 

He made it to the top of the stairs, only to find that rubbish was more or less blocking the hallways. Whatever had happened in Moira Furnace’s final hours had not been pleasant, with shelves on their sides and worker’s tools discarded to rot. Thomas had to go slowly, almost tripping over a wrench, but when he made it to the other side he was able to poke his head through each doorway to see what lay beyond. Most of the rooms seemed to have house more machinery. Two were storage facilities with dust covering what looked like cans of oil and stacks of charger. As Thomas walked around the perimeter of Moira Furnace, he finally came to the west side where a stairwell lay spiraling up and beyond. 

Delighted, Thomas took it. 

The way was cramped, horribly so; he felt pinched in the sides and was certain he’d ruined his suit. As he made it to the top, he found a dead-bolted hatch that would swing open into what might be an attic. 

It was locked, and Thomas’ only key did not work. 

Determined, Thomas took the lock in both hands and began to pull. It was rusted and weak; its hinges bending through the actual lock did not give sway. Thomas worked relentlessly at the break, yanking back and forth so that rust and flecks of iron covered his hands. He finally began to twist the lock around like one might a braid, and with a hearty tug the hinge holding the lock finally snapped loose. Thomas cast it aside, and the whole deadbolt clattered down the steps. Thomas could hear Riggs losing his mind at the sound of the clatter. 

“-Tried to make him see-!” Riggs was begging; they must have a visitor. 

Thomas threw open the hatch, only to have it open not to a dusty attic but to bright gray sky. Amazed, Thomas took the final steps out, and found himself on the roof of Moira Furnace. 

To say that this was dangerous was an understatement. There were no rails, and great chunks of the brick had slid away to crash into the valley below. From this viewpoint, Thomas could see trails into the hills that must surely lead to ore mines. 

Thomas saw the top of the blast furnace; it was broken from overheating, with the brick melted into an ugly black slide. The blast furnace was only accessible by a bridge, mounted over the roof to act like a catwalk of sorts. The iron was just as rusted above as it was below, with weather damage countering to make the entire area highly unsuitable for human habitation. 

Determined, Thomas mounted the catwalk and began to walk at a snail’s pace towards the opening of the blast furnace. If he could just see inside, he would be able to survey the damage more clearly. 

He could hear someone coming up the stairwell behind him, kicking the lock aside. Riggs had surely had enough by this point, but Thomas was just getting started. 

Making it over to the blast furnace, Thomas leaned heavily over the edge and looked down below. By god, if it wasn’t at least a sixty foot drop! Surely higher; whoever fell from it would die immediately. 

The brick beneath Thomas’ waist was weak and crumbling. He could feel it splintering beneath his hands and panicked, trying to back up. 

The sudden shift in weight caused the brick to slide loose. It fell into the blast furnace below, and Thomas nearly went with it until a sudden pair of strong arms latched around his waist and pulled him back! 

He gasped his heart still in his throat as he clutched at the hands around him.  
He looked about, amazed at his savior; when he saw who it was he could not help but break into a grin. 

Though he had to admit it was slightly surprising since Rob’s train ticket shouldn’t have granted him passage until seven tonight when he would get off work. 

Rob had a strange animalistic look in his eye, almost feral as he smiled at Thomas and held him close. He was wearing his new glasses, and Thomas could not help but reach up behind to touch the tortoise shell frames. 

“You… have been very, very, naughty.” Rob praised. Thomas was sheepish, ducking his head with a shy smile. “Did you not think I was going to find you?” 

“The ticket was for when you got off work tonight.” Thomas shrugged. Rob just held him tighter. 

“Oh but I swapped it.” Rob whispered in his ear. “I have money now, remember?” 

Thomas shrugged again, refusing to say more. He was too embarrassed, now that Rob was here with him. 

Rob pulled him away from the open chimney, and took him back down the cat walk to the stone roof of the furnace. It was slightly safer here, but only by so many standards. Thomas was glad to be with Rob, to be able to hold onto him as they wound their way back towards the opening which could take them through the narrow staircase. 

“How about my little gifts, eh?” Rob flashed his glasses at Thomas. “Do you like my glasses?” 

“Oh yes.” Thomas praised. “Dr. Clarkson said you’d look fashionable, and I quite agree.” 

“Aha, so I got two gifts from you and one from Dick.” Rob teased, wrapping an arm about Thomas’ waist as they walked. “Fantastic.” 

“Well…” Thomas paused, for to be truthful the money had come from a bond and not from him, “Not entirely-“ 

Rob spun him about, and without a single ‘how do you do’ gently pushed Thomas up against the inner wall of the rusting catwalk. He seemed almost maniacally happy, and for a moment Thomas thought Rob might kiss him until Rob brushed his nose against Thomas’ forehead to take a long whiff of his scent. 

“I think you better come clean.” Rob murmured. Thomas shuddered at the idea. Rob could be such a bloody tease! 

“Well, the money is from a bond I put in your name.” Thomas explained, running his hands experimentally up and down Rob’s arm sleeves so that he could tug at wrinkles beginning to form. Rob had (for whatever reason) shed his outer jacket so that his blue vest and shirtsleeves were visible. “So it’s not really from me. It’s from my former alpha.” He paused, a sultry smile spreading across his lips. “But you’re my real alpha… so I guess he was just my former jailer.” 

Rob dove on him, crushing his nose against Thomas’ neck. Thomas beamed, wrapping his arms around Rob’s broad shoulders to hold him close. 

Thomas could feel moisture at his neck, lips pressed to his scent gland. He tilted his head at once to the side, eager to let Rob claim him in any way that he desired- 

Their little moment, which might have spread into something more, was cut short by Riggs pushing his way up the narrow staircase. He emerged at the top, sweat dripping from his balding head. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, looking about nervously at the wreckage so easy to give way to changing weather. When he saw Rob pawing at Thomas’ neck, he took immediate offense. 

“Robert!” He squawked, “This is no place for a rendezvous! It’s incredibly dangerous up here and anyone in the county could see you!” 

Rob let out a heavy growling noise from deep within his throat, a release of air pushing through a clenched wind pipe. He was grinding his teeth, and looked over his shoulder to glare at Riggs who had the decency to look ashamed. 

“Why don't you just bugger off downstairs.” Rob demanded. “I’m a little busy-“ 

“I shan’t be buggering off anywhere!” Riggs said hotly, drawing himself up to his full height as best he could while sweating and covered in stains. “Your omega wants to buy this hunk of junk, and it’s incredibly dangerous. Convince him otherwise! Bit his neck, claim his scent, do whatever it is that you alphas do when you get angry and-“ 

“Oh, ho-“ Rob cut off, in a voice that was far from amused. He still held Thomas close, their chests pressed together as Thomas grabbed at the armpit openings of Rob’s vest. “You don’t want to know what I do when I get angry.” 

“Write a strongly worded letter to the editor?” Riggs said scathingly, folding his arms over his chest. 

“And then jam the pen up-“ 

Thomas reached up, and placed the tips of his fingers over Rob’s mouth before he would say anything regretful. Rob paused, the skin of his lips incredibly smooth against Thomas’ fingertips. He turned, looking down at Thomas with a small smile. 

“Easy love.” Thomas murmured reproachfully. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

“I wasn’t going to shoot him, remember?” Rob was playful again, rocking Thomas back and forth, “I was going to take my pen-“ 

“And do something very naughty with it.” Thomas said. Rob shrugged, at ease. 

Riggs groaned, nervous as he glanced about at all the safety hazards. 

“Please… see sense?” Riggs begged. “Or at least go back downstairs.” 

Small victories would make a man happy, so Thomas and Rob relented, untwining from one another to head back down the small staircase into the gloomy confines of the furnace. 

 

That night the pair of them took a sleeper car back to London. It was Thomas first time on a night train, and he was intrigued by the design. Compartments were crowded, and there was only width in the hall for one man to walk through at a time. Still, there was a dining cart, and the bunks were cozy if not a little cramped. Rob and Thomas were directed to near the end of the sleeper cart, where Thomas had booked them a single cabin on the last train out of Hugglescote. Due to delays and stop overs, the train ride to London would be close to five hours and so the pair of them were content to have a brief sleep before getting off the train and heading back to the apartment. 

It was impossible to really get comfortable though; Thomas had taken the top bunk with Rob on the bottom, but had climbed into Rob’s bunk if only to talk with him some more. As visitors had walked past their cabin, Thomas had been forced to remove his feet from the hallway and had instead crawled fully beside Rob in bed so that the two of them were now intertwined side by side with the curtains drawn on both their bunks. Thomas’ was empty, but no one would be bothering to look for him anyway. 

Rob had unbuttoned his vest and shirtsleeves, his naked chest revealed to the light. Thomas lay with his head on Rob’s collarbone, his own shirt and vest untucked from his trousers so that Rob could run his hand back and forth along the small of Thomas’ back. 

They were scenting, and it was glorious. Thomas had never known such ease in all his life. It was like he was bathing in warm light. Like he was detached from the rest of the world and floating on a soup of pink clouds. 

“…Furnace…” Rob murmured, his voice vibrating in his chest. Thomas made a non-committal noise, trying to go to sleep. Rob squeezed his hip, forcing Thomas to wake back up. 

“Wha-?” Thomas scratched at his chin, hiding his face against Rob’s armpit. He smelt so lovely… the perfect alpha aroma. 

“Dangerous.” Rob said. “Needs work.” 

“Cheap.” Thomas replied, “Sturdy fortress.” 

It seemed they were talking in single word phrases now. 

“Cheap now.” Rob replied, “Might get pricey. Repairs.” 

“Strong.” Thomas whispered. “Brigade can’t find it.” 

Rob rolled on his side, and took Thomas with him. He held Thomas close burying his face in the crown of his black hair. 

“Do you want it?” Rob whispered in his ear. 

It took Thomas a solid second to reason that Rob was talking about the furnace and not other more risqué things. 

“Yes.” Thomas whispered back. “Courting gift… let me buy it.” He grinned. 

“Mmm..” Rob chuckled. “Your courting gift… will be something else. Something bigger.” 

Thomas let out a breathless laugh, wondering what on earth Rob had cooked up. 

“Just want you.” Thomas closed his eyes, rubbing his nose against Rob’s chest. “That’s all.” 

Rob laid his cheek atop Thomas’ head. For a moment they were silent, until Rob spoke one last time: “You always have me, love.” 

The pair of them went to sleep like that, and when they woke up later with cricks in their necks, neither of them minded.

 

 

The paperwork on Moira Furnace was incredibly complicated, but Thomas refused to leave the flat in fear of somehow tipping off the Brigade. Moira Furnace was being sold as a joint item by Leicestershire County after having been taken from the Earl of Moira in auction several years ago. Thomas requested to be placed as an anonymous buyer, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible while Murray wired the money and Riggs swapped paperwork. Thomas’ initial offer of five thousand was amended to a final buying price of 6,500. Riggs brought in a valuation surveyor, who upon examining the extensive damage done to Moira Furnace urged that Thomas’ buying price be amended to five thousand once again. The reduction price was bitterly accepted, if only because Moira had been on the market for twenty years and no one else had dared to touch her. 

Thomas had to sign several contracts, and in doing so decided it would be best to once again hide beneath the shadow of anonymity. He only signed one contract with his full name, which would be kept under lock and key in Murray’s office with no one else allowed to examine it. Thomas even requested that Murray put it in a thick folder, worried that someone might try to see through the envelope and deduce who had bought Moira Furnace. Thomas even paid an extra fee through Murray to have Moira Furnace underneath an anonymous buyer with the Land Registry, so that if someone was spying on Thomas through government they wouldn’t be able to trace him to Moira Furnace that way either. To say he was paranoid at this point was laughable. 

He was solidly on the war path. 

Then it came time to pay for fees. Riggs was owed fifty pounds, but Thomas paid him double that to continue the sham of offering Thomas manors and hotels so that the Brigade would stay off the true scent. Riggs happily accepted, and continued to offer Thomas properties publicly which Thomas continued to decline. Murray likewise had to be paid, but this was inconsequential. Money was not a problem for Thomas anymore. 

Rob Kinsey, on the other hand, was. 

He was sneaking about, or at least that was what Thomas had come to figure. Rob kept claiming he had meetings even though it was summer break and he technically didn’t have any work. When Thomas reminded him of this fact, Rob would just shrug and say ‘faculty nonsense’ before running out the door and disappearing for hours. 

Thomas called his office just to check.  
There were no faculty meetings. 

 

July 1st dawned upon England clean and fresh; the ache of winter was finally past, and from the rich bodice of island soil came a wave of flowers. They popped out of every crevice and crack, determined to a gander at sunshine while it lasted. Men ferrying carts of pennylicks walked the streets of London, with ladies taking to wearing sun hats and footmen sweating underneath their starched collars as they followed their mistresses out to shopping. 

It found Rob Kinsey’s flat clean and warm, with no more need for coal in the fireplace. Thomas prepared a cuppa, as was his morning ritual, only to be stopped by Rob who shut the vent for the stove (promptly cutting oxygen off of the fire) and offered Thomas a train ticket to Norfolk. 

Ah but of course, his birds.  
Thomas smiled, accepting the train tickets and leaning up to try and give Rob a gentle kiss.  
Rob stopped him with a firm finger to his lips. 

“Not yet.” Rob ordered. “I haven’t earned it.” 

 

So the pair of them dressed in pressed trousers and vests, heading for Elephant and Cross to catch the eight o’clock train to Felbrigg. They bought a cup of tea from the trolley maid, and read a communal newspaper to try and take a gander at the cross words. Rob was horribly distracted though, unable to quit smiling as he kept an arm around Thomas’ shoulders. 

“What’s under your mug?” Thomas asked with a sly smile. Rob shrugged, saying nothing as he penciled in another letter to try and shove a vowel into a string of consonants. “You’re smiling too much.” 

“I never knew there was a limit.” Rob murmured.

“I’m watching you, Mr. Kinsey.” Thomas said. He tried to sound menacing, but doubted he succeeded. Love turned a man’s menace to mush. 

“Dr. Kinsey.” Rob corrected him. He might have been trying to sound annoyed, but it did not work. “I didn’t ’get my doctorate for simpletons to call me ‘Mr’.”

Thomas just stuck out his tongue, “I’m watching you Mr. Dr. Kinsey.” 

Rob just kept on smiling. 

 

 

They arrive in Felbrigg close to noon, and upon disembarking their train wound their way out of the station. Rob seemed to know exactly where they were going, hand in hand with Thomas, and took them to the edge of the road where motorists were swinging by to pick up visitors. The whole town was lit up in a gay array of white ribbons which were tied from lane to lane. It could be that a wedding was occurring today, but Thomas couldn’t hear church bells or see any villagers in finery. 

“There must be some kind of to do.” Thomas murmured, pointing to a light post that was coiled about with a white ribbon like some kind of frilly python. 

“Oh you could say that.” Rob said, smug. 

Thomas was taken aback, and looked about to see Rob casually picking at a spot underneath his fingernails. 

“What are you on about?” Thomas demanded. Robb shrugged, pretending to be bored. Honestly the man could be so full of hot air, sometimes! 

“Can a man not enjoy-“ 

“Robert!” Thomas cut him off, starting to get angry. 

Rob opened his mouth, surely to say something else, but he was cut off by the rolling stop of a black glossy motorcar that was cutting a path through the crowd. It was driven by an elderly gentleman who was surprisingly spy in his dark green uniform and polished boots. 

“Excuse me!” He called out, smiling as he hopped up on the curb, “Are either of you Mr. Barrow? Omega of Lincolnshire?” 

Thomas bristled at the name. He did not like being reminded of his forced title, and merely inclined his head a bit. 

“…I am.” He replied.

The chauffeur did not offer to shake his hand, instead tipping his hat to Thomas in a form of respect. 

“A pleasure to be of service sir. I am Glenn, his Lordship’s chauffeur. I’ve been sent to collect you from the station. If I may?” He stepped back and opened the car door for Thomas and Rob to slide into the back seat. It was comprised of polished leather and soft velvet flooring. The last time Thomas had ridden in a car this fine, it had been to Belton House. 

“This is very kind,” Thomas protested, “But surely we could walk?” 

“His Lordship insists, sir.” Glenn replied, looking straight ahead as if he were a statue instead of a man. 

Rob took Thomas’ hand, and helped him into the back seat. Thomas slid all the way over to the window, making room for Rob as Glenn closed the door and returned to the front seat. Glenn started up the engine again and threw the motorcar into gear. He honked the horn twice and pulled into traffic once more, throwing up a hand at a group of pedestrians who backed onto the curb to get out of his way. 

Thomas looked from Rob to Glenn for some kind of an explanation. Neither of them seemed keen to offer one. 

As the city of Felbrigg began to vanish in the rearview mirror, Glenn took them down a broad country lane as smooth as butter. Clearly there had been recent roadwork, with white ribbons dotting a few trees every so often. How large was this celebration if it was spreading out into the valleys? 

“Pardon me, Glenn,” Thomas spoke up, “What are all the ribbons for? Is there a wedding today?” 

“No, sir!” Glenn answered at once. 

“It’s a surprise.” Rob snapped before Glenn could say anymore. Glenn snorted before bowing his head demurely, a wicked grin spreading across his wrinkled face. 

“…Glenn…” Thomas spoke up again, a fire in his eyes, “Given that I technically am the omega of Lincolnshire, my order overrides that of Dr. Kinsey. What are they ribbons for?” 

Rob scowled loudly, throwing Thomas a dirty look as if he was cheating.  
Okay, technically he was, but he was not known for his patience and he’d given Rob more than enough room to make an adequate explanation. 

“It’s for your generosity!” was Glenn’s mild answer. It hardly solved any mysteries, but it was enough to placate Thomas’ order. “Your contributions to the Audubon society have made you massively popular in Norfolk, Mr. Barrow. I’m sure your late alpha would be very proud of you.” 

“Yes, Lord Gray was always a charitable man.” Rob said scornfully. Charitable with what, though? Charitable with abuse? 

Rob reached into his vest and pulled out a thick white envelope which he handed over to Thomas. “Hold onto that for later.” Rob said. 

“What is it?” Thomas asked, flipping the letter from front to back. It did not have a sigil on its seal, nor a recipient address. 

“You’ll know when the time comes.” Rob said. 

Thomas opened his mouth, ready to let Rob have it, until he started seeing white tents fleck the horizon. They were spread out around the base of what was surely Felbrigg Hall. Party tents could be seen against a backdrop of Jacobean architecture, walled pleasure gardens, and a massive aviary which seemed to be the center piece of the evening. Thomas could see a great throng of people milling about the clipped lawn, walking around objects too far off to clearly see. There was even a jazz band playing; Thomas could hear the music faintly in the distance, and footmen seemed to be wandering about with platters of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of punch or  
wine. 

Thomas’ heart began to pound in his chest, his anxiety going through the roof. 

What the hell was going on? 

“Rob-“ Thomas blurted out, “What’s going on?” 

But Rob was just smiling again, reaching out to gently take up Thomas’ hand which he squeezed lovingly. 

“I might have organized a massive gathering with the Earl of Windham for your contributions to the Audubon Society of Norfolk in an attempt to raise money for Moira Furnace. Your speech is in the letter I just gave you. Three psychology doctors poured over it, so we’ve made sure it’s air tight. Also, the Earl decided to bring out all the birds you donated to the society… that’s what you’re seeing the partiers walk around. Sybil and Champion are on special display for you.” 

“I think I’m going to faint.” Thomas blurted out as the motor car pulled onto a gravel drive. 

His heart was absolutely pounding at the sudden slam of information. A party for him? 

What might have originally appeared to be an incredibly thoughtful gift was suddenly turning into a nightmare. Thomas was not social by nature, and had never been the center of attention before unless one counted being screamed at by Carson and mocked by an entire household. He did not know how to accept Rob’s gift, nor how to act, and the sudden terror of being thrust into a situation he could not deflect made Thomas begin to shake. 

Rob’s confidence was shattered as the blood drained from Thomas’ face. “I- I never meant to upset you.” Rob put an arm around Thomas’ shoulders. “Really it’ll be alright. Several of my friends are here. They’re good people-!” 

The car stopped. 

Glenn got out, and came around to open the door for Rob and Thomas. What he found was a petrified omega and a disparaged alpha, as Rob tried to buck up Thomas’ meagre courage. 

“Mr. Barrow.” Glenn was taken aback, “Are you alright?” 

“C-could you bring me a glass of water?” Thomas mumbled. 

But before Glenn could so much as turn around, they were suddenly besieged upon by a tall man in immaculately livery and oiled hair. His imposing profile pushed Glenn aside, extending his arm to try and help Thomas out of the car. 

“Mr. Barrow. How do you do, I am Mr. Carter, Butler to his Lordship. If I may?” 

He didn’t seem to realize that Thomas was panic stricken until Thomas stepped out of the car and into the light. Carter was taken aback as his crumbling appearance, and immediately noticed the way Rob was diving into a panic. Butlers were built to assess chaos. 

“I-could I have a glass of w-water?" Thomas asked again, practically pleading with the man. Carter didn’t hesitate. 

“Of course, sir.” He cast Glenn a furtive look and Glenn was off like a shot, bounding through the thickening crowd towards a maid on the far side who was bearing cups of tea and lemonade. 

“I-“ Thomas was stumbling over words. He felt incredibly hot, like he was suddenly suffering from fever as men and women dressed to the nines began to approach. “I had no idea- I thought it was just- I had no idea- I think- I think I’m going to-“ 

But there was no time for fainting; a man in a fine white suit and top hat was coming over with a woman on his arm. Both of them looked delighted. 

“Ah! Barrow!” The man proclaimed. He looked like the sort of man who might enjoy a jungle safari, with enormous blond muttonchops and rather pronounced front teeth. Instead of shaking Thomas’ hand, he swooped it up in a kiss. Thomas was suddenly reminded rather forcibly of Lawrence Gray, although this man was much more jolly. 

Rob was affronted at the sight of Thomas being kissed on the hand by another man. He seemed struck between the concept of socking the man in the eye or letting it slide because of his status. 

“We’ve never met but we know one another well.” The man declared, “I’m the Earl of Windham! And this is my omega, Georgia. ” 

They’d spoken on the phone several times, but Thomas didn’t think that constituted knowing one another well. 

“Hi.” Thomas tried to be sociable but it came out as weak and flimsy. The Earl of Windham was taken aback. 

“He’s a bit ill, M’lord.” The butler explained, “Glenn is fetching Madge for a glss of water.” 

“Oh dear, I hope it’s not those trains.” The earl complained, “they can be a bother can’t they-“ 

“Oh you poor thing.” the woman on the earl’s arm was glittering omega… the kind you could imagine picturing on the cover of a magazine. 

“Is that the Omega of Lincolnshire?” Another lady spoke up, looking quite delighted. The Countess of Windham looked about and wiggled her fingers delighted at her friend. 

“Yes, dearest!” She said. “Everyone-!” She held up her hand so that her diamond bracelets glittered brilliantly in the sun. Her joyous call caused quite a stir, with lords and ladies turning from all about the estate to hear what she had to say. “Everyone if I may have your attention?” 

A silence fell, but it was a humored one. There was this soft murmur underneath the quiet, of conversations still carrying on but being kept to a hush. 

_“-But you said he’d know by now-!”_

Thomas looked over his shoulder to find that Rob had been taken away from him by a plump older woman in a white frock carrying an umbrella. She looked furious with him and was scolding him something proper while a young man with golden coiffed hair laughed delightedly at her side. A sour looking woman stood within earshot, clearly irritated at his lack of respect for Rob. 

“I’d like to introduce our guest of honor, the most pious and charitable Omega of Lincolnshire, who has made all of this possible! If I may introduce, Thomas Barrow-!” 

She turned, waving her hand to Thomas who was suddenly at the full attention of hundreds of people. 

A banner suddenly dropped, hanging between two of the largest tents beneath which people sat eating shaved ice. 

_“Omega of Charity”_ it read. 

A band struck up. They played ‘I Vow to Thee’ with such gusto that several onlookers sang mildly though they kept their voices soft. It was the sort of thing you were inclined to do through tradition alone. 

Everyone was applauding. 

Thomas’ mouth moved without his knowledge. He suddenly found himself claiming, “I have to sneeze” even though he did not have to sneeze at all and couldn’t feel his lips. 

They everything went hot, flashed white, and turned to black. 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone had him beneath the armpits. Someone else was tapping him on the face. 

“Oh my dear fellow-!” The Earl of Windham was complaining as if he were the one who’d fainted. 

Thomas was sprawled on the grass, one of his legs sticking out at an awkward angle. 

“Oh goodness-!” The Countess was desperate, “Where’s Dr. Clarkson- did you see him about-?” 

“Let me through please!” Rob was on the outskirts of the crowd, “I’m a doctor!” 

“No you’re not!” That older woman was back again. She sounded outraged. “You’re a psychiatrist Bobby! And you’re no use here at all! Look what you’ve gone and done to this poor sweet omega!” 

“Nice one.” A man said. 

“Shuttup!” Rob was on the verge of a mental collapse. Someone kept trying to urge Thomas to sit on his backside, but Thomas couldn’t seem to get his bearings. 

Why did he hear a trumpet making bizarre noises? Was there a band nearby? 

“Boys!” A younger woman hissed, “Another word out of both of you-“ 

“Robert-“ Thomas’ lips were clumsy around the name. 

But suddenly Rob was there. Thomas could smell white tea and honey. There was a cool hand at the back of his neck. Thomas blinked rapidly, his vision swimming until it settled on Rob’s beautiful face inches in front of his own. 

By god if he wasn’t scenting Thomas in front of a group of people… but it made Thomas feel better, truly. Even if it was slightly obscene. 

“I’m here.” Rob declared, with such obvious adoration that even Thomas thought it a bit silly. “I’m right here.” 

“I need to…” Get off the grass, “Sit down.” 

“Mr. Barrow-“ the butler was trying to break apart the crowd and control the chaos, “If I may be of service, why don’t you sit over there-?” He gestured to a large tent full of round tables sporting flowers and fold out chairs. It was in the shade. 

Thomas nodded, or tried to. He looked rather ridiculous, his head lolling about. 

“Madge-!” The butler barked. 

Quite suddenly a maid was at his back, her frilly apron starch and scratchy against the side of his neck. 

“Here you are, Mr. Barrow-“ She and Rob helped him to rise, the Butler guiding them all as Thomas stumbled across the grass. The back of his suit felt wet; perhaps the grass had been damp. “If you’ll just take my hand-“ 

“I’m here-!” And by god if Dr. Clarkson hadn’t shown up out of no where. Who on earth had invited him to this party? 

_But of course_ , Thomas thought, _Rob must have done this too. He’d want his best friend to be present, wouldn’t he?_

Clarkson and Rob took the lead, so that Madge could pull out a chair in the shade and help him to sit down. They were not alone; the older woman and white was there along with the man with golden coiffed hair and the sour woman. They all seemed to be moving in a pack, which made no sense. Why couldn’t they leave Thomas and Rob be? 

“I’m so sorry-“ Rob was on his knees before Thomas, cradling Thomas hand and trying to be of some use, “I just wanted this to be a surprise- God damnit I’m such an idiot!” 

“Shuddup Rob, you’re ruinin’ it.” Thomas mumble, letting his head relax against the back of the chair. He tried to take deep breathes, but his chest seemed to ache from the strain, “I’m fine-“ 

“I told you to tell him!” Clarkson argued; clearly he’d been in on it too. 

“Leave me alone, Dick!” Rob groaned. Everyone seemed to be ganging up on him, the poor lamb. In a moment of ennui, Rob grabbed at his own hair and tugged. 

“Stop being dramatic.” Clarkson ordered, pulling out a chair and sat down before Thomas, reaching to take Thomas’ pulse at his wrist so that he could time it on his watch. “You’re not helping, and you know it.” 

“I just wanted everything to be-“ 

“Shuttup.” Clarkson grumbled, eyes focused on his wrist watch. Rob lapsed into bitter silence, sulking a few feet back. 

“Shaky but gaining strength.” Was Clarkson’s decision. He looked about and signaled for a footman, “You need to drink something with sugar-“ 

The footman offered a glass of iced lemonade and Clarkson gave it to Thomas at once. He held the glass with clumsy fingers, feeling out of sorts with his own skeleton. 

“Let me see your eyes?” Clarkson forced Thomas to look straight ahead, and then stretched the tops of Thomas’ right eyelid with his thumb so that he could see Thomas’ iris and pupil more clearly. 

“Normal.” He pulled back, giving Thomas some peace, “You’re flushed but cooling. Just sit still for a moment and relax. You’re perfectly fine, you just got over stimulated which might have had something to do with a band.” Clarkson’s voice drifted away into a grumble. Clearly he hadn’t been a fan of that particular display of affection. 

 

“Oh Bobby-!” And there was that older woman again, calling Rob ‘Bobby’ as if that was his name at all. She looked ready to slap him, her wrinkled cheeks turning puffy red. She was a rather squat woman, surely no bigger than 5’5, with large bossisms and curly gray hair in thick ringlets. She was by no means wealthy; she was not dripping in diamonds or covered in silks, but there was a grace about her. She carried herself with purpose, despite obviously being an omega with a white scar at her neck. Someone had bitten her long ago. Thomas wondered if her alpha was here. 

“I’ve had just about enough of your botched attempts at courting!” the woman thundered, a finger in Rob’s face. 

“Mum!” Rob whined, embarrassed at being drug through the dirt in front of a group of elite strangers, “Leave me alone, I’m having a rough day-!” 

_Mum?_ Thomas’ mouth fell open as he suddenly realized that the squat woman wasn’t a quarrelsome fool but Rob’s mother. 

Which meant the golden haired youth at her side could only be one person: Rob’s brother, George. The successful businessman who adored cricket. Perhaps the sour woman was his wife? 

“You’re having a rough day?” Rob’s mother couldn’t seem to believe the nerve of him, “Your poor omega has just fainted in front of a hundred members of royalty, and you’re having a rough day! Well let me tell you, Robert Matthew Kinsey. If your father were here, he’d give you the what for! He never did this to me! You know what he gave me for courting-?” 

But Rob cut her off, droning the answer. Even his brother chimed in, the pair of them obviously having heard this story a million times before: “A dress-“ 

“That’s right, a dress!” She said with pride, “Didn’t make me faint, I can tell you! But oh no!!” She waved her hands in mock surrender as if she were the one being ridiculous. “You had to have a trumpets, and a band, and a little banner well I tell you this-!” She stamped her foot, “You won’t be getting any sympathy out of me.” 

“What a shocking turn of events.” Rob said dryly. “Is this a new complication or have you suffered under the delusion of apathy for a while now?” 

In response, she smacked Rob over the back of the head. 

“If it gets any worse consult your GP!” Rob snarled. His mother turned about face and gave him such a defiant glare that he shut up immediately. 

His mother side stepped him, coming around Dr. Clarkson to pull up another chair and sit down at Thomas’ side. 

She seemed fascinated by him. Delighted.  
So horribly happy. 

“…You mustn’t mind him.” She said with a soft smile. Everything about her was soft, it seemed. Her skin… her dress… her eyes. It was odd. Like she already loved him and she didn’t even know him. 

“He’s just like his father.” She declared, “Always trying to get to the results.” She reached out and took Thomas’ hand so that she might stroke his knuckles. 

Thomas hadn’t been touched by a woman in such a way since he’d parted from Mrs. Hughes. It moved him. 

Dr. Clarkson was smiling, but he had his head ducked. It was like he was trying to hide his expression. Perhaps he knew something that Thomas didn’t. 

“I’m Melvina Kinsey…Robert’s mother.” She explained, “And I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Thomas Barrow.” 

Thomas wondered if Rob had told his mother what his name was. 

“S’…. his father here?” Thomas mumbled. “Aunt? Uncle?” 

“Oh I doubt it.” Melvina let out a little chuckle, unperturbed by his “His father’s been dead five years and his aunt and uncle are on holiday in Greece.” 

“Oh.” Thomas said. It was difficult to say much more. “Oh my god I feel so stupid- I’ve ruined my first impression haven’t I-“ 

“No! Not at all!” She wouldn’t hear anything of the sort, “We all told Bobby to be straight forward with you and get you something nice, like a dress. But then he said you hated dresses and wouldn’t listen to the rest! Dress, trousers, I don’t care but I’ve always said that a new frock is best for courting because when you’re older you’ll still-“ 

Over Melvina’s shoulder Rob was hitting his fingers and thumb together to represent a smacking mouth. His brother George seemed ready to have a fit. 

“-and I told Bobby all of this but he never listens to me because when he listens he has to admit I’m right- and I can see you in the reflection of my glass Robert!” Her tone turned as sharp as a knife. 

Rob immediately dropped his hand, coughing and turning away to engage with his brother. 

“That uh- that footman’s got lemonade.” Rob gestured to a footman watching them all like they were at the zoo. “Fetch me a glass?” 

“You’re closer.” George said defiantly. 

“You’re younger.” Rob replied, “Fetch me a glass.” 

“Oh yes, a glass of lemonade for my geriatric brother.” George snapped, fetching two drinks from the footman. Instead of giving one to Rob, however, he turned and gave one to the woman at his side. “There you are-“ 

Rob looked dejectedly from his brother, to his sister in law, to his mother. No one was supporting him. 

Thomas caught his eye and reached out his hand. Rob was there in a mili-second. 

He clasped Thomas’ hand, stroking him lovingly with the other. Thomas leaned into both touches, grateful to feel Rob running his fingers over Thomas’ sweaty brow. He felt much clearer now… much more in control of his body. 

It still helped to rest and close his eyes, though.

“Bobby told me that you turned his flat out properly.” Melvina said; Clarkson broke their interlude by rolling Thomas’ shirtsleeve back down and buttoning it at the wrist. “And he told us about the money. That was incredibly loving of you, to take care of his loans to me and his brother. Of course, I shouldn’t tell you this but he wanted to buy you a-“ 

“Yes thank you.” Rob cut her off with a rather dire gleam in his eye. “Why don’t you tell him about the banner you and Rebecca painted.” 

“Oh yes, did you like that?” Melvina tried not to sound too smug. “I thought it would be a nice touch-“ 

Rob picked up a lemon biscuit and ate it, only to have his mother let out a spewing string of moans. 

“Oh Bobby you mustn’t do that, love.” she urged, “You’re overweight, and you don’t play cricket like your brother-“ 

George was ready to choke he was sniggering so hard. Rob was taken aback. 

“I wuh-?” Rob blurted out, a few crumbs falling onto his vest. Melvina seemed to despair at her oldest son’s lack of formal manners. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look cherub.” Melvina sighed, reaching out to pat at Rob’s tummy where a slight bulge could be seen beneath his waist coat. “You’ve always been the handsomest doctor in LSM, and I’ll never say otherwise, but I wish you’d get out more and socialize like your brother.” 

“Yes!” George just kept egging it on, a maniacal look in his eye, “Be more like me, Bobby!” He said the nickname with clearly malicious intent. Behind their mother’s back, Rob gave his younger brother a rude hand gesture that was unfortunately seen by two passing noblewomen. The ladies were promptly scandalized, rushing off before any more feathers could be rumpled. 

But Thomas knew it was all an act for George’s part. Rob had admitted his love for his brother openly to Thomas before. They were bantering, the same as any siblings might when flustered by their mother. 

George was obviously younger than Rob, but they shared many striking characteristics. They had the same wave to their hair, the same profile to their nose and chin. George had a more round face, with blonder hair and a cheekier smile. Rob was the one with a severe chin and a thinner face. 

It was odd to see George in the flesh; Thomas had a feeling he’d known George long before. Like all of them were oddly connected from the past. 

“Sorry about all the bother.” George said. 

“George.” Thomas greeted him with a soft smile. 

“I see I’m familiar to you.” It was obvious why George was the charmer. “You’re familiar to me too so it’s just as well.” 

“You have a daughter that could break hearts.” Thomas said. 

“And an omega that can mend them.” George agreed. He turned, and gestured to the rather severe woman behind him. She looked like the strain of the world was on her shoulders, but the irritation was foreign on her face. It must have been all the people; perhaps she liked to stay out of the spotlight. “This is my Rebecca.” 

“Hello, Thomas.” Rebecca extended her hand to shake Thomas’ own. She had a gentle grip and slim fingers. “Very nice to meet you.” 

“Oh-“ Melvina Kinsey couldn’t take the delight of having her whole extended family together. “Oh I just can’t stand it. I’m so delighted. All my children have found their omegas-“ 

Rob made a dark noise in his throat, ready to gag. 

“We’ve been so amazed by your birds, Thomas.” Rebecca cut across before Melvina could invoke another war. “Won’t you walk us around and tell us about them?” 

But what really could Thomas tell? He hadn’t been the expert; that had always been Lawrence’s lot in life. He looked from Melvina, to George, to Rebecca, to Rob, and reasoned that his only way forward was to try and be as honest as possible. 

“I don’t know that much.” 

“Neither does anyone else.” Rob teased. 

So that, he supposed, was that. 

 

The Earl of Windham was grateful for Thomas’ return of health, and eager to walk about the exhibits before the scheduled luncheon. They were not alone; several other members of nobility were ready to cue up to get a chance to talk to Thomas though they didn’t really have much to say. Thomas had a feeling that most if not all of them just wanted to talk because of stories they might have read in the newspaper. It was like Thomas was a B-list celebrity, here to fill a gossip rag instead of spread the good word about charity. 

Determined to be a let down, Thomas decided to hang back and be as boring as possible. 

Felbrigg Hall had many walled pleasure gardens, and the western walk was strung out with birds of prey on iron resting stands. A few were being tended to by handlers; men wearing thick leather gloves and offering their pledges chopped varmint and halibut. The birds were either bored, or irritated, and did not enjoy being gawked at by flocking nobles. A few seemed eager to bite, and were being kept back from the more over eager guests. 

Two in particular were the Duke of Cornwall and the Marquess of Huntley, both of whom were with their brood of omegas and both of whom seemed intent on courting Thomas. 

“You can imagine how delighted I was when I got a call from the Audubon Society telling me they’d received over fifty new beauties!” The Earl of Windham gloated, “All of them from the famed Omega of Lincolnshire!” The Earl had to keep pausing so that the rest of the group could catch up. Thomas walked arm in arm with Rob, flanked on both sides by Melvina, George, Rebecca, and Dr. Clarkson. The Earl was at the head of the group with the countess; despite being of lesser rank than the Marquess or the Duke, he still took initiative. Thomas had to admire the man for being man of stern stuff. 

“Howard practically tripped over his shoelaces to get up to the aviary.” The Countess swayed as she walked, so that her golden bracelets clinked intermittently. 

“I was so blown away by the sense of charity and compassion! Only and omega could pull it off!” The Earl wagged his finger as they came upon a red kite that was being admired by his handler. The bird kept trying to eat more treats, and when denied would nip at his handler’s gloved fingers. Thomas had yet to meet a bird without an attitude. 

“And isn’t he a beauty?” The Earl said, which made the other alpha lords laugh in agreement. At first Thomas thought they were speaking about the birds, until he noticed that everyone was looking at him. 

“Tell us, Thomas.” The Duke of Cornwall was aging, but clearly still eager to add more omegas to his brood. Christ, he already had six! “Now that your first alpha has passed, are you being courted again?” 

Rob looked at Thomas with a cheesy smile. It was clear he was ready to strangle someone. 

“Surely you’re not being courted when you’re wearing those trousers.” The Duke gestured to Thomas’ outfit like it were a national tragedy, “What alpha would let his omega wear trousers?” 

“I’m being courted by Dr. Kinsey.” Thomas said with pride, and wrapped his arm tighter around Kinsey’s elbow. “This party is my courting gift.” 

“Oho!” The Earl tutted eagerly. “And you should have seen his enthusiasm boys. Thomas gave him those glasses he’s wearing.” 

The Duke was clearly disappointed, and grumbled turning away. Rob touched his glasses, pushing them higher up his nose with pride. 

“I could turn to drink at the thought.” The Marquess of Huntley was younger than the Duke but also nastier. “Mating a doctor instead of a lord? Hardly a smart choice.” 

Thomas shrank into Rob’s side. He did not like being discussed so openly, like he were cattle being put out to breed. 

Rob hung back, allowing the group to walk ahead of them. George looked over his shoulder, curious at his brother’s actions, till Rob jerked his head and George made a scene over the red kite. 

“Look at this one!” George boasted loudly, getting everyone’s attention, “I think my gran had a hat with feathers like this!” 

“Oh I doubt it old boy!” The Earl gloated, sidling up to the red kite. It squawked in indignation. “These birds are better known for their meat than their feathers!” 

 

Rob gently tugged him left. They stepped out of view from the rest of the crowds, hiding behind the orangery which was heavily humid despite the cool summer air. The smell of oranges surrounded them, with beautiful white flowers basking in the amplified heat of the sun as tiny fruits started to swell and ripen. They still had many weeks to go yet before they would be suitable for consumption, but were lovely to look at all the same. 

Rob and Thomas hid behind an orange tree, grateful to be alone for the moment. 

“… Hi.” Thomas smiled. 

Rob leaned in and smelt at Thomas’ nape, holding him close like he thought Thomas might disappear. They linked hands, fingers sliding and interlocking. 

“You did all this?” Thomas whispered in Rob’s ear. He was mystified by the man. Utterly amazed. 

“No.” Rob smiled into Thomas’ neck. “I did 90% of it… 95% tops.” 

“How?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and pulled back to make Rob meet his eyes, “How on earth could you do this? Tell me exactly what steps you took?” 

Rob shrugged, “I called the Earl of Windham, he called the Audubon Society, they called contributing nobles, and then my mother called and demanded I come to lunch on the same day I was planning your party for. So I had to tell her, and then she went into a tizzy and invited my stupid brother.” 

“Shh…” Thomas chuckled, touching Rob’s lips. But even as he leaned up to try and kiss Rob, Rob drew back with a smirk. 

“Not yet, cherub.” Rob whispered, “I haven’t earned it yet.” 

“Oh for god’s sake!” Thomas moaned. What a tease! What an absolute utter tease! 

They left the orangery after a while, content to walk about on their own. Several nobles shook Thomas’ hand and asked for a comment on the papers, but all Rob had to do was to exude his scent for them to move on. It was by their migrational movement across the yard’s length that Thomas finally found a rather particular bird in the back corner that everyone else seemed to have forgotten about. 

Drooping at the head and quiet, Champion looked nothing like the prized falcon that Lawrence had once fawned over. Thomas stopped dead, causing Rob to hold up; it was almost heartbreaking to see Champion so visibly depressed. 

Thomas could not help but draw closer, noting that Champion’s handler seemed to have wandered off for a glass of lemonade. The falcon kept looking at the ground looking oddly… clammy. 

“Hello.” Thomas whispered. 

Champion perked up a bit, glancing at Thomas only to straighten up and stick out a leg so that he might stretch with his entire wing. Thomas reached up, mindful of Champion’s beak, and stroked his breast. Champion rolled his head, craning his neck to timidly nibble at Thomas’ finger. 

“Hello, do you remember me?” Thomas knew it was silly to ask. Bird’s could not talk and even if they did Thomas doubted they would be interesting in communicating with him. But Champion seemed desperate for contact, and kept sticking out his massive clawed feet. 

Thomas offered his arm, and Champion at once climbed over. His claws hurt, and Thomas winced as Champion carefully walked up Thomas’ arm to rest at his shoulder. He began to nibble at Thomas’ hair, just as he’d done with Lawrence. Perhaps, all things considered, he did remember Thomas after all. 

Rob was speechless, but not for long. 

“Make a friend?” He squeaked out. 

“Champion.” Thomas explained. “He was Lawrence’s special bird… Lawrence loved him more than anything else in the world.” 

But Rob couldn’t seem to wrap his head around Champion’s girth, “Christ it’s the size of a bulldog.” 

Thomas looked up at Champion, marveling at how his downy breast feathers blew in the summer wind. Champion was gorgeous, worthy of his name. “Well he’s a big boy.” 

Rob cautiously reached up, only to nearly get pecked by Champion. He drew his hand back, ruffled. 

“Well fine.” He muttered nastily under his breath, “Be like that. Y’ pigeon.” 

“Oh hush.” Thomas said. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s a good boy.” 

Rob gave him a sour look. 

 

As the pair of them admired Champion, they were approached by Mr. Carter the butler. He eyed Champion nervously, making sure to stay well back of the bird. 

“Mr. Barrow, pardon me for intruding but his Lordship is wanting to commence the luncheon if you’d care to make your speech before or after the meal?” 

Thomas looked to Rob, shocked. 

A speech? There would be a speech? 

But it all made sense, didn’t it? These people weren’t here to look at birds, not truly. They were here to listen to Thomas’ plight, and become aware of omega suffering. That was Rob’s real courting gift to him… not the banners or the fanfare. 

Maybe others wouldn’t be able to understand, but Thomas did… and in that moment his heart swelled with love for Rob. Surely, he’d never been given a more thoughtful gift. 

At the same time, however, Thomas hadn’t had any time to prepare a speech and was slightly terrified of standing up before the entire crowd if only to spill his heart. 

“What do you think?” Thomas asked Rob, unsure. 

“Are you going to be able to eat while nervous?” Rob asked. Thomas shook his head. Hell, he’d be liable to vomit. 

“Then I think you know what to do.” Rob said… so it seemed Thomas would be making the speech before the meal. 

Thomas stroked Champion’s belly, an odd shooting sensation filling his stomach.  
It felt good to have Champion near. To be in control of the situation. 

And suddenly Thomas had a wonderful idea. 

 

 

As per the Earl of Windham’s wishes, everyone filled around an enormous dining table that had been laid out with floral spreads and stuffed birds 

Thomas had decided that, in order to truly capture the crowd’s attention, he would have to wow them. His solution was simple: he’d order Champion to fly along the length of the table and come to rest on his arm from where he’d sit at the head. It would allow the bird lovers to have an up close look at a falcon, and would give the bored onlookers a chance for excitement. 

It would also help Thomas to make his speech with Champion at his side… for if anyone had suffered as much as him, it had been the bird who’d been devoted to Lawrence Gray. 

Thomas stood just outside the dining tent, jittery. He held Rob’s envelope in his hands, open at the seam but otherwise undisturbed. He kept going back and forth, wondering if it would be best to be genuine or best to play it safe. 

Thomas looked up, noting that Rob was speaking with Champion’s handler. Finally able to get a good grip on Champion’s claws, Rob was able to stroke Champion’s stomach. 

He wasn’t happy about it. He kept squawking and flapping his wings. Clearly he didn’t like being touched by alphas. 

Rob glanced over at Thomas and caught his eye, smiling. Thomas gestured to him with the envelope, a sort of half wave; Rob parted ways with Champion’s handler and came over till they were side by side. 

Perhaps sensing Thomas’ fear, Rob scented him. Thomas breathed in the scent of white tea and honey, grateful. 

“I keep wondering if I should just… go at it genuinely.” Thomas mumbled. “Seems a bit ungrateful when you went to the trouble of making a speech.” 

“No.” Rob smiled warmly and placed a hand on the small of his back. “This is your moment, Thomas. My gift to you isn’t a speech or a party… it’s a moment. Whatever you decide to do with it is completely within your rights.” 

Thomas looked up at Rob in wonder. 

“…Can’t I kiss you?” Thomas whispered, half hope, half plea. 

“I don’t think it would be wise.” Rob’s lips barely seemed to be moving; Thomas was absorbed in their shape and color… how soft they were. How full. 

“Why not?” 

“If we started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” Rob explained. Thomas swallowed around a knot in his throat. 

“Rob-“ 

But before the pair of them could say any more, there was a sound of a glass being smacked gently with a butter knife. 

“If I might garner a moment of silence from you all before we indulge in our sumptuous feast?” The Earl of Windham was speaking just on the other side of the canvas flap. 

“…Not even for good luck?” Thomas whispered. “Please?” 

Rob was moved. 

“I’d like to take a moment to indulge the charitable and virtuous Omega of Lincolnshire-“ Rob leaned in, “The man you’ve all come here to see; sod the birds-!” Rob’s nose brushed his cheek, his lips soft and smooth against his skin. 

He pulled away almost instantly. It was like he couldn’t contain himself, like even the slightest brush of skin was killing him. There were hot red splotches on his cheeks. It was obvious that he was losing his mind over the whole process…and suddenly Thomas felt horribly sorry for him. If anyone was being the tease, it was Thomas. 

Rob’s eyes were sparkling. His jaw was clenched.  
People were laughing inside the tent. The Earl of Windham had just told some sort of joke. 

“I love you.” Thomas whispered.

“..I…” Rob was choked up. He bowed his head, took up Thomas’ hand, and crushed Thomas’ knuckles against his lips. 

Thomas’ heart hammered wildly in his chest, hot emotion swelling inside him as Rob kissed his fingers repeatedly. 

“I love you-“ Rob mumbled the words against his skin, “Oh god how I love you.” 

The tent flap was suddenly pulled back by Mr. Carter. The whole table was sudden given full view of Rob kissing Thomas’ knuckles. 

The pair of them went white, shocked at being thrown into the open. 

“Aha!” The Earl of Windham took it all in stride, “Now we see why he’s so shy!” 

The table laughed, a few of the omegas tittering at their alpha’s sides.  
Burned, Rob dropped Thomas’ hand and looked away. 

“Don’t set the tent on fire.” Thomas whispered as he stepped inside, heading for head of the table where he was to stand and speak. 

“You’re no fun.” Rob muttered, relaxing against the side of the tent as he snatched a glass of white wine from a bemused footman. He downed the whole thing in three strong gulps, coughing a bit as he took up another glass. This one remained untouched, but it was clear to Thomas that Rob was only three minutes away from chugging another glass if someone pestered him. 

Melvina, sitting at the table, eyed her oldest son nervously. 

As Thomas approached the head of the table, everyone applauded. A few of the alphas thumped their fists against the table, a sort of strange masculine salute; Thomas noticed a man in the back with a pad of paper and a photographer at his side. Clearly they were covering this topic for the paper. Maybe a magazine, even. 

Thomas eyed them nervously, worried that whatever they would report would feed fuel to the fire with the Brigade. 

It suddenly dawned on him how quiet it was. Everyone was staring at him to see what he would say. The Duke of Cornwall was practically smirking at him. 

Thomas glanced to the left. Rob was staring at him, but there was a gentle smile upon his face.  
He had faith in him.  
That was enough. 

“… I should make it clear that the reason why I fainted was because the alpha courting me did not tell me of this celebration until about a second after we pulled into the drive. I apologize for the confusion.” Thomas said. The alphas chortled, eyeing one another across the table. It put them at ease, to make them think they were in control… to make them think that the biggest concern Thomas had on his mind was courting, or fainting from shock. 

But they were playing right into Thomas’ hand. 

“I suppose that everyone here was delighted by my contributions, but none of the credit truly goes to me. You see… it goes to my late husband, and mate… Lawrence Gray, Earl of Lincolnshire. They were his birds, and his passion… indeed, they were the only thing that kept him sane at times.” Thomas paused, remembering how Lawrence had wept upon his breast and begged him to understand. 

_“The birds…! The birds are who I truly am!”_

But what had that even meant? Thomas still didn’t know. 

The crowd had taken a quiet turn at the mention of Lawrence, and Thomas knew why. They wanted to know more about Lawrence but were afraid to ask. They were frightened but couldn’t look away. They were compelled to watch. 

“I am not charitable, for you see there are two birds of Lawrence’s collection that do not belong to the Audubon Society of Norfolk. They belong to me, and are boarded in Lord Wellington’s aviary, for which I am incredible grateful… They are Lawrence’s personal companion and mine… Champion and Sybil.” Thomas paused, gesturing to Champion who was at the back of the tent upon the arm of his handler. At the sound of his own name, Champion looked about delighted. 

He was practically begging for attention. 

“If I may?” Thomas offered the crowd, before bringing his finger to his lips and whistling. 

Champion practically leapt at the chance, soaring from his handlers arms over the long dining table to land upon Thomas’ extended arm. The crowd oohed and ahhed with delight, amazed at how beautiful Champion was when he spread his wings. 

“Yes!” Thomas agreed, and even allowed for a small bit of applause before he put a short and morbid end to it all, “Yes, they are beautiful aren’t they. But they’re not immortal nor are they immune to pain. Funny how we forget that beautiful things are also fragile. A bit like omegas, no?” 

Oh that shut them all up.  
A few of the alphas turned gray, staring at one another with slight alarm. One or two omegas looked at the table ashamed. 

Thomas noted that one had bruises on her wrist. 

 

“You see, there is another reason why we are gathered here together today, and it has nothing and everything to do with Lawrence Gray.” Thomas paused, unsure of how to best continue. He looked down at the letter in his hands but did not make to open it. 

He still had to try and be genuine. For Ada’s sake. “I will not pretend like Lawrence’s death went unnoticed by the papers, nor will I hide under the delusion that we were not a source of gossip. I have come here today to clear the air as to what truly happened, and to inform you all of my great hope going forward.” 

The members of the peerage straightened up. They were clearly intrigued, a few leaning forward. The Earl of Windham was enraptured, staring at Thomas like he was a beauty on display. 

Melvina Kinsey was completely still, her blue eyes round and watery.  
George and Rebecca Kinsey were likewise silent, completely at Thomas’ whims. 

“You may have questioned if the papers were blowing the topic out of proportion, adding nefarious lies to the subject of my husband’s death. They were not.” Thomas shrugged; Champion clambered up onto Thomas’ shoulder, content to perch and preen. “Yes.. it is true that Lawrence suffered from sinful urges, and yes it is true that he acted upon them. It is true that he pushed me down a flight of marble stairs causing the death of our unborn child… and it is true that he killed himself in the fall out and guilt.” 

The man from the papers was scribbling furiously on his pad. The cameraman’s jaw had dropped. 

“You see, Lawrence Gray was sick… mentally… and he needed help. I sought to get help from the Brigade, due to their alpha staff and resources. I thought, of all people, they would be able to help him best. … But they did not.” Thomas pursed his lips, bitterness seeping through his voice, “Indeed, they did nothing for my husband, and so as the situation grew more dire, I fell out of love with the Brigade.” 

This of course was a lie. He’d never loved them in the first place. 

“I learned not to trust them. My greatest disappointment came in Alden MacNaire, for surely he as an alpha of three would understand the woes of an omega pining for their mate. It seemed, however, that MacNaire was simply uncaring or unaware of how deep Lawrence’s spiral of madness was. It left me with a shattered life in the end. With nothing, save for the knowledge that all the resources put in place to assist me had failed me. That I had been abandoned by every alpha who ought to have protected me. They had been so content to view me as beautiful; they had forgotten that I was also fragile… just like these birds.” 

Thomas paused, looking up at Champion.  
Champion was nibbling at his hair again; the poor thing seemed to have a fetish for it. Maybe it soothed his nerves. 

The Duke of Cornwall did not look happy. The Earl of Windham seemed close to tears, moved by Thomas’ words. 

Melvina Kinsey was already crying, but she stayed silent with her lips pressed into a thin white line. Rebecca and George just seemed horribly sad. 

“It leads me to wonder how many other omegas had been in my unfortunate shoes. How many others had lost their children, their alphas… their lives. How many had been abandoned by the Brigade, and other organizations. How many had been forgotten altogether.” Thomas paused, noting that a few of the alphas were decidedly uncomfortable now. It was time to try and bring a bit of humility back into the speech before he lost his audience entirely. “I could not tally the number if I tried. This is not to say that the Brigade is a poor organization. Indeed, it is a fantastic group of honorable men who work incredibly hard to protect alpha dominated society. But I saw in my time of need that they were stretched too thin. That even the Brigade needed help at times.” 

Good god, the lies he told just to help his cause.  
Of course, Rob would know he was talking out of his ass, but that was part of the magic, wasn’t it?  
To make them all think he was on ‘their side’. 

“When the dust had settled, and I had collected the ashes of my daughter, I was left with a choice. I could either crumple, or rise up. I could either fade… or flourish. It became my passion to live, and to live well. To push forward in hope, and to try again. In my forward thinking, I found an alpha eager to court me…” Thomas paused, looking to the left where Rob was still sitting by the wall. 

Rob had not touched his second wine glass. He’d been too enamored by Thomas’ speech. There was such fierce love and pride in his face that Thomas was moved and almost forgot his original intent. 

But just as quickly he turned to his audience and urged them to act, “Dr. Robert Kinsey of the London School of Medicine, without whom none of this would be possible. I wonder if we might give him a moment of our praise?”

And at once the group applauded. Rob toasted them silently with his wine glass, taking a pause to toast Thomas specifically with a small smile. 

George whistled, winking audaciously at his brother. Rob glared at him like he’d made a rude hand gesture. 

“He deserves every bit of praise he gets. He claims that he’s proud of me, but the truth is that I am prouder of him.” Thomas smiled at the ground, unable to help himself. “Lawrence Gray forced a bond upon me, but nothing has been forced with Dr. Kinsey. I did not know the definition of love until I opened my heart to him… now I want nothing but to be with him forever.” 

There was a gentle hum about the table. Lovers looking to one another; faithful mates smiling and sharing a tender moment oblivious to their neighbors. In stark contrast, the more stoic bonds were obvious with omegas staring dully at the table and alphas glaring irritably at Thomas. 

He felt sorry for them. 

“What this all boils down to, is the plan that I have come up with… that Dr. Kinsey has helped me to realize.” Thomas explained so that silence claimed the table once more. “I hope I might be able to garner your support today. I want to build a resource for omegas in need. Just as the Brigade helps suffering alphas, so too should there be an organization which could benefit omegas of the same accord. It only makes sense for the organization to be run by an omega or beta… to perhaps be staffed by the same. After all, it would be in poor taste for an alpha to care for someone else’s omega.” 

The alphas weren’t entirely sold on first glance. A few seemed to be pondering the suggestion seriously but a few were obviously unreceptive. They were glaring at Thomas outright now; they swapped glances with their neighbors for support, even if they found it lacking. 

Thomas continued on, unafraid. 

“I know that this is new, and perhaps a little shocking. I know that for centuries, the Brigade has held itself as the highest regard for affairs between secondary genders. I do not seek to dismiss or diminish that. All I wish to be, all I aim to be… is an asset to the Brigade, to lighten the burden of caring for the country’s omegas. All I wish is for there to be no more Lawrence Gray’s… and no more Ada’s.” 

The crowd was confused.  
Thomas swallowed, looking down at the ground again. 

“…That was the name of my stillborn daughter.” He said coldly. “Ada Elizabeth Gray.” 

A few of the glares softened, but not many.  
Melvina Kinsey silently used a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Rebecca had two fingers over her mouth; she did not seem to realize she was touching her face. 

Thomas looked to Rob, then down to the letter in his hands.  
He opened it; he’d lost his nerve. It had been too much to mention Ada… too much to say her name and still find people glaring at him. 

He held the letter with trembling fingers, noting the final paragraph where he began to speak. 

He only said a few lines; just enough to gain his courage back: “I believe I have found a building suitable to act as a resting point for my organization, and am incurring non-profit licenses as well as staff as we speak. I am supported by the London School of Medicine, and by the Alpha Alliance for Omegan Health.” 

Was he? That was nice. What the hell was the Alpha Alliance for Omegan Health? 

“I have been blessed in my path by Alpha Arch Bishop Elston-“ Once again, he had no idea who the hell that was. “and only ask that those alphas among you who aim to protect their omegas think of contributing to my cause. I am not trying to overstep, or overreach. I am merely trying to ensure …” But Thomas paused as he read the last of the sentence in his head: _merely trying to ensure there is an end to needless suffering_. 

But the term ‘needless suffering’ didn’t really cover what had happened to him, did it? 

“… I’m merely trying to ensure that never again, will there ever be an omega at the bottom of a stairwell… covered in their own blood. Only to wake up and find that everything they’d dreamed of was crumpled to ashes.” Thomas’ voice was bitter again. 

He folded up the letter, resolving not to use it anymore. He looked out to his crowd, facing the glares head on with a glare of his own. Let them see his anger. Let them be aware of its existence. 

“… That is what you condone.” Thomas warned. “The suffering of omegas. And it comes to nothing, because it never ends. There is no line to cross because there is no point to make. You’re just hitting something because it feels good underneath your fist. You’ve already forgotten it’s a person… never the less a mate. A mother to your children. And that’s the true horror of it, isn’t it? That there are alphas in this world who have forgotten what it means to simply be a person without a secondary gender. I imagine it’s not too hard a goal but… I have been wrong before.” He added dryly. 

It didn’t matter to him in that moment that several alphas looked angry, because several more were nodding with agreement. A few seemed righteously angry for him, hooked on his every word. If the man from the papers didn’t slow down, he was going to burn a hole in the page of his notepad with his pencil. 

“Wake up to the insanity of it.” Thomas urged them. “Recognize the equality in your fellow man. Before you were an alpha or an omega… you were a person.” Thomas urged. “There is no dominance so strong in an alpha that it does not rule out the basic human need for connection and love.” 

A slight murmur went around the table. Alphas were visibly nodding, in agreement with him. A few omegas were moved to tears. 

“…And for those of you who don’t agree.” Thomas paused, glancing at the Duke of Cornwall in particular. “I don’t suppose there’s anything more to be said but this. You are sick, and you need to be helped. So that is what I’ll strive to do… because I’m the omega of charity.” He added dryly, rolling his eyes at the silliness of it all. Had there been anyone who’d less deserved the title. 

“I’ll help you.” Thomas declared, though he’d never wanted to help a man less. “I’ll help your omegas. And I’ll help England.” 

And with that, he nodded and stepped back from the table. 

At once, applause erupted. He flushed with pride, beaming at the alphas who rose from their seats to clap for him. The only ones who did not rise were the alphas in a bad mood and their omegas too afraid to act out; but Thomas could see several of them smiling at the tablecloth. They knew he was going to fight for him, and it filled him with fierce pride. To know that he was now a source of inspiration. To know that he was being looked on as a hero instead of a villain. To know that others believed in his dream. 

And Rob had given this to him; had done all of this for him without ever batting an eyelash. 

 

In that moment, Thomas had never loved a man more. He held out his free arm for Rob, and Rob was by his side at once, placing a comforting hand upon the small of his back as he leaned in to press his nose to Thomas’ temple. 

Champion looked on affronted, as if Rob had stuck his nose against his feathered breast. Thomas just smiled, leaning into the touch and nuzzling Rob affectionately. In that moment, he’d never been happier. 

The camera popped, flashing three times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any comments or concerns, please let me know.  
> The next two chapters are GON. BE. WILD.  
> *waggles eyebrows*


	22. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert Kinsey submits his paper for judgement.  
> Thomas Barrow must make a horrible choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go friends. The next chapter is going to be w-i-l-d.  
> Warnings for this chapter contain **assault** though it only lasts about ten seconds. If that triggers you in any way, please be aware of its appearance. 
> 
> I know I promised no more abuse for Thomas. I can assure you hands down that nothing bad is going to happen to Thomas. I would also like to state, just to clarify, that Kinsey is **not** going to die. Someone else is going to die, but not Kinsey. In fact, you might say that someone bad is going to die... but it won't happen anytime soon so don't get excited yet. 
> 
> I also wanted to thank everyone for their support during this difficult time. It means a lot. At least now that I'm home all day, I get the opportunity to write my ass off which is why I churned this paper out so quickly. Thanks, unemployment!

_Litigo 2:47-48: “But it was to the Supreme Alpha’s liking that all alphas be born to mate with their omegas. He put a fire in their belly, spurning them forward, and when an alpha denied that fire he was scorned by the Supreme Alpha. “Fuel the fire or be consumed by it.” The Supreme Alpha commanded, and so rut was born to man.”_

“Help England!!” 

The chorus went up like a song around the dining room table, as the Kinsey family clinked their wine glasses and toasted Thomas’ success. 

They dined at the Kinsey family home, which sat on the outskirts of London close to Elephant and Cross station. It was a fine two story house, equipped with four maids and a man that might have passed for a butler. He was actually a communal house keeper, that catered to several families when they required him, and did not wear a livery nor sleep in the house. Instead, he bounced from place to place and added an element of finesse to finer meals. The maids didn’t hang around either, leaving after ten at night. 

Their celebration tonight was a special one, and warranted a feast. Not only were they basking in the afterglow of Thomas’ speech last week, they were praising Robert for submitting his paper to the London School of Medicine tomorrow. Melvina Kinsey sat at the head of the table, wearing a purple frock with a dyed feather in her curly hair. On one side of the table sat George and Rebecca, between whom sat Laura Kinsey (their omega daughter). She was two years old and therefore lacked table manners. She made up for this by being utterly adorable and gumming on a boiled apple which she’d fetched from the main centerpiece: a whole roasted goose decorated with apples, prunes, red currant jelly, and bread sauce. It was served with a side helping of potatoes roasted in the goose’s fat. Of course, one needed vegetables, so the family ate from communal plates of brussels sprouts with chestnuts. The piece de resistance was, without fail, plum pudding served with hard sauce. For whatever reason, the Kinsey tradition noted that silver charms like foreign pennies and old trinkets were to be wrapped within the crust. It was good luck to find one in your slice. 

Across from George, Rebecca, and Laura, sat Robert and Thomas. In the golden splendor of Melvina’s dining room, Thomas was almost able to forget that a world of turmoil sat just outside their door. Their hands were clasped atop the table, fingers interlaced. Laura was captivated by Thomas, watching him with wide, round, green eyes as she gummed her away through her boiled apple. She wore a bib about her neck, which was already speckled like an artist’s pallet from an earlier dish of peas and a few slices of turkey. She kept babbling, trying to speak while her parents forced her to keep her hands to herself and sit up straight. 

It was hard being two. 

“Golden!” Rob praised, reaching up with his spare hand to gently touch Thomas’ cheek. He curled his finger, stroking the plump of Thomas’ flesh till Thomas was basked in a heated blush. “Absolutely golden. I couldn’t have written it better myself.” 

They were in a lazy state, having eaten their way across the table. George had found a trinket in his slice of plum pudding and hadn’t stopped egging Rob for it all night long. 

“I knew you didn’t write the speech because it sounded genuine.” George teased. 

“Georgie, get the salt from the side table-?” Rob said. George automatically looked about, and in his moment of distraction, Rob picked up a pickled plum and launched it at George’s head. Rebecca, careful to keep the peace, was able to catch the plum just before it hit her mate in the back of the head. She handed it to Laura who at once shoved the plum between her hands. It broke, spilling juice over her pudgy fingers, which she shoved into her mouth to try and garner some taste.

“S’no salt back there.” George said with disdain, looking back completely unaware he’d only narrowly survived a frontal assault, “Your new glasses clearly aren’t up to much.” 

But Rob couldn’t see a joke, glaring at his younger brother, “They’re a gift from my omega.” Rob growled, “So keep your opinions to yourself.” 

And that was the strange thing, wasn’t it? 

Rob had been acting weird for days. 

He was normally so calm and centered, but for the past week he’d been acting off and jumping to anger at the smallest insistence. Thomas had never faced Rob’s wrath before, and even now seemed impervious to danger. So far, however, Rob had snapped at everyone from neighbors, to colleagues, to his own brother if they dared to joke about Thomas or Rob’s masculinity. Thomas knew that it was all in good fun; no one wished Rob ill… but Rob didn’t seem able to see that. 

And that was strange. 

 

“No fighting tonight, boys.” Melvina begged, “Please. For one evening, let’s be civil and christianly. Think of your omegas.” 

Rob squeezed Thomas’ hand endearingly. Thomas squeezed his back. 

“My poor mother has always mistaken rivalry for cruelty.” George stretched a bit, yawning and having to use his hand to cover his mouth. The goose was clearly agreeing with him, “The truth of the matter is that Robert and I are terribly fond of one another.” 

“No I’m not.” Rob grumbled, “I hate you.” 

“We’ve always been this way from childhood.” George continued on, only to once again be dismissed by Rob. 

“I tried to smother you twice in your pram.” 

“Bobby!” Melvina couldn’t handle it, “How could you insist such an awful thing? You were a sweet perfect child; both of you were. I won’t have you saying another word against my little Georgie!” 

“Yes, Rob, do be gentle with me.” George whined. “I’m fragile.” he puckered out his bottom lip. 

Rob’s lip curled; he made a dark noise under his breath. 

“Mother, please do not call me Bobby anymore.” Rob let out a terse sigh, “I’m not five, and didn’t like it when you called me Bobby then.” 

Melvina didn’t listen, “Bobby is such a passionate man. I’m so grateful he’s found a decent, loving omega. I can’t wait till you have your bonding ceremony. I know you’re not fond on dresses, Thomas, but I was hoping that you might wear a white frock-?” 

Rob made another noise in his throat. Thomas squeezed his hand. 

“You were incredible with your speech, Thomas.” Rebecca was always the one to try for peace. It turned out her initial ugly expression at the party last week had had to do with the fact that she disliked crowds. She was a private, homely person, and preferred to keep her evenings indoors with her family. If she was in a quiet dining room, she was perky and polite. If she was forced to mingle, she looked like someone had shoved dung under her nose. 

“I could never have done it; I hate crowds.” She sighed. “You must relieved to have it off your shoulders. And you got funding too!” 

“I hope the message got across.” Thomas said; he had a feeling a few people had been distracted by Champion nibbling at his hair. “I’m worried the Brigade will strike back. They’ve been unusually quiet, haven’t they?” He paused to take a small sip of white wine. 

“Don’t worry about them.” Rob stroked his fingers lovingly, “I’ll handle the Brigade.” 

“What are you doing to do?” George teased, “Give them a counseling session?” 

Rob narrowed his eyes. 

“Just curious.” George grinned, “You’re not really all that beefed up for fights-“ 

“I can protect my omega.” Rob snapped. 

“Bobby-“ Melvina begged, only to be shut down. 

“Don’t-!” Rob snarled, much too hot and hard. Laura, shocked, nearly dropped her apple.  
Thomas panicked, grabbing Rob’s hand with both his own. Rob seemed to remember himself, letting out a deflated breath and rubbing his face with his one free hand. Even George seemed surprised. 

“…Sorry.” Rob whispered, sounding much more himself, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m a bit on edge. I’m submitting the paper tomorrow afternoon, and I… well…” He drifted off, shaking his head. He worried at his bottom lip, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Look-“ George spoke normally, without joking undertones. “You’ve done your best, right?” 

“Right.” Rob agreed. 

“Then there’s nothing more to be said.” George shrugged. “You’ve given it your all. They’ll appreciate the effort.” 

“Surely it’s an honor to even be considered?” Rebecca added. Melvina nodded in silent agreement, as did Thomas. 

“I think he’ll get in.” Thomas added, “I believe it with all my heart.”  
To his mind, there was no one more smart nor more pure of heart than Robert Kinsey. He would get in. Thomas believed it with all his soul. 

“God,” Rob groaned, “Don’t say that. If I don’t get in you’ll be ashamed of me and leave me-“ 

“Robert.” Thomas snapped, shutting Rob’s ridiculous idea down. He wouldn’t hear another word. “If you don’t get in, I won’t care because I’ll still think you’re an incredible man that could never be equalled or replaced. And what’s more, I’ll take you to Vienna myself. See if Freud can ignore me when I bang on the door,” he grumbled around a sip of wine. 

Rob laughed in spite of himself, squeezing Thomas’ hand again. There was a healthy glow on his cheeks and it was difficult to say if it came from Thomas or the wine. 

Just then, a plaintive meow broke through the warm tranquil buzz. Everyone looked about, and saw a long haired lilac Persian desperately pawing at the door. One of the maids, supervising dinner, tried to keep the cat out but she slipped inside anyways and began to rub against the legs of the table. Her bottle brush tail swished back and forth at the smell of roasted goose. 

“Not again!” George complained. 

“Get that damn thing out of here!” Rob snapped. Clearly the Kinsey boys weren’t fans.  
Laura started squealing, dropping a piece of goose onto the floor. The cat dove for it at once, scooping it up before anyone could shy her away. 

“Such horrible boys.” Melvina lamented, tutting at the cat so that it came back to her chair and promptly leapt into her lap. Thomas was forcibly reminded of Carson, who while adoring Lord Grantham had firmly drawn a line at the dog in the dining room. “how did I ever raise such monsters?” 

“I have to admit.” Thomas cut across, “My old butler would have had an aneurism if a cat had made its way into the dining room.” 

“Oh trust me, we’ve all tried.” Rob grumbled. “But my mother has always had a passion for that cat, and cannot be reasoned with. She fired a maid once for throwing the cat out.” 

Well if that wasn’t the most undeserved chop, Thomas didn’t know what was. 

“Moonpie is used to a particular lifestyle!” Melvina defended her bizarre quirks with pride. “She doesn’t need to be ‘thrown out’.” 

“Nor did the maid.” Rob muttered under his breath. 

“You just don’t like her because of your allergies.” Melvina said. In response, George stuck out his bottom jaw so that his teeth went over his upper lip. This was in clear distaste to Moonpie’s obvious under-bite; it was so aggressive the animal couldn’t properly close its mouth. Melvina gave her youngest son a sour look. 

“So, what exactly is that you do, George?” Thomas asked. 

“I’m an investor.” George explained, “I focus on business opportunities for rich men and large companies.” 

“It’s very complicated.” Rebecca added. 

“And very boring.” Rob teased. 

“And you live in London too?” Thomas asked. 

“We do.” George said, “In a townhouse in Camden. Rebecca mostly stays at home but she likes to do some event planning as well. She has to handle Laura though, for which I do not envy her.” 

On that note, Laura let out a round of squelching noises, sucking on her fingers to try and get more plum and apple off her skin. Rebecca dipped her napkin in her water glass, using the cloth to wipe away the stickier juices of Laura’s makeshift desert. 

“My granddaughter is the apple of my eye.” Melvina beamed with pride, “But I won’t lie, I’m very excited to have a bigger family. Do you plan to have children soon, Thomas?” 

Thomas went stiff. 

It was difficult for Thomas, even now, to think about children. The truth was he wanted to breed with Rob, and knew that Rob would be a good father. Before, with Lawrence, Thomas had been pushed and cajoled all the way up the garden path from courtship to marriage. He’d been given no say, and no chance of backing out. Rob had been completely different. The pair of them were wound together now, bound by scent, love, and understanding. They would be good parents, and have a happy mating…. but Thomas didn’t know if he was ready to be pregnant again. He just kept aligning the concept with Ada. With his miscarriage and all the pain he’d felt at her loss. 

Rob seemed to understand where Thomas’ thoughts were going. He stroked Thomas’ arm, careful to not make too much of scene over it. 

Melvina paused, frowning. “…I didn’t mean to… bring that up.” Melvina paused. “I know it must have been horribly difficult for you. I completely understand-“ 

“This isn’t something we’re going to discuss.” Rob cut off his mother, his tone cold but straight forward. Melvina understood, and said nothing. 

George however tried for a more tactile approach. 

“We’re not trying to pry.” George urged, “It’s a tough subject, we know, but it’s a common question and one you should be able to answer if you truly are going through the last stages of courtship. You’ve accepted nourishment, affection, and housing. Now the question remains for what you plan to do next-“ 

“I plan to bash your head in if you keep it up!” Rob popped like a firecracker, without warning and with such venom that even Melvina was taken by surprise. George was speechless. 

“…Robert…” Melvina murmured reproachfully.  
Ashamed at his sudden loss of temper, Rob put his napkin over his plate and rose up to his feet. 

“Excuse me, I don’t feel well-“ He left the table without another word, shutting the door carefully behind him. 

At once, Thomas followed, putting his own napkin over his plate and rising up. “I’ll be right back.” He assured the others, before filing out of the room to look left and right down the hall. He could see a dark shape hulked over in the living room, with a thin trail of cigarette smoke wafting through the curtains. Thomas followed, and found Robert hiding in the back corner on a small sofa brooding before the fire. When he looked up and saw Thomas, he seemed ashamed and would not meet his eyes. 

Thomas sat beside Rob, reaching out to wind their hands together again. Rob swallowed repeatedly, taking several drags of a cigarette before he seemed stable enough to speak. 

“Sorry.” Rob whispered, looking way. “I just… something took over me.” 

“They mean no harm.” Thomas whispered back. He reached up with a hand to brush away a few curls from Rob’s cheek, “And you don’t have to be afraid to look at me, Rob. I’m not angry at you.” 

Rob cast him a small glance, but it was still shameful. He pursed his lips, his plump skin stained with nicotine. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Thomas asked, unsure. Rob seemed to be sweating, “You look terribly flushed.” 

“Just nerves.” Rob admitted. Thomas nodded, “It’s none of their business what we do anyway.” 

He was right but he was also wrong at the same time. These were complicated subjects, and Melvina Kinsey had a right to know if her oldest son wanted children. George meant no harm either. These were good people, a solid and loving family. Compared to the Gray’s they were practically ideal. 

“Do you?” Thomas mumbled, suddenly finding that he was now the one to be embarrassed, “Want children, I mean.” 

Rob was growing more flushed. He stared down at his lap, somehow transfixed with his knees. “Yes.” He whispered. 

“So do I.” It felt like they were swapping secrets in the dead of night though it was hardly past eight and they were sitting in Melvina’s living room. 

“When?” Rob looked up, a strange hope in his eyes. 

Thomas took a deep breath before answering, “As soon as we’re able.”  
Rob shuddered as if suddenly suffering from fever. Thomas put a hand on his back, rubbing the stiff plains of his shoulders. “Rob- you look like you’re going to be sick.” 

“Just keep your hand on me.” Rob took of his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It helps.” 

“I’m right here Robert.” Thomas whispered in his ear, methodically patting his back like he might a frightened babe. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re safe.” 

For a moment, Rob just needed to sit and gather himself. Thomas wondered if he was coming down with some sort of bizarre flue, and prayed that whatever it was would hold off a few more hours until Monday had passed and Rob was free from his submission dedications. 

“Thomas…” Rob spoke up, looking gray, “I think I need to go home.” 

“Then I’ll make our excuses.” Thomas said at once. 

 

Thomas was quick to pull their act together, making excuses to the Kinsey clan and collecting both their coats as Rob hid in the living room. Melvina Kinsey, like most mothers, did not want her children to leave without loading them up like the apocalypse was nigh. In Rob’s case, she’d made several casserole dishes worth of meals. She’d even included a covered dish full of cold ‘fry ups’ that could be heated come the next morning for a full English breakfast. Thomas helped Rob into his coat before giving him two dishes to carry. They would be taking a cab home, and would have to be careful along the way to not jiggle the ceramic lids. 

“Now, I know you don’t like to shop so I’ve got several dishes here for you to eat off of.” Melvina explained. They waited for their cab outside on the front porch; Moonpie seemed determined to stay inside, basking right on the threshold of the door and meowing wistfully for her owner. 

“I jest but you really do need to eat more, Bobby-“ Melvina paused, fretting over how thin and gray her oldest son was. “And not just biscuits. Oh…” Rob wasn’t even answering her, so Melvina turned her attentions to Thomas instead. “Thomas, see that he eats?” 

“I will.” Thomas was already planning to give Rob a full fry up tomorrow for breakfast. 

But just then, the taxi pulled up in front of the house. It beeped its horn once, and waited for its passengers. Rob leaned in, and allowed his mother to kiss him fondly on the cheek. 

“Call us tomorrow night.” George urged. Their earlier spat forgotten, the brothers likewise embraced with George patting Rob fondly on the back. “We’ll be waiting.” 

“Mm.” Rob seemed on the verge of being sick. 

“When do you know?” George asked. “Yes, or no?” 

“Wednesday afternoon.” Rob said. Tuesday, accordingly, was going to be hell. 

“Then we’ll wait to hear either way.” George agreed. 

“Good luck, Robert.” Rebecca held Laura in her arms. “And I do hope you feel better soon.” 

“Thank you Rebecca. I apologize for earlier… I’m not feeling myself.” 

George tilted his hand to the left and the right. He narrowed his blue eyes, wary of his older brother’s waning complexion. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He worried. 

“Just need some rest.” Rob mumbled. George finally seemed to accept it, but he was still looking at Rob like Rob might hurl at any second. 

Laura was oblivious to tension. 

“Bye bye!” She leaned in and gave her uncle a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“Bye lovey.” Rob gave her an equally sloppy kiss on the forehead. She went back to sucking on her thumb, using her other hand to twirl a finger slowly through her curly, thick, brown hair. 

 

 

The drive home was marked only by Rob falling asleep with his head against Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas was loathe to wake him, but the time for idle footing was over as they pulled up on the appropriate curb. The bakery was closed for the night, its front dark and chains over the windows to keep out intruders. Thomas paid the cab fair, and Rob held the door open so that the pair of them could carry up the casserole dishes. 

As soon as they were inside the apartment, Rob deposited his dishes in the larder and promptly went to sleep on the couch. Thomas, in an attempt to keep Rob in as good condition as possible, ferried him off to the bedroom. Rob tried to go to bed with his shoes on, and Thomas had to spend fifteen minutes getting him down to his boxers and socks. It was so hot that Thomas let open the bedroom window to help Rob sleep better, and only lay a thin top sheet over his body so that he would not be flustered with heat. 

After that, Thomas returned to the kitchen and made a late night cup of tea. He sometimes found it difficult to sleep when he was the last to go to bed in the flat. His thoughts were compressed, full of images from Downton Abbey and Belton House. At times, Thomas could think only of the downstairs staff he’d loved in Downton. At times, he was plagued by images of Lawrence dripping in blood and coke. 

Sometimes anxiety pushed him into the wee early hours, forcing him to wait until his hammering heart stilled. 

Thomas found his heart was pounding that night. He figured he would simply have to wait it out and wash some dishes. 

It was 10:30 when the phone call came. 

As soon as Thomas heard the ringing, he knew it would not be good news. He new, instinctively, that it would be a threat, and that it would be the Brigade. 

He let the phone ring six times before he finally picked up. In the time that it took to steel himself, Thomas located a pencil and a spare sheet of paper. He decided he would write everything down, in an attempt to use the information surreptitiously given. 

He picked up the phone, already aware of the abuse he was about to receive. 

“Yes?” Thomas drawled, pencil at the ready. 

_“That was a cute speech you gave… with your little birds. Did you feel big and important?”_

“Were you in the crowd?” Thomas asked, mentally cataloguing everyone who’d been at the event. He could not register the voice; whoever this man was, they had not spoken. That ruled out several nobles, but only a few of the servants. 

_“Oh I’m always in the crowd,”_ the alpha boasted, _“I’m everywhere. I’m on every street, in every house… at every event. You can’t outrun me little omega.”_

Thomas decided to taunt right back. The best defense was a good offense. “I wonder how afraid you are.” Thomas teased, “I can hear it in your voice. Because you know that I’m coming for you, don’t you? You know it’s only a matter of time before the walls come crumbling down.” 

The alpha just laughed and laughed. Thomas tried to hear anything besides his voice; the sounds of cars, plates, wind, anything… but all he could hear was the echo of a sadistic man. 

_“You think I’m scared of you?”_ the man was agog, _“Little omega, you’re funny. How far do you think we’re actually going to let you get? You think we’re going to allow you to build your little sanctuary? To tear down our walls?”_

“You think I’m asking for permission?” Thomas parried. “Oh dear, I think you forgot that I don’t give a damn. Silly, silly man.” 

The tactics started to get dirtier. _“Your alpha… he’s not an only child is he. He’s got a brother, with a pretty little omega wife and daughter. Wasn’t Laura so sweet tonight? I wonder what would happen if she just… vanished.”_

There was a popping noise, like the man had snapped his fingers. Thomas bristled, his grip on the candlestick base tightening. 

“… I’m warning you-“ He growled, but the man cut him off. 

_“Listen to yourself.”_ the man sneered, _“You’re warning me? You’re an omega. You’re dirt. You’re born to take cock and worship the ground I walk on. You don’t have the luxury of warning me. You don’t even get to speak to me. You open your mouth and let me stick whatever I want inside.”_

“And your lot claims to protect omegas?” Thomas demanded, his blood boiling at the sexual insinuations. “You think you’re so holy when all you want to do is harm? You’re shamed by your own words. Your organization is a sham. An absolute sham!” 

_“I’m giving you one last chance, little peach.”_ the man said. _“Get back to worshiping cock, or it’s war.”_

Thomas froze, a cold sweat dripping down his neck.  
The man had called him ‘little peach’ and Thomas was certain it was a call back to Lawrence Gray. That meant the man had ever known Lawrence, or had known about Lawrence… neither of which boded well. 

“… My dear sweet alpha…” Thomas sneered, “It already is.”  
He hung up the phone before the man could continue. It felt good to be the one deciding the end of the conversation. 

 

 

Thomas did not sleep that night. Instead he lay awake, tossing and turning on the couch trying to get comfortable. It was impossible to do so, when thoughts of Laura being kidnapped plagued his every turn. 

What if something awful were to happen, and it were to be Thomas’ fault? He’d never forgive himself, never be able to forget that he had caused pain to an innocent little girl. Ada’s urn sat on Rob’s mantle, a constant reminder that Thomas had already suffered one casualty in this awful war. 

By the time that dawn had crept back over the horizon, Thomas had gotten no sleep and felt there was nothing else to be done but get up and make Rob breakfast. 

He opened the kitchen windows, letting in cool morning air and bird song as he started the traditional fry up using Melvina’s casserole dishes from the night before. Rob was slow to rise in the mornings unless prompted, and the best was to do that was with bacon. Like most men, the smell of something sinful and salty got him up and moving in the morning. 

Thomas made coffee as well, working multiple shifts as he poured Rob a cup with cream and set out table placements. He heard the sound of Rob getting up and using the lavatory; when Rob finally appeared he looked just as strung-out and Thomas felt. He accepted the cup of coffee and buttered toast, but didn’t seem eager to eat anything else. Thomas noted his eyes were horribly red, and that his glasses were still perched atop his head yet to be dropped down to the bridge of his nose. Rob yawned enormously, seemingly eager to lay his head on the kitchen table and go back to sleep. 

In doing so, he spotted the paper Thomas had written on from the night before. Curious, Rob put on his glasses and observed the notes, pausing as Thomas brought him over a traditional fry up. 

“Nothing for me-“ Rob mumbled, even as Thomas lay the plate before him. “… They called again.” Rob deduced. 

“Mm.” Thomas agreed, now portioning out his own plate. He decided to only go with beans and toast, too nervous for anything else. “I figured to write it all down.” 

“They can’t hurt my brother.” Rob scoffed at the concept, “For god’s sake, he knows the security guards in his building by name. His flat is on a prized street. There’s hardly rubbish outside of bins, never the less kidnappings.” 

“Perhaps we should call him all the same?” Thomas wondered. If Rebecca was at home for most of the day, then she would be in danger- 

“No.” Rob growled, setting the notepad aside to take a hurried sip of coffee. “I’ll do the worrying, you just do the frying.” 

It was a typical alpha statement, but Thomas knew that Rob meant nothing by it. If anything it was sarcastic, but he appreciated knowing that Rob was looking out for him, and aware of the dangers they were facing. 

“I think your mother has us all set.” Thomas said, even as he scooped the remainders of breakfast back into the casserole dish and laid the finished skillet in the butler’s sink. “A traditional English breakfast!”  
“I can’t eat, love.” Rob complained. 

“One bite of everything.” Was Thomas’ compromise, “Then we can get you washed up. I’ll iron your suit-“ 

Thomas bypassed his own breakfast, eager to sort through the closet to find Rob’s best suit and get it ready until Rob caught him by the waist and drug him gently back to the table. Thomas smiled at the manhandling, oddly giddy to be possessed. 

“Come sit on my lap.” Rob murmured. There was a devilish gleam in his eye. 

Thomas did as he was asked, sliding into Rob’s lap and threading his fingers through the man’s tangled hair. He needed a shave and a trim. Thomas stroked the soft skin at the nape of Rob’s neck, glad to see that Rob was eating even if only a little bit. Rob ate two slices of bacon and a spoonful of beans, still munching mostly on toast. 

He offered Thomas up another piece of toast, tapping him teasingly on the nose before Thomas reached out and bit off a chunk of bread. 

“So are we sharing a plate now?” Thomas teased. 

“We share everything.” Rob agreed. He finished the other half of toast, and then began to stroke Thomas’ belly with his free hand. He seemed almost obsessed, running his fingers again and again over the plump swell of Thomas’ navel. He had the tiniest pooch at his belly now, if only from lack of constant exercise. Rob took his thumb and dug it into Thomas’ bellybutton, gently pinching at the skin he found there. It put a warmth in Thomas’ stomach, and he shuddered. 

“Like my belly?” He asked. 

“Oh I like everything about you.” Rob said. Thomas noted the animalistic aggression creeping into Rob’s voice. He scoffed, finding it all very silly, and pulled himself out of Rob’s lap. He took two steps towards the stove, intent on putting the iron on the eye, before he felt a sudden sting across his bum. He yipped, looking around, and found Rob leaning halfway out of his chair, grinning mischievously. 

“Robert!” Thomas squealed, holding his bum with both hands lest he get pinched again. 

“Another coffee, dove?” Rob offered up his cup, and Thomas gladly poured him a refill before adding a dollop of cream again. Rob slurped it down with gusto. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Thomas wondered. 

“Dunno, but I feel invigorated.” Rob said. 

“Alright Mr. Invigorated, but let your coffee cool a bit first. Oh-“ Thomas paused, grinning sarcastically, “I’m sorry. _Dr. Invigorated._ ” With that, Thomas turned back and put the iron on the eye. 

“You need a shave and a haircut.” Thomas added, turning back to head for the hall. “I’ll give you a cut before you go. You’ll need to be ready by noon.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Rob muttered, cracking his neck and finishing his second cup of coffee. 

 

Thomas ironed Rob’s suit while Rob finished breakfast, and as soon as Rob headed for the lavatory he finished his own. Thomas set the plates to soak in the sink, washed his hands of grease, then finished up ironing Rob’s suit and sought a pair of sewing scissors from the kitchen drawer. 

Thomas waited in the bedroom, making the bed and fluffing the pillows till he heard Rob call for him from inside. “I’m ready-!” 

Thomas approached the door with caution, and knocked tentatively before entering. When he pulled the door open, he expected to find Rob dressed in his boxers or something similar, bent over the sink with freshly washed hair putting lather over his face. What he found instead was Rob sitting on the edge of the tub, with nothing but a towel slung low over his hips that left very little to the imagination. 

Robert Kinsey was not as tall as Lawrence, nor was he as masculine as Alden. He was most decidedly man, with curly chest hair and broad pectorals. He had a pooch at his belly, not truly large but still slightly there, and large calve muscles that came from storming up and down the stairs all day long at work and at home. Thomas could see the shadow of something beneath Rob’s towel, and looked away ashamed. He suddenly wondered if this was so wise, to be so intimate with Rob when they hadn’t even done so much as kissed. 

Rob had a predatorial smile upon his face that was… odd. Rob had been queerly flirtatious this morning; Thomas wondered if it was just a side effect of nerves. 

“Come on then-“ Rob gestured for Thomas. Thomas did little more than shut the door, steeling up his nerves again. 

_Don’t look at his cock. Don’t look at his cock_. Thomas scolded himself mentally as he walked to the sink and prepared a bowl of lather with a shaving brush and soap. He decided he would shave Rob first, then cut his hair. 

“Hold still now.” Thomas warned. Rob leaned his head back at once, keeping still just as warned so that Thomas could slather his face with shaving foam. When his face was coated white, Thomas began to shave Rob, using a safety razor that did not need to be stropped. He worked with precision, having had to shave Lord Grantham many times as a footman. It was easy to work with the sink running so that Thomas could rinse off his blade and a hand towel thrown over his shoulder to wipe away the rest. Rob was a willing patient, and Thomas was good at his craft. It took him little more than a few minutes to shave Rob’s face clean, and when he was done he turned the hot water on at the sink to both wash the razor, shaving brush, and dampen the hand towel so that he could give Rob’s face one last pat. Rob was grinning, enjoying the pampering. 

Thomas started with his hair next, first running a comb through the many tangles till Rob’s hair was as slick as silk. Rob had to be very careful now, lest he end up with a peculiar cut, but that didn’t stop him from reaching out and gently running his hands over Thomas’ back. His fingers dipped towards Thomas’ bum without warning, playing with the line where his trousers began. 

“Robert, you are insatiable today.” Thomas muttered, eyes locked on his task. He gently snipped a few centimeters around the frame of Rob’s face, careful to comb and style Rob’s hair as he went. He needed to look perfect today; nothing but the best would do. 

“Mmm… maybe I’m just appreciating how beautiful you are.” Rob murmured. Thomas tried not to be distracted by the feeling of Rob’s fingers playing over his backside, but it was difficult. 

“Relax.” Thomas whispered, noticing Rob growing tense, “I’m almost through.” 

“Difficult.” Rob closed his eyes, his hands still decidedly on Thomas’ arse. 

“I know. You’re doing wonderfully.” Thomas said. 

It didn’t take much more after that, just the simple styling of hair and the once look over to make sure nothing was out of place. When he was done, Thomas washed the scissors in the sink and set them on the side to dry. He wiped his hands, pleased. 

“There.” He sing songed, “Stand up and shake out any loose hair. We’ll wash it down the tub.” 

But as Rob stood and shook his hair, the inertia of his movement caused the towel to drop from his hips. 

Thomas panicked, shutting his eyes at once and turning away so that he could not see. He’d been given just a flash of a thick trail of dark brown hair, but that had been all. Still, it was enough to set his heart hammering between his ribs, and he stepped several paces away, shocked at the sudden turn of events. 

_What is going on with him?_ Thomas fretted. _Why is he acting so strange?_

“…You don’t have to look away if you don’t want to.” Rob say coyly.  
Thomas suddenly found himself growing nervous. 

“You’re not yourself.” Thomas whispered, heading for the door. 

“Hey-“ Rob reached out and gently caught his hand, stroking the flesh of his palm sweetly, “Sweetheart, it’s alright. It’s just me. You don’t have to be afraid-“ 

“Robert.” Thomas cut him off. He would not play this game, he would not allow this nonsense to continue. Whatever was going on, Rob needed to snap out of it and fast. Today was not the day for fuck-ups. “I think you’re not feeling well, and I’m going to walk away now. You need to get ready to go.” 

He pulled his hand gently free of Rob’s, and left the bathroom. He closed the door, jumping a bit when he heard the angry sound of Rob cursing violently under his breath. 

Thomas listened intently, hearing Rob growl and stomp about inside the bathroom, wondering what on earth had happened to the gentle and loving doctor he’d fallen in love with. Was this some sort of awful phase brought on by pressure, or was this …? 

But Thomas refused to imagine that the man he’d known from before was a facade.  
Something was up with Robert. He was acting peculiarly. He would snap out of it, and when he did, Thomas would be waiting for him. 

It was just a matter of ‘when’. 

~*~

The whole way to the London School of Medicine, Robert and Thomas sat side by side in silence. 

Rob carried his new briefcase with his paper inside. Five copies had been printed out, for the five judges that would oversee a preliminary hearing. It turned out that twenty men had put their name forward to be judged. Of the initial group, only ten would go in for the final round. Of that group, only five would remain as the final winners. Thomas had never seen Rob so tense. He looked almost ready to fall out with plague, pale and sweaty with dilated eyes and a rapid pulse. Thomas held his hand but could do little more to console the man. 

The walk from the cab to the Judgment Hall was a short one. The steps were crowded with doctors cheering on their colleagues and debating the finer points of other’s papers. Several called out to Rob, wanting to catch his attention before his scheduled court time. Rob did not respond, on a one way track to hell with little option of turning the cart around. 

Thomas stayed resolutely at his side, hand in hand. 

The Judgement Hall was centered around a marble desk behind which a receptionist sat checking in doctors that had come to submit their name. Upon confirmation that a doctor had arrived, she then checked against her time table to see how long they had to wait. Rob’s appointment was at 1:00. It was currently 12:45. 

The pair of them headed off to the western edge of the hall, where thick cushions had been inlaid against window seats for comfortable viewing out onto the steps. It was quiet and peaceful; most applicants were nervous and did not want to talk. Thomas noted that of all the men present, none were omegas and only a few were betas. Alphas dominated the room, clashing in smells and smiles as they regarded Thomas in their midst. Thomas kept his arm resolutely locked around Rob’s, and met no one’s eyes. 

Rob began to jiggle his knee, the pattern going from comforting to erratic. Thomas reached out and grasped Rob’s kneecap, rubbing a soothing pattern into the bone and skin. 

Rob stilled, his eyes downcast. Thomas exuded his scent as best he could, hoping to restore Rob’s courage before it was his time for judgement. 

Rob sucked in a deep breath, practically getting high from Thomas’ scent; Thomas just kept exuding it in the hope that it would be enough. 

“…I’m sorry.” Rob whispered, “For earlier today. Please forgive me.” 

Thomas rubbed Rob’s back with his spare hand, smiling. To be fair, it had given him a small fright, but he was understanding and knew that Rob had only been suffering a moment of weakness underneath stress and fear. 

 

“You don’t need to apologize.” Thomas whispered back. “I’m right here beside you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The thought seemed to give Rob courage, and Thomas was grateful. 

For what felt like an eternity, the pair of them were forced to wait outside the doors of the Judgement Hall. Doctors that withdrew from the interior chambers either looked elated or broken. You could always tell who had gotten through to the next round and who had lost early on. The men who were cut seemed eager to leave, but other doctors wanted to see their papers and make remarks. Men practically ran from the halls, determined to be alone before they broke down and wept. A few didn’t make it, stumbling on the front steps and screaming at their peers to leave them be. One, a beta, had a mental breakdown just watching the chaos unfold and withdrew his name before even going forward to be judged. 

For every man that panicked and Rob, Thomas exuded more scent. He was mildly aware that two other men were sniffing him, enjoying the outlay of his affection. Thomas glared at them, wishing he could sock them in the nose. 

“Kinsey!” Called out the receptionist. “Dr. Robert Kinsey?” 

“And so it begins.” Rob whispered, rising shakily to his feet. Thomas went with him, resolute, and the pair marched arm in arm across the marble floor back to the receptionist desk where she stood waiting to guide them into the inner hall. She was a lithe and tall woman, with brown hair pulled back into a severe bun and wire rim spectacles. 

“Ah-“ She seemed slightly nervous at the sight of Thomas, “I’m afraid it’s just for applicants, doctor.” 

“This is my omega.” Rob said, in a voice that left little room for discussion. “He’s going in with me.” 

The receptionist rolled her eyes, letting out a long suffering sigh. It seemed she’d been dealing with annoying alphas all day, and the line wasn’t slowing any time soon. 

“I’ll stand on the side lines.” Thomas said, attempting to keep the peace. It didn’t seem to matter what he did though; the fact that he was breaking the rules annoyed the receptionist greatly. 

The pair of them entered the judgement hall through a set of ancient oak doors that were plated with brass locks. Inside, though the reception area was streaming with light and chaos, the hallway to the courtroom was quiet and dark. The only noise to be heard was the sound of the three of them walking to the far door which was heavily barred as if to keep out intrusion. 

The receptionist halted them before they could enter. 

“Your coats and belongings please.” She instructed, holding out both her arms like she were a makeshift hat stand. 

Rob did not complain, so neither did Thomas. They gave her both their coats; Rob handed over his briefcase as well. 

“Open your vests, please?” The receptionist asked. Thomas balked. 

“What kind of receptionist are you?” He demanded, affronted at her gall. 

“She’s checking to make sure we’re not sneaking in extra sources or other papers.” Rob explained. Exasperated, Thomas hastily unbuttoned his vest so that the receptionist could see he wasn’t a cheat. 

Rob did the same, and the receptionist nodded, content. 

“Wait here please.” She said, before entering the inner chamber and leaving the pair of them alone to re-button their vests. 

“I’ve seen students sneak in notes between their sock garters.” Rob added. Thomas buttoned his vest only to turn on Rob and make sure his tie was straight. Nothing could be out of place today. “You’d think the educational system would attract more decent men.” 

“You more than make up for their lack of character.” Thomas whispered. 

The pair of them stared at one another; Rob weak and Thomas worried.  
“… Let me kiss you?” Thomas offered. “For good luck?” 

Rob shook his head.  
“I’m afraid all the love in the world couldn’t save me now.” Rob said.  
Thomas reached out anyways, and the pair of them shared an intimate hug. Thomas exuded his scent again, starting to feel slightly light headed from the strain. Rob soaked up his smell, holding him tight as he buried his head into Thomas’ neck. 

“I love you.” Thomas whispered in his ear. “And no matter what happens… you will always be my alpha.” 

Rob made a tiny noise of contentment into Thomas’ skin. Thomas smiled at the sound. 

 

The door opened. The receptionist poked her head out and Thomas broke away from Rob lest they appear unprofessional. 

“It’s time.” She said. 

They entered, and she stepped out, shutting the door behind them. 

 

The courtroom was a circular room, floored in checkered marble and domed like a cathedral. On its far side sat a high bench carved with the images of muses medicinal sigils, giving audience to five men all robed in black. They wore powdered wigs, and the man in the middle even held a gavel that he might bang in a moment of disorder. 

In the middle of the courtroom there was a chair. Nothing else. 

“Stay here.” Rob whispered, squeezing Thomas hand before slipping away. Thomas slunk along the side of the courtroom wall, hiding by the wooden railing that could take one up to the judge’s bench if they dared. Two police officers framed the room, one on either side of the entrance in the event of chaos. Rob would give them little trouble, walking forward with calm calculated steps until he was in the dead center of the clearing standing behind the guest chair. 

The judge in the middle spoke first. Perhaps he was in charge. 

“Dr. Robert Matthew Kinsey, you stand before us today to be judged of your prowess and efforts for the convention in Vienna one month from now. Do you swear upon your Hippocratic oath and medical license that you come here today with a thesis wholly of your own making? That you are, above all, testifying nothing short of your own work and no one else’s?” 

“I do.” Rob said at once. There was no quiver in his voice. 

“And do you hold that, in the event your thesis should be found unworthy, you shall abstain from publishing your work so as not to besmirch the London Society of Medicine?” 

“I do.” 

“Then you may be seated.” The judge said. Rob sat down in his chair, back straight and chin raised high with pride. 

Thomas could not help but feel in awe of Rob’s courage at that moment. 

 

It was a horrific, grueling process. Rob was forced to read his entire paper aloud from memory alone, and then was made to go through it paragraph by paragraph to the judge’s contentment for intensive questioning. It took about two hours, with Rob heralding he patience of a saint as he calmly explained his views on sexual equality. 

Thomas noted, that of the five judges two seemed to be slightly stiffer than the rest. The man on the far left was oddly religious for a man of science and horribly condescending. He kept cutting into Rob’s sentences, and making ridiculous assumptions without allowing Rob to fully explain himself. It was as if the men knew each other from outside of the school, and despised one another for personal reasons. Regardless the man’s cruelty, Rob did not rise to the bait. 

The man to the right of the main judge was slightly odd in that he seemed to think this was all some sort of joke. He showed no respect for Rob, and kept yawning as if he was horribly bored by the whole proceedings. Thomas wondered what his problem was. 

“Dr. Kinsey,” judge on the far right cut off even his own fellow judges; he seemed to have an inflated sense of self worth. “You have testified beautifully in your defense, and I admit that even I am moved by your words. But there is one topic which I feel must have more clarification: that of the equality between the genders. You have stated in your thesis that you believe omegas and alphas to be equal. How can this be true?” 

“Distinguished doctors, we are all aware that each of us is the embodiment of two opposing forces.” Despite being questioned by the judge on the far right, Rob addressed everyone equally, “The alpha and omega. That for every drop of testosterone, there is estrogen that at one time existed in our blood. Where there is balance, there is harmony. Where there is imbalance, there is discord… and I make my example, in Alden MacNaire, who-“ 

“The head of the Brigade?” The judge cut him off, agog. 

“MacNaire testifies that his alpha dominance gives him strength over all other alphas in England but I believe it is the opposite. I believe he is the weakest.” Rob’s tone was mild but his words were sharp. The bored judge seemed slightly wary of Rob’s statement, sitting up fully for the first time in the proceedings to give Rob his full attention. Thomas couldn’t tell if this was a bad or a good thing. 

“That is a very dangerous statement,” he warned, “I urge you to reconsider Dr. Kinsey. There are doctors in this school who would damn you for it.” 

Rob just carried right on, proud and defiant, “Recall if you will, Doctors, the concept of duality by Galton. His work on eugenics opened us up to the concept of psychological distillation between generations through selective breeding’s. Alphas and omegas are minor members of the hereditary society, we are for the most part Betas. We likewise know that all children start as betas in the womb… that they grow, and either stay the same or morph. For those who continue to sterilize their genes with the aim of selectively growing more alpha blood… you thin not only your physical health but your mental health as well.” 

He paused, a dark tone slipping into his words, “We’ve seen this in royal families, we’ve seen this in animal species. We’ve seen this time and time again and yet we think ourselves immune to it… but we are not. Alden MacNaire’s lack of omega genes has severely stunted him… even if he doesn’t know it. Consider in retrospect, a more… balanced alpha. One that has come to be through the simple wave of nature, instead of by forced selection. A more balanced hormonal flow leads to a more balanced immune system and psychological profile. What does this evidence show us? That the genes of omega and alpha are equal in their strength… and then when one is heightened it results in disaster for the body.” 

“So you would attest that a highly selected omega would be likewise feeble?” The judge summed. 

“Absolutely.” Rob said, looking the man square in the eye, “Look at the royal line, look at the health of the late Princess of Wales. Recall if you will how we watched her wane constantly, though she had the best that science could offer her at the time. We all thought it a mystery… but was it really?” 

“She was without an alpha-!” The rude judge was starting to get angry. The other three judges were hastily scribbling on their own papers, writing notes on the commentary. 

“She was without an alpha gene!” Rob cut him off. The judge flushed, furious. 

“So are you saying that there is no need for mating?” He demanded, incredulous, “That we should instead balance our genes instead of our lives?” he scoffed aloud, “Are you so daft as to ignore Litigo completely-?” 

“And are you so content to blind yourself to the realities of science?” Rob was starting to lose his temper. Thomas bit his lip, nervous. 

“You were arrogant as a pupil, and you’re arrogant now!” The judge barked. 

“You were ignorant as a teacher all the same!” Rob shouted, “You constantly referred us to a religious text over our medical books, I do believe you were lectured by the Dean of Medicine over it too-!” 

At the mention of his referral, the judge turned beet red. 

“I am not the one on trail here! You are, you little miscreant!” The judge shouted, practically spitting in fury. 

The presiding judge had had enough. He snatched up his gavel and whacked it repeatedly for order. 

“ORDER!” He roared, so that both Rob and the rude judge fell silent. “Dr. Kinsey, what you offer before us is compelling evidence, but you need to back it up with solid facts.” 

At first, Rob looked slightly stumped and Thomas feared the worst. But then, Rob looked to Thomas, and Thomas saw hope in his eyes. 

 

“I can.” Rob said triumphantly, “I have evidence in this very courtroom.” 

“Then show it.” The judge ordered. 

Rob took a small step away from the center of the courtroom, extended a hand to Thomas. Thomas’ heart pounded wildly at the invitation. At the beauty of Rob’s vulnerability in his time of need. 

“…Thomas?” Rob whispered, his voice carrying across the courtroom. “Will you aid me?” 

“Always.” Thomas said at once, and without a fear in the world walked to the center of the courtroom. 

He did not dare take Rob’s hand, lest the judges view this as a sign of unprofessionalism, but instead looked up at the five men and wondered at who they were. He supposed Rob must know them; maybe they were likewise professors at the school. The one rude judge was still seething, his arms over his chest. The bored judge seemed bored no longer, curious at Thomas’ arrival. 

“This man is Thomas Barrow,” Rob introduced, “The fame Omega of Lincolnshire. For twenty years, he lived under the guise of a beta, and was happy with his condition. He is an omega chosen through nature, not breeding, and has equality in his genetic pool. His immune system is strong, his mind is sound, and his genes will be able to continue forward without the threat of extinction because his lineage has not been forcibly diluted.” 

“Mr. Barrow…” the main judge said, “Do you hold to this concept?” 

“With all my being.” Thomas said passionately, clasping his hands before the judges, “My late alpha was the epitome of the opposite, and was incredibly sick sir-“ 

“Doctor Trimble.” Rob muttered out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Doctor Trimble.” Thomas corrected. “He suffered from insanity.” 

“But if the papers are to be believed, he also had a cocaine habit.” The bored judge added. 

“No, doctor-“ 

“Hartley.” The judge said. 

“Dr. Hartley,” Thomas addressed him, “My alpha used cocaine to avoid unholy urges that he had for his own flesh and blood.” 

The judges looked to one another, a few writing down their notes. Dr. Hartley seemed intrigued by the scandal. 

“He felt these urges because of his isolated blood line.” Thomas carried on, “And I know this… because his sister felt unholy urges too.” 

“But this is ludicrous!” The rude judge spoke up, “One case does not a testimony make!” 

“But apparently one book can.” Rob sneered. 

“You-!!” The judge roared, only to be cut off by Dr. Trimble. 

“Quiet!” Dr. Trimble smacked his gavel three times, “The both of you, enough. Dr. Kraus-“ He addressed the rude doctor, “Keep your tone civil or cease your position.” 

Dr. Kraus scowled from his chair, bitterly silent. The other judges seemed mildly impressed at Dr. Trimble’s ability to make Dr. Kraus shuttup whenever he wanted. 

Oh, the powers of having a gavel. 

“Mr. Barrow, would you be willing to swear before oath that you speak nothing but the truth?” Dr. Trimble asked. 

“I would.” Thomas said at once. 

“What is your relationship to this man?” Dr. Trimble asked, gesturing to Rob.  
Thomas blanched, suddenly nervous. Would the truth damn Rob’s case? 

Thomas glanced at Rob; Rob suddenly looked gray again. 

“We are… companions, sir- doctor-“ Thomas stuttered. Dr. Trimble narrowed his baggy eyes. 

“Are you attached in any way at all?” Dr. Trimble asked. 

Thomas wished he could deny it. “… Yes.” 

“In what way?” Dr. Trimble had his pen poised over paper. 

“Well…” Thomas looked from Dr. Trimble, who was waiting, to Dr. Hartley who was grinning. “We’re courting-“ 

“Oh I see!” Dr. Kraus exploded, unable to keep quiet. “Kinsey’s too weak to do his own work, so he gets his omega to do the heavy lifting for him! No wonder her calls for gender equality when he’s such a pale excuse for an alpha!” 

“Dr. Kraus!” Shouted another judge, who until now had been relatively quiet. He seemed the youngest of all board members, and wore glasses just like Rob. “Enough! You disgrace yourself by speaking so crudely!” 

Dr. Kraus rolled his eyes, muttering insidiously under his breath. 

“Dr. Kinsey,” The new judge was obviously worried, “You do realize that this kind of testimony could be damning to your case-“ 

“I understand the complicated nature of Mr. Barrow’s testimony , but it was through my research of alpha design that I found him. Not the other way around. I was studying before we met, which Dr. Richard Clarkson of Downton Yorkshire can testify to.” 

“We will make a note of that.” Dr. Trimble said, writing as he spoke, “You have been highly acclaimed by Dr. Clarkson.” 

“Oh because they’re chums.” Dr. Kraus sneered. Dr. Trimble sent him an ugly look, and Dr. Kraus fell silent once more. 

“Mr. Barrow,” Dr. Hartley spoke up, “Do you have a medical degree?” 

Thomas pursed his lips, flushing with embarrassment, “No.” He said. 

“Do you have any degree at all?” Dr. Hartley asked for emphasis. 

“… I was pulled out of school at the age of ten.” Thomas said, bitter. 

“You are of the working class, then?” Dr. Hartley said. Thomas nodded. 

“I was a servant for twenty years, sir.” Thomas said. Instead of looking smug or haughty, Dr. Hartley just shrugged and relaxed back into his seat. 

“So you’ve seen a great deal of life, then.” Dr. Hartley sighed, “I envy you, Thomas. You haven’t been cooped up in a library like the rest of us. Tell me, what do you think of all this duality talk. Do you think it’ll hold in the real world?” 

“I believe so, yes.” Thomas said at once. “I’ve seen it time and time again from my perspective. There was an omega I knew named Sybil Crawley. She was a lady of the upper class, and an omega by forced breeding. She died in childbirth; she was strained horribly. And I’ll mark you, she had an alph that loved her and was good to her!” Thomas added just for effect. 

“What did she die of?” Dr. Hartley asked. 

“Eclampsia.” Thomas said. 

“You’re an uneducated omega.” Dr. Kraus sneered, “And so you don’t know that eclampsia is common in both beta and omega cases.” 

“I suppose Litigo taught you that?” Thomas snapped. 

“Now see here, you little ingrate!” Dr. Kraus snarled, furious at being talked down to by Thomas. Thomas refused to step down or show fear. “You’re an omega, uneducated and ignorant! I am an alpha, a well respected and well known doctor! You do not have the authority to speak to me like we are equals!” 

Rob made a hissing noise like he was ready to leap up and strangle Kraus by the necktie. Dr. Trimble cut him off before anymore arguments could break out. 

“Dr. Kraus, that is enough!” Roared Dr. Trimble. Dr. Kraus seemed to realize he’d gone over the line, but it was far too late to be shy now. “You will hold your tongue for the rest of the proceedings, or abdicate your post! I’ll remind you there were plenty other doctors who were offered a chance to be the fourth judge!” 

Dr. Kraus said nothing, closing his eyes and turning away bitterly. 

Dr. Trimble straightened his powdered wig where it had slipped a bit before addressing Thomas directly. 

“…Mr. Barrow, do you have anything further to add to the proceedings?” Dr. Trimble asked. 

Thomas knew it was pointless to beg but found himself doing so anyways.  
Anything to help Rob’s valiant cause. 

“Please…” Thomas clasped his hands again, speaking directly to Dr. Trimble. Despite the emotion in Thomas’ voice, Dr. Trimble refused to look moved. 

“Please I beg of you.” Thomas mumbled, “I don’t claim to be a doctor, or a learned man of any kind, but I know in my heart that if this opportunity should go to any man it should go to Robert Kinsey. Someone who thinks to the future, and who could push Freud to greater heights instead of chaining him to the past. Surely you agree on some level when you’re sending a convention to Freud-?” 

“Perhaps I do, perhaps I do not.” Dr. Trimble warned, “But it is not just my decision that will guide the envoys to Freud. All five judges must vote.” 

Dr. Trimble looked about at his colleagues. Thomas’ heart pounded wildly in his ribs.  
“I’ll call a vote now.” Dr. Trimble said. “All in favor of Dr. Kinsey’s proposition being screened for trial say aye?” 

Dr. Trimble, and two other judges threw up their hands. “Aye!” 

The majority was with then. Thomas was horribly grateful. 

“All those opposed?” Dr. Trimble asked. 

“Nay.” Snarled Dr. Kraus. 

That left only Dr. Hartley. Dr. Trimble looked to him, curious. “Dr. Hartley?” 

Dr. Hartley still seemed unsure. He gave Thomas a small smile, but it wasn’t without kindness. 

“Abstained.” He finally said. 

“With three to one with one abstention, your proposition moves forward to the final screening for Vienna. Thank you for your time, Dr. Kinsey.” Dr. Trimble said, and smacked his gavel in a closing act. 

Rob let out a shallow breath, clearly on the verge of having a nervous collapse. By god, if Thomas couldn’t blame him. 

~*~

 

Monday night found Rob practically comatose on the couch, with Thomas at his beck and call. Rob seemed to be coming down with some type of flue, resulting in him growing lethargic. Thomas fetched him soup from the shops, and freshly baked bread to nibble on. He made Rob pot after pot of tea, and constantly took his temperature to find that it was a disturbing 39 degrees Celsius. 

Rob spent Tuesday sleeping, and Thomas didn’t disturb him. Instead, he focused on getting Rob to eat and take a bath. He even called Dr. Clarkson just to get a second opinion, but found that his first idea was agreed upon… it was stress and nothing more. What Rob needed was to be left alone until Wednesday afternoon when the decisive call would come. 

Thomas spent most of Wednesday working on the couch with Rob’s head in his lap. Rob slept fitfully, never truly resting, while Thomas made list after list of supplies that would have to be ordered for Moira Furnace. 

The first thing he’d have to do was excavate the furnace and remove any faulty bearings. He’d have to ensure that every room, every wall, was up to standard before even attempting to rebuild. He also wanted to have heavier reinforcements laid into the walls. He wanted to build traps, back doors, tunnels beneath the roads; anything that would give omegas another chance. 

By the time that it was three in the afternoon, Thomas had successfully gone through twenty sheets worth of paper, filling up the lines with ideas, questions, and concerns. 

 

The phone rang. 

 

Rob froze, eyes wide and limbs still as the chime of the telephone echoed through the aching apartment. It rang three times, before Rob spoke. He did not look at Thomas; he did not look at anything. 

“You answer it.” He whispered.  
He was too afraid to move. 

Thomas slowly got off the sofa, and picked up the candlestick telephone to press the receiver to his ear. He knew instinctively that this phone call would be the deciding factor. That whatever news came, for better or for worse, Rob’s trial was over. There was small mercy in that fact. 

“Kinsey residence.” Thomas tried to keep his voice under control. He tried to sound calm and collected, when really his heart was banging wildly in his ribs. 

_“This is Dr. Thomas Hartley. Is Dr. Kinsey in?”_

Hartley had been the one abstention. It had been difficult to know whether he’d truly liked Rob or not. He’d been… aloof, but charming in his own way. 

“He’s a little indisposed.” Thomas said. “As you might be able to imagine.” 

_“Well the verdict just came back so I thought I’d spare him a lengthy wait.”_ Dr. Hartley explained. There was a pause, where the man might have been inhaling a drag from a cigarette, _“He’s been selected.”_

Thomas felt numb. He momentarily forgot to breath.  
Hartley just kept on talking like he hadn’t dropped a massive bombshell. 

_“He was the final member of the team. His boat is the St. Helena, and it leaves on the fifteenth. We’ve submitted his paperwork so his travel license will be directed through the school.”_

“…Keep us informed.” Thomas mumbled. He was still finding it difficult to breath properly. Rob was still frozen on the couch, his jaw locked and his eyes closed. 

_“We shall. Goodnight, Mr. Barrow. I imagine you’ll be celebrating now?”_

“Indeed.” Thomas gave nothing else away. “Goodnight Dr. Hartley.” And with that he hung up the phone. 

The silence in the flat was deafening as Thomas carefully sat the phone down atop the standing piano. He walked the short distance over to Rob’s side, noting with a terrible ache that Rob’s shoulders were trembling along with his bottom lip. 

He looked up at Thomas, petrified, only to drop his head twice. He was so scared to look. So scared to be hopeful. 

Thomas gave him a small smile, “Yes. It’s alright-“ 

But it wasn’t alright, as Rob suddenly burst into wild tears. 

He flung himself from the couch, crashing to his knees at Thomas’ feet to wrap his arms about Thomas’ stomach and howl wildly into his bellybutton. He was sobbing with such gusto, with such emotion, that Thomas was certain he would make himself sick. At once, Thomas attempted to console Robert. He sat down on the sofa and cradled Rob’s head in his hands, whispering nonsense into Rob’s ear as he rubbed his back methodically. 

“Sh… It’s alright!” Thomas begged, praying Rob would at least breath properly. “You were selected, it’s alright!” 

Rob didn’t seem able to believe it. He was choking on his own mucus and tears, wailing like a babe that had been torn from its mother as he cradled his head in Thomas’ lap. He was shaking violently, as if suffering from a cold. Thomas tried to warm him as best he could. “Robbie, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He begged. “Sh…” 

Rob was slowly regaining his senses, but he kept his head in Thomas’ lap.  
“Sh… it’s okay.” Thomas whispered, gently petting his hair. “Shh.” 

Rob slowly looked up. 

His face was shining, his glasses misted horribly. Tears and snot were glimmering upon his cheeks. He sniffed heartily, his breath still jumping a bit. Thomas took out his pocket square and carefully wiped at Rob’s cheeks, beaming at him. Let there be no more tears, let there be celebration-! 

But Rob caught Thomas’ hand upon his cheek, his eyes growing wild.  
His mouth was slightly slack, the pink of his tongue barely visible behind white teeth. 

He sat up straight, eye level with Thomas.  
Thomas’ heart pounded in his ribs, as he suddenly realized that Rob had earned not only a spot to Vienna but a spot in Thomas’ heart. That in Rob’s eyes, he was now worthy of Thomas. 

And that could only mean one thing. 

Rob leaned forward; Thomas met him halfway. 

Their kiss had been so long in the making, so dire in its circumstances, that when it finally came to be it was beyond simple explanation. Beyond human understanding. 

It was not just the movement of flesh, it was the movement of soul. 

It was the parting of lips, that broke like the halves of ripe fruit to spill sweet juices from inside. 

It was the collision of tongues, the purging of desire through any orifice possible before the soul self-destructed in its wake. 

The crash of hands as they intertwined with hair whether it be curly brain or smooth black. The heat of two breasts heaving, two hearts pounding; two noses being crushed and shoved as their kiss continued to grow. 

The lungs ached for air. The lips burned for release. But it was the souls that finally had their way as Thomas and Rob had to stutter to a halt. 

Just before one another, breathing the same air, they gasped in the quiet. The length of Thomas’ eyelashes batted a sweet rhythm against Rob’s freckled cheek. Rob’s glasses were leaving an indent in Thomas’ skin. 

There was a mist between them, a sweeter syrup never known before. 

Rob leaned in again, craving the sugary nectar he found on Thomas’ lips. When they touched again, Rob sunk his tongue deep into the cave of Thomas’ warm pliant mouth, finding him willing. Thomas tilted his head to the left, angling their kiss deeper. 

This one was quieter, more intimate. This one was not born out of a fiery rush of joy, but an ache of love that only one thing could stem. 

Rob slipped his hands around Thomas waist, cradling his back.  
Thomas had never felt more supported, more loved in all his life. He gave himself over willingly to Rob, sliding from the couch so that suddenly they were both kneeling upon the floor. 

And then Rob was upon him, laying him down gently upon the dusty living room floor.  
Rob was between his legs, neither invading nor encroaching. Not smothering. Not pushing. Just being. 

Thomas ran his hands down Rob’s back, fingers diving to the sweaty touch of his shirt tails. Rob’s back was strong and smooth. The cushion of his stomach was warm and pliant. Everything was falling into place. 

Thomas had to gasp for breath, rolling his head to the right; Rob kissed a trail upon his cheek, his tongue sliding upon Thomas’ throat to reach his collarbone. He sucked at the dip of his clavicle, murmuring quiet promises into his skin. 

It burned him. It soothed him. It broke him. It healed him.  
There was nothing he could do but be shattered and mended by this incredible man as Thomas wound his fingers through Rob’s curly hair. He found his fingers touching the rims of Rob’s glasses, and pulled them loose to hold them up above his head. He marveled at the shine of the glass, the luminous glow of the tortious shell rims. Thomas put on the glasses, his vision wildly warped from the prescription lenses. 

Rob paused, kissing his way back up Thomas’ neck till they were face to face once more. 

Rob could not see Thomas clearly up close without his glasses.  
Thomas could not see Rob clearly with Rob’s glasses on. 

The pair of them traced each other’s lips with their own, trading small soft kisses till they were able to reconcile with their blindness. 

~*~

 

With the knowledge of Rob’s success towards Vienna, a great party was planned in his honor. 

George was thrilled, and offered up his own Camden flat for the festivities until Melvina got wind and demanded the party be re-routed to her own house. There was sense in it; the house was bigger than a flat and offered a more classical approach. She likewise had maids and a day-butler who could attend. 

Several of Rob’s friends were called in to RSVP, and Thomas was excited to meet them for the first time. Rob seemed… giddy. Almost high as he bounced about the flat on Friday evening. His fever had not diminished, and Thomas concerned that Rob was really beginning to suffer from some kind of cold. He would have to regain his strength soon in order to voyage safely across the ocean. Thomas decided that if Rob was not feeling better by Monday, that he would take Rob to a doctor for further diagnosis. 

Thomas had a difficult time wrangling Rob together on the night of the party. Thomas had to wash Melvina’s casserole dishes so that he might return them to her, and likewise needed to iron both their suits. Rob kept getting in the way, hugging Thomas from behind when he tried to wash the dishes or kissing him on the neck when he ironed the suits. Rob was insatiable, grabbing at him and licking his skin like he were a penny lick. 

“Rob- I have to put on my jacket-“ Thomas could not help but giggle a little at the tickling sensation of Robert kissing his ear. The noises were sloppy and loud, amplified by the proximity, but Thomas didn’t care. Rob refused to let Thomas go long enough for Thomas to put on his evening jacket. 

“I’ll be your jacket.” Rob said coyly, taking Thomas’ jacket from him and laying it upon the bed with one hand while holding him close with the other. 

“You’re being silly is what you’re being.” Thomas chastised, but he beamed all the while and tilted his neck further to the left so that Rob might kiss him further. Rob nibbled at his skin, hands becoming far too grabby. “Come on now!” Thomas pulled away, snatching his jacket up from the bed and running out into the hall. Rob chased him, deliriously happy. “Let me go-“ 

When Rob tried to grab him again, Thomas pulled out an umbrella from the hat stand by the door and brandished it like a sword. 

“I’ll smack you!” Thomas warned, though he grinned giddily. Rob pulled a face, grabbed the umbrella right from Thomas’ hands, and threw it across the room. 

Thomas let out a noise and fled the apartment with glee. 

Rob chased him down the stairs; they nearly knocked two women aside returning from their shopping. 

“AH-!” Thomas shrieked as he burst out into the alleyway, skidding on the loose cobblestone and running from the open aired market. “You’ll never catch me!” 

He flagged down a taxi but wasn’t quick enough to avoid Rob’s re-capture. Rob scooped him up in his arms, holding him close and grinning into Thomas’ neck. 

“Caught you.” Rob said smugly. Thomas could feel a heat in Rob’s trousers, hot and thick. It made his heart pound in his throat. “C’mon… were you even trying to escape me?” 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Thomas said coyly as a taxi pulled up. He tried to wrestle himself free of Rob’s arms, but it was hard. People on the street were looking at them like they were mad, but neither man cared. Rob opened the door to the taxi and the pair of them slid inside, gloating at one another as Rob slammed the door. 

“24 North Beatrice Street.” Rob commanded of the driver, before turning on Thomas and devouring him whole. Thomas giggled against Rob’s invading mouth, squeaking as Rob’s hands began to maw at his crotch. 

The taxi driver made a disgusted noise but pulled away all the same. 

 

The drive to Melvina’s house was punctuated only by Rob getting a little too handsy and Thomas having to put him off. It was one thing to enjoy a bit of flirtation, but Thomas didn’t want it to go too far. Rob was starting to sweat, and his cheeks were flushed bright pink. The smell of white tea was overwhelming in the back of the taxi, and Thomas worried that heavy petting would only result in Rob getting more worked up. 

Halfway there, Thomas realized they’d both forgotten to bring back Melvina’s casserole dishes, and inwardly cursed at his clumsiness. 

The arrived at the party about ten minutes after the demanded start time. Thomas felt slightly guilty as they slid from the backseat of the taxi, giving their driver a large tip to make up for their ridiculous displays in the back seat. The driver didn’t seem to care either way, pulling off angrily before Thomas could so much as say ‘thank you’. Rob wasn’t about to let one man’s bad attitude spoil his night. As soon as the pair of them were on solid ground, Rob was back to kissing him again. Thomas had to shove the man off, slightly concerned with how clumsy Rob was getting. It was one thing to be flirtatious in the flat, but now they were at the party and needed to behave appropriately. 

“Come on, Rob!” Thomas urged, “We have to act like adults for god’s sake. Pull it together.” 

Rob started to pant, which made no sense.  
They hadn’t been truly exerting themselves, why was Rob so tired. 

Rob seemed on the verge of vomiting; he paused on the front walk, dry heaving for a second until he got control of himself. Alarmed, Thomas reached out and instantly patted Rob on the back to try and get him to regain his sense of self. 

“Robbie was what’s wrong with you?” Thomas worried. “You’ve been off for days, you need to go to the doctor!” 

“Mm..” Rob shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Thomas took care to straighten Rob’s tie and re-fold his blue pocket square. “Just… feeling a bit hot.” 

“Rob, if you don’t feel well by tomorrow I…” Thomas paused, unsure. What hospital would see them on a weekend? Maybe they could go to an emergency clinic. Maybe Dr. Clarkson would consent to come up. “I think you need to-“ 

But the pair of them were cut off as the front door flung open and spilled golden light out onto the porch. George Kinsey was in the doorway, dressed in a tux and beaming as he rushed the stoop and embraced his brother openly. 

“Bobby, you lucky duck you!” George declared with pride, wrapping Rob up in a warm hug. Several other people had clustered around the front door, and all of them were tittering with pride at the sight of the loving brothers. Rob feebly tried to return the hug as best he could. 

 

“Congratulations, Robert-“ George pulled back, oddly misty eyed. He surveyed Rob like he were some kind of legendary hero, and clapped him warmly on the back. “You earned this, you know? Every last bit of it.” 

Rob nodded, unable to speak. George grabbed Rob’s hand and threw it up into the air so that several people cheered. 

“My brother!” George said with gusto. A few people raised their glasses from the window.  
Melvina burst from the doorway, already weeping. 

“Oh Bobby!” She wailed, hurrying down the steps to throw her arms around her son. She was so squat that her face was comfortably buried in Rob’s chest. “I knew you could do it! I knew it! I knew it!” 

And then she let go of Rob to run for Thomas.  
“Thomas-!” She hugged him so tightly Thomas wondered if he might crack a rib. “Oh isn’t this wonderful?!” 

For some odd reason, she grabbed his left hand and beheld it like she thought something might be different. When she found it the same, she was downcast. 

Rob blushed scarlet, grabbed Thomas away from his mother, and forced them all inside. 

 

The entire house was packed to the nines with people. Some were old, and obviously good friends with Melvina. Some were doctors from the school, fellow faculty and mentors. Then there were business partners of George, childhood friends of the Kinsey family, and Thomas’ personal favorite… Dr. Clarkson. 

He was a surprise, brought forward by Melvina as a gift for Rob. 

Thomas thought for certain that when the two men saw each other Rob would be delighted. But Rob didn’t seem to even notice Dr. Clarkson. He just… slunk along the back wall avoiding people. He looked incredibly ill, hunched over and gray faced. He was sweating profusely, and didn’t seem to want to stray too far from Thomas. 

People were noticing.  
People were worried. 

Dr. Clarkson was the first to step forward, reaching out and shaking Thomas’ hand. The pair of them had to shift their cocktails, careful not to spill anything on the carpet. 

“Thomas, if I might garner a word-“ 

“Yeah-“ Thomas muttered, cutting the man off. Rob stood in the far corner, sulking bitterly at the sight of Thomas and Dr. Clarkson with their heads bent. 

“What on earth is going on with Robert?” Dr. Clarkson whispered. 

“I’m telling you, he’s still sick!” Thomas pleaded, “He’s been acting crazy all day. He wouldn’t keep his hands off me before we got out of the taxi. I think he’s ill. Is it just stress, or-“ 

“No.” Dr. Clarkson shook his head, “No, this is… not stress. Even in the most stressful times before now, Robert has always been a patient and understanding man. He seems completely unhinged.” 

But it was like the word ‘unhinged’ sucked Rob back into the fold. Suddenly he was there, at Thomas’ elbow, and before Thomas could explain, Rob yanked him away from Dr. Clarkson. 

“What are you doing?” Rob demanded, as if Thomas had done the unthinkable by conversing with another man. 

“Robert-“ Thomas mumbled, eager to keep Rob’s voice down lest someone overhear. George was already giving them a weird look from the punch bowl. Mercifully Melvina was completely caught up in conversation and could not be bothered. 

“Stay away from my omega.” Rob demanded. Dr. Clarkson was taken aback, his mouth falling open a bit at Rob’s shocking turn of character. 

“I…” Dr. Clarkson didn’t seem to know what to say, “I didn’t… mean any offense, Rob.” 

Robert looked away, obviously upset. He cricked his neck again, his nostrils flaring. The smell of white tea was almost overpowering at this point. 

“It’s alright, Rob… Richard was just-“ Thomas tried to speak, but Rob cut him off. His voice was hard, completely foreign to the man Thomas had fallen in love with. 

“Don’t.” Rob snapped. He turned, glaring at Thomas, and caught him by the elbow. He squeezed, and Thomas felt a breath hitch in his throat at the sudden show of strength. 

He suddenly felt very small and very scared. 

“Don’t look at him, don’t talk to him.” Rob commanded. Thomas nodded, unsure of what else to do, “Stay by me. Focus on me. D’you understand?” He pulled Thomas in a bit, so that they were almost chest to chest. 

Thomas didn’t know what to say. Rob was almost breaking his heart. 

“…Rob, what the hell is wrong with you?” Dr. Clarkson whispered. “Snap out of it!” 

Rob blinked, shuddered, then clutched at his head. He let go of Thomas’ elbow, suddenly looking horribly ashamed of himself. 

“God, I’m so sorry-“ He looked ready to weep. Thomas was horrified, and reached out with both hands to console Rob as best he could, “I- I don’t know what that was. That wasn’t me. I don’t know what’s going on with me. God I think I’m gonna be sick-“ 

“Here-“ Thomas snatched a glass of water from a passing maid, and pressed the glass into Rob’s hand. “Drink this.” 

“No, don’t-“ Dr. Clarkson blurted out, but it was too late. Just as soon as Thomas had put the glass in Rob’s hand, it shattered. Thomas gasped in shock, stepping back a moment too late as water and glass spilled to the floor. Several people looked around at the commotion, confused. A maid swooped in at once with a rag to blot the carpet before it could stain. Rob stared at his wet hand, his fingers trembling wildly. 

“…I…” Rob was choked up, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean…” And when he looked at Thomas, there was terrible fear in his beautiful brown eyes. 

He was starting to take deep sucking breathes. It was like he was close to having a panic attack. 

“Rob-“ George had come over from the punch bowl. “Are you alright-?” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder as Rob bowed his head. 

Rob stiffened at the touch, his whole body going rigid like a board. Thomas looked from Dr. Clarkson (who was alarmed) to George (who was afraid), and suddenly realized that something was very very wrong with Robert Matthew Kinsey. 

Rob’s body relaxed.  
He let out a slow breath.  
White tea flooded the air, and when he looked back up again, his eyes were entirely black with only a thin rim of brown to be seen. His pupils were dilated. 

“…Actually…”Rob sounded enlightened, a million miles away from the frightened man he’d once been, “I feel wonderful.” 

“Really because you-“ 

“Everyone!” Rob shouted, making Thomas jump at the sudden noise. At once, conversation ceased and a gramophone was turned down as Rob looked about and gestured to the whole room. “Everyone if I may have your attention… there’s something I want to say.” 

“Speech!” cried a few people from the back.  
Melvina and Rebecca watched from the side lines, Laura in her mother’s arms. She was sucking on a chocolate coated spoon, delighted to be given sweets. Her whole mouth was a muddy brown. 

Rob took Thomas by the hand and pulled him a few paces into the clearing. Thomas swallowed, a tight knot in his throat as Rob looked back around at Thomas. His eyes were completely black. 

_What’s wrong with you?_ Thomas thought in terror. 

“I wanted to take this moment, to worship my beautiful omega… Thomas Barrow.” Rob said. Several people made sweet noises, cooing at the show of open affection. 

Rob swept out one leg, and sank to a knee. Thomas heard Melvina gasp with delight.  
Rob reached out and took his hand, using his thumb to gently brush at his knuckles. 

“… Rob…” Thomas whispered, shocked at the suddenly display of open affection. 

“Thomas, you have awoken a love within me so primal and dire I could never have imagined it with a sober mind.” Rob’s voice was turning heavy and deep, almost becoming a growl. It made Thomas shudder. 

Dr. Clarkson was slowly walking around the perimeter of the crowd. His eyes were narrowed. He’d set down his cocktail. 

“I love you… more than any creature on this earth. I devote myself to you, as your slave-“ 

“Rob-“ Thomas whimpered, his heart panging with emotion and fear. “Rob you don’t have to-“ 

“Shh…” Rob reached up with his spare hand and touched Thomas’ lips. At once, Thomas fell silent. 

“I do have to.” Rob whispered. “It’s my nature. I am destined to be yours, and you are destined to be mine.” 

And suddenly Rob reached into his coat pocket to pull out a ring. 

It was a gold band, featuring two lilies placed petal to petal with their stems pushing outward so that the actual bands connected with thin loops. Between the two lilies, placed in a neat row, were three little pearls. The lilies were made of opal, glowing soft blue in the lamplight. 

Thomas sucked in a breath, shocked out of his mind to realize that Rob was actually proposing to him. That Rob wanted to mate with him. That Rob wanted to be with him always. Thomas’s breathes became wet as his throat swelled tight, his eyes burning with emotion. 

He’d never dreamed he could be so happy. 

The crowd was deadly silent. Even Melvina didn’t dare to make a noise. 

“Thomas Barrow, with you be my mate?” Rob asked, “Will you accept my nourishment, my affection, my home… as your nourishment, affection, and home-?” 

“Yes.” Thomas could barely get the word out he was so choked up. “Yes of course, Robert.” Tears, hot and salty, fell from his eyes to glisten on his chin and drop to the floor. 

Rob slid the ring onto his finger. It felt like a part of his soul sliding home.  
The crowd burst into applause, cheers going up all around. Melvina was about to start crying at any second. All of them were oblivious to the danger right in front of their eyes. All of them were so convinced that all was well that no one was willing to see that Rob was close to a break down. 

Rob suddenly twitched violently. His teeth were bleeding at the gums. Thomas’ heart began to pound again, but now in fear instead of love. 

“Robbie I think we need to go to the hospital.” Thomas begged, “I think you’re sick. I think something’s wrong and we need to go to a doctor- please-!” 

“Oh no…” A bead of sweat dripped down Rob’s temple, salting his cheekbone and chin. “No, I’m… fine.” 

He suddenly wore a malicious smile, “I don’t need anything but you.” 

 

And then, all hell broke loose. 

Without warning, Rob yanked hard on Thomas’ hand and toppled him to the ground. Everyone cried out with sudden shock as Rob dove forward and crashed his lips onto Thomas’ own, his hands leaving stinging marks on Thomas’ skin as he grabbed Thomas by the throat and ripped open the top of his suit. Buttons went flying, his tie ripped in two, and women began to shriek at the sudden display of vulgarity. 

This was not Robert Kinsey. This could never be Robert Kinsey. Rob would never dream of disrobing Thomas in front of a group of people. Rob would never think to harm him, to scare him. George and Dr. Clarkson seemed to realize this, and panicked. The pair of them dove forward, heads nearly colliding as they both grabbed Rob from an opposite arm and yanked him bodily off of Thomas. 

But instead of being shocked to his senses and realizing his awful blunder, Rob started to fight like a mad man. He kicked, he reared, he foamed at the mouth as he snarled horrific insults at his brother and best friend. 

“Get out of here!” Dr. Clarkson shouted at Thomas. 

Thomas was numb upon his back, too in shock to move.  
What had happened to the wonderful loving Robert he knew? Why was Robert acting this way. 

“He’s in rut!” Dr. Clarkson kept shouting. “Go! Get as far away as you can!” 

People were shocked and terrified, the once wonderful evening now going up in flames around them. Omegas were running out the front door to convene upon the lawn, looking frightened and pale. Rebecca placed Laura into the arms of a woman Thomas did not know before swooping to Thomas’ aid, helping to pull him up to his feet. Thomas was stumbling, unsure. He couldn’t leave Robert now, if Robert was truly in rut. It made sense and the symptoms fit the bill, but Robert needed aid, not to be locked up. 

It was just that Thomas didn’t fully know what the aid was to give. 

“Thomas- come on-!” Rebecca kept trying to pull him away. 

Melvina swooped in from out of no where; Thomas would have thought her to be hysterical by this point, but the woman showed incredible strength as she clasped Robert’s face between her hands. 

“Robert listen to me!” Melvina shouted above the garish noise Robert was making, “Look at me! Remember who you are! This is not who you are! You know who you are!” 

Robert’s response was to jerk his head back, roaring to reveal two very pointed canine teeth. There was blood dripping down his gum lines, turning his mouth pink. 

“Rob-“ Thomas tried to go to him, but Rebecca just yanked him back harder. 

“He can’t hear you!” Rebecca snapped, “You’re in danger, Thomas! You have to go!” 

“The longer you stay near him the worse it will get!” shouted an omega from the door, before shepherding others outside. 

“I’m calling the Brigade!” Another alpha cried. 

“No!” Thomas pleaded with the man; he looked familiar… perhaps he worked with Robert in the school. “You can’t-!” 

“There has to be another way!” George begged. He was losing strength rapidly, his arm muscles bulging beneath his tux as he tried to hold Robert down. A few other alphas leapt into help, including one man that Thomas knew to be Dr. Reyes. He was much larger than both George and Dr. Clarkson, so he could Rob easier and keep him down longer. 

“It’s the right decision and you know it, George!” Shouted an alpha even as he picked up the telephone, “Robert is a kind and honest man, but look at him now! He’s an animal! If he stays around our omegas, he’s liable to take them by force. You know how ruts are!” 

“Robert!!” Melvina screamed at her son, even as he thrashed and tried to head butt her, “Snap out of it! Stop this madness now!” 

Thomas looked to George in that moment, winded and gasped upon the floor with blonde hair in his face. Even Dr. Clarkson was exhausted, wiping sweat from his eyes. 

“George, don’t let them do this.” Thomas pleaded. “Please, you can’t call the Brigade. They hate me! They hate Robert! They’ll never let him go!” 

George looked up at Thomas from the floor. There was panic in his eyes for the first time, and Thomas felt sick to his stomach to know that there was next to nothing he could do. 

“… Thomas…” George looked from Thomas to his brother, who was bucking wildly against Dr. Reyes and close to breaking free. “I don’t think we have a choice.” 

“What can stop a rut-?” Thomas asked of the alphas. 

“Only an omega.” Reyes grunted. “You have to mate with an omega, or otherwise wait it out.” 

“Then let me be with him!” Thomas was ready to throw everything on the line to protect Robert. Anything to keep the Brigade at bay. This wasn’t how he’d pictured them joining, by any means, but if it kept Robert safe Thomas was more than willing to shatter the fantasy. 

But suddenly Melvina turned on Thomas, letting go of her oldest son to instead clasp his face in her hands. It was like she was trying to rattle sense into him. “No!” She screamed, wild in her fear, “No, Thomas, he adores you, he loves you, he’d never forgive himself if he took you in such an ungentlemanly way. Do this for Robert if no one else!” 

The alpha with the phone was already calling. Thomas cried out to him, “Use a made up name! Don’t tell them who he is, I beg of you!” 

“Fine!” Barked the alpha, angry, “But we call them now!” 

Rob broke free of Reyes, and in a sudden bold move reached out to try and grab Thomas by the ankle. Thomas gasped, as all of a sudden four men threw themselves on Rob to flatten him at Thomas’ feet. 

“Basement!” shouted Melvina, “Get him to the basement! We can lock him in there!” 

Reyes let out an animalistic roar, going from flat on his stomach to up on his feet as he yanked Rob back to his chest and held on tight. Reyes stumbled backward, guided by many alpha hands as the man drug Robert to the basement by sheer force. 

“Get off of me!” Robert roared, a thin foam at his lips. His eyes were completely milked over, absolutely deranged. “You bastards! I’ll have him!” 

“Hold it together, man!” Reyes roared as he drug Robert down the hall, “Hold it together! This isn’t who you are!” 

“HE’S MINE!” Robert seethed, insane, “YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM! HE’S MINE! HE’S MINE TO POSSESS, MINE TO OWN- MY HEART, MY SOUL- YOU WILL NOT HAVE HIM!” 

Rob broke free of Reyes for a second time and ran headlong at Thomas. He didn’t get three steps before George and Dr. Clarkson threw themselves atop him, keeping him back with a solid wall of human flesh. 

Thomas felt his heart breaking at the sight of Robert being abused; he was scared out of his wits, to think the man he loved was a million miles away, locked beneath alpha desires. 

“Go with them, Robbie.” Thomas choked out, begging for Rob to listen, “Go with them, it’ll be alright! I’ll join you there I promise. Just go with them. I promise you, I’ll… I’ll join you if you go. And be good.” 

But at the sound of Thomas’ voice, Rob was overrode with a wave of lust. He began to pant, moaning aloud to the air as sweat poured from his forehead. He was bathed in a glistening aroma of testosterone and musk. 

“You’ve been so good to me.” Rob groaned, a dark smile on his lips, “You deserve happiness, and I want to give you ever inch of happiness I can muster. Come t’me darlin’-“ Rob extended his hand, his arm poking through George and Dr. Clarkson’s joined shoulders. “Come t’me and I’ll never let you go.” 

Thomas choked on his own tears. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of Rob being destroyed from within. “I know…” He whimpered, “I know and I will… but you have to go with them to the basement. Please, Robbie, for me?” 

“Sweetheart” Rob was laughing, insane. “Don’t cry. It’s alright. Everything’s alright-“ He twitched violently again, sucking in a breath as if winded. “It won’t hurt… I won’t let it hurt. I’ll be so good to you. So good. It’ll feel as natural as breathin’. You wouldn’t deny me, now would you? Eh? When our souls are intertwined?” 

And they were intertwined, so much so that Thomas was certain he could feel the pain radiating from within Robert. The burning fire that he so desperately wanted to quench was liable to scorch Thomas to death. 

“God damnit, man!” George barked at the sound of Thomas choking back tears, “You’re breaking his heart!” 

George shoved Rob towards the open stairwell to the basement; Reyes pushed him down. 

“No!” Rob howled as Thomas was cut off from him. “Let me go!” 

Thomas could hear him screaming from down the basement stairs, even as George slammed the door shut and locked it with a master key. It took five men pressing themselves against the door to keep it closed while George locked it. 

“THOMAS!” Robert screamed from beyond, throwing himself again and again at the wood. It quaked and creaked… but it held. “THOMAS!!!!” 

 

 

It took the Brigade less than half an hour to arrive. 

 

Thomas sat on the living room couch with his head in his hands, crying softly into his palms. Rebecca sat on one side, Melvina on another, and the pair of them quietly attempted to console him as Reyes, George, and Dr. Clarkson barred the basement door. Many of the guests had decided to go home, but not before first offering their sympathies and congratulations to Thomas in one sitting. Omegas did not want to stay, and so their alphas quickly took them away before Rob had a chance to break out of his basement prison. The alphas that did remain were either unbound (like a few of Robert’s colleagues) or very close friends (like Reyes and Clarkson). They stayed mostly in the hallway beside the basement door, keeping it barred just on the off chance that Robert broke out. 

You could hear him screaming down the hall, throwing himself bodily against the door. He was in the throws of violent orgasms, delirious in his desire for Thomas. 

 

The maids cleaned up the chaos of the party, taking dish after dish back downstairs before it could go to waste. Several buttons were missing from Thomas’ clothes, leaving him disheveled and disorientated as he slowly wiped tears away from his eyes. Several alphas were congregated around the front parlor, talking quietly amongst themselves as if forming a backup plan should the worst happen before the Brigade arrived. 

Rebecca had Laura sent home; there was no point in keeping her at the party now that the party was effectively crashed. 

So much had gone to waste. There had been a cake and champagne…. Thomas had elected not to eat a piece of cake even when Melvina had offered him some, but had now successfully consumed a bottle of champagne by himself and was working on his second one. He deigned not to drink out of a glass, instead, working on the bottle. The empty one sat at his feet. 

When the Brigade arrived, they did not knock. They entered through the open front door and moved into the parlor like they owned the place. Thomas kept looking straight forward into the living room, refusing to acknowledge the Brigade even as he heard familiar voices. 

He was drunk at this point. Drunk and bitter.  
Rebecca clutched his hand upon his lap, a silent issue of support. Thomas used his thumb to play with the band of his engagement ring, staring longingly at the lilies and pearls. 

“Where is he?” Alden was asking. 

“In the basement.” It was George who responded. Thomas could hear them moving down the ball. “It’s bad. Early symptoms, but it’s been ages since he’s known the touch of an omega and he just got engaged tonight. He’s in a rough way.” 

“Alright- Thane-?” Of course Thane was here. “You get your men ready.” 

There was a flurry of movement. More and more men were coming into the parlor, all of them police officers. Weren’t there other crimes they could attend to? 

“Well do this in one push to the car.” Thane was saying. Thomas saw a dark shadow outlining the living room door, but did not look. He just kept drinking. “Everyone will have to act together.” 

“I have the tranque ready-“ a man said. 

“The minute you see an opening you take it.” Thane was now in the hallway; someone else was walking towards the couch at a threateningly slow pace, “Don’t wait. You won’t get another shot.” 

“Let me do it.” Another man said, “I’ve got more experience. You can take an easier case. This isn’t a good first round.” 

“You men block the hallway on both sides. We’re going to make a solid wall so he can’t get through. I’ll get him to the ground, and you tranque him. Agreed?” 

“Yes sir!” Shouted a chorus of men. 

 

Alden came into view directly in front of Thomas.  
He squatted down, and in a brazen move took the half drunk bottle of champagne from Thomas to finish it off in three enormous gulps. He set the empty glass down next to the first one, thick fingers playing idly on the rim. 

The last time Thomas had seen Alden, he’d been in a hospital bed recovering from his miscarriage. 

He did not look at Alden, instead staring calmly at the opposite wall as if Alden were invisible. In a show of great character and strength, both Melvina and Rebecca stayed by Thomas’ side on the couch. He was grateful for their silent support. 

“Even the Brigade needs help. That’s what you said, right?” Alden spoke with a pleasant tone, but there was acid in his words. 

He reached out, and touched Thomas’ hand where his engagement ring lay. Thomas did not jerk, but his eyes swiveled to Aldens’ face to glare at him furiously. 

“Don’t touch me.” Thomas growled in a guttural tone, “You’re not my alpha. He is.” 

“Who needs help now, Thomas Barrow… eh?” Alden did not let go of his hand. In truth, Thomas hadn’t expected him to. Alden never cared about the needs of omegas, regardless of what he preached. “Who needs help now.” 

A sudden scuffle could be heard in the hall. Someone was fighting, but going down fast until quiet took over once again. 

“…If you hurt him-“ Thomas began, fully ready to lay down the law until Alden cut him off. 

“Hurt him?” Alden feigned shock at the words. “He’s an alpha. A brother in arms. He’s like family to me. An’ so are you, Thomas.” He reached out and touched Thomas’ chin. Thomas jerked his face away, furious. 

“…You know, I think you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot.” Alden decided, a dark smile on his face. “I want you to come back with us to our London house. I have a few questions for you… I’d like to hear your answers.” 

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Thomas refused to feel fear, despite the awful predicament he now found himself in. “You have nothing to hold me on.” 

“I don’t want to hold you.” Alden corrected him, “I want to help you.”  
Alden rose up, shrugging his hands into his pockets as he looked back out into the parlor hall. A long processional train was passing, and with it went Robert. He was completely unconscious, blood dripping from his mouth and a visible tent in his pants. His glasses were askew, a faint trickle of whimpers issuing from between his lips as Thane carried him to the door. 

“Oh, Bobby-!” Melvina rose up from the couch and followed after her son, snatching Robert’s coat from the rack in the hall, “Let me get his coat, he’ll be cold-“ 

“I highly doubt that.” Dr. Clarkson was huffing and puffing, appearing from the back of the throng and wiping away sweat from his brow. He looked absolutely exhausted, his dinner jacket ripped and his black tie askew. “He’s got a fever of 40 degrees.” 

“Oh, Richard…” Melvina reached up with trembling hands and carefully re-did the man’s tie. It was an act of love, and one done from knowing Dr. Clarkson as a close friend of her sons. Dr. Clarkson gave Melvina a tiny smile Thomas had only ever seen him direct at Mrs. Crawley. “What do we do?” 

“I don’t know.” Dr. Clarkson whispered. “But I promise you I will not let anything happen to Robert.” He clasped her elbow in friendship. Melvina sniffed, and turned away to face Thomas. 

Thomas rose off the couch, followed by Rebecca. George re-appeared from down the hallway, looking spent. He could not meet his wife’s eye, seemingly ashamed for having to go the most dire route to keep control. 

Thomas looked from Rob, who was being manhandled into a wagonette outside, to Alden who was watching calmly and determinedly ignoring Thomas. 

Thomas walked to Alden’s side, the pair of them elbow to elbow as they watched the Brigade file out one at a time. Thane didn’t even look at Thomas as he passed. 

“If I go with you and answer your questions, will you help him?” Thomas struck a bargain with the devil, well aware of the danger he was in. “Will you protect him from himself? And not do what you did to those men in the dive?” 

The thought of Robert being locked away like an animal made Thomas sick to his stomach. He realized that his only hope of helping Robert now was to comply with their kidnappers. 

Alden tilted his head, considering Thomas offer. 

“No communal rut? I suppose I could pull some strings, give him a private room… if you come me, I might just be persuaded.” Alden looked to Thomas, that dark smile back in place. Thomas did not meet his eye, still watching Robert being laid in the back of the wagonette. 

Despite how cruel the Brigade could be to omegas, they were kind to alphas. The men were careful not to jostle Robert’s head. One even collected Robert’s glasses and gave them to Thane. Thane took them at once, pocketing them before they could be broken or crushed in the move. 

“Who knows.” Alden added with a leer, “I might just let you keep him company.” 

“Thomas-“ Melvina broke in, “Don’t do it, it’s too dangerous.” 

“I agree.” Dr. Clarkson glared at Alden from the doorway. “This man will do anything to win your compliance. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” 

Thomas did not speak for a moment, considering his options. In his silence, Alden carried on with an insidious warning: “There’s always room in the basement, as you know. And who knows I might just give him to another omega… one more worthy of his affections. I imagine he’d be only too happy to mate with anyone right now, but where would that leave you when the smoke cleared? Kinsey would claim an omega and forget all about you… but I suppose he might let you keep the ring if you asked nicely.” 

Thomas felt a trickle of sweat fall down his temple. The idea of losing Rob now was catastrophic. It could not be tolerated. 

“… Fine.” Thomas’ throat was closed up, turning his voice hoarse and raspy. “But I reserve the right to contact my lawyer.” 

He looked to Dr. Clarkson and George, both of whom were pale with the sudden turn of events. 

“If I have not spoken to either of you in three days… alert the authorities and my lawyer to my kidnapping.” Thomas said. 

“I will.” Dr. Clarkson said, “And Lord Grantham. He would want to know too.” 

Thomas did not reply.

He took Rob’s coat from Melvina, who was quaking with fear as Alden reached into his pocket and pulled out his ominous handkerchief. He cushioned a little glass vial full of yellow liquid, crushed it in the cloth, and rubbed it between his fingers so that the liquid could be soaked into the fibers. 

Thomas pulled on Rob’s coat, knowing what would happen next. 

“Shall we?” Alden offered the cloth up to Thomas. Thomas bristled, knowing it was coated in chloroform and to breath it would cause him to faint. This was the way Alden did things; there would be no budging if Thomas were to save Robert now. 

Thomas closed his eyes, gave one tiny nod, and felt the cloth pressed to his nose and mouth. 

He jerked, sniffed…. and suddenly he was falling down…  
down…  
down…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to ask.
> 
> likewise, here is a link to the engagement ring: http://dementian.tumblr.com/post/157073428158/the-ring-mentioned-in-the-newest-chapter
> 
> also, if you want to gander at the Rob's apartment:   
> http://dementian.tumblr.com/post/157073670733/the-inspiration-for-robert-kinseys-apartment


	23. The Mating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Rob are forced to take their relationship a step further at a pace they weren't intending, but hope is on the horizon in the form of a repentant Robert Crawley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! The time has come for chapter warnings, of which there are two: 
> 
> **threats, explicit sexual content**
> 
> Happy fuckin' Saturday!

_Litigo: 7:6-12: “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights! Your stature is like that of a palm, and your sex like clusters of fruit. I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit. May your sex be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine. May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth. I belong to my beloved, and his desire is for me. Come, my beloved, let us go to the countryside, let us spend the night in the villages. Let us go early to the vineyards to see if the vines have budded, if their blossoms have opened, and if the pomegranates are in bloom— there I will give you my love.”_

When Thomas came to, he was sitting in a chair. 

 

It was wooden, straight, but not accompanied by chains or any other type of oppression and therefore Thomas was grateful. 

His eyes stung, his throat felt raw. He blinked several times to get adjusted to the light and found that Alden was across the table from him. 

It seemed at first that the pair of them were alone, but Thomas found the entire room was full of alphas. The walls were made of stone. The only light camp from an overhead lamp… the tension in the room was thick. 

Before, Thomas would have been terribly afraid. Now, he was only angry and desperate to find Robert. His whole being was consumed with thoughts of Robert suffering… and if it took facing down the Brigade to save Robert and bring him home… well. 

Thomas was willing to bite the proverbial bullet. 

“You look tired.” Alden mused. He was shirtless, in only his leather jacket so that his tattoos seemed to shine in a glaze. The ink had turned his skin tough. 

 

Thomas cracked his neck, trying to relieve the tension in his spine. He took a deep breathe, kept himself calm, and spoke. 

“What can be done for Robert?” Thomas asked. 

“Kinsey?” Alden asked, as if there was another Robert Thomas desperately cared for, “Not much. Ruts are unfortunate but that’s what you get when you don’t knot an omega properly. Your body builds up energy… anger. After a while you’re just being eaten alive by the tension. Poor chap.” 

Thomas doubted Alden actually cared. His dark smile seemed to confirm it. “It’ll run it’s course, usually take a couple of days. Depends upon how pent up his uh… frustrations… are.” 

Alden folded his arms over his chest. His tattoos were barred like teeth. 

“You know what the swiftest way to end a rut is… Thomas…?” 

A dark chuckle went around the room. Thomas refused to be afraid. 

“Knot an omega?” He sneered. 

“Aren’t you smart.” Alden praised. 

“Let me go to him.” Thomas said, “I’ll take care of it tonight.” 

“Oh I will. Eventually.” Alden didn’t seem pressed to give Thomas an expected time of release. “Or maybe I won’t. I haven’t quite decided yet. Kinsey might be a traitor but he’s still an alpha. A brother… and I feel a duty to make sure the omega he knots is worthy of him. Worthy of his cock. To be honest, Thomas… you’ve been very very naughty lately.” 

“How so.” Thomas replied. He kept his voice forcibly calm. Any sign of terror would be an inch in Alden’s favor, and he refused point blank to budge. He had done nothing wrong. He had broken no laws. 

“You’ve been going behind my back, looking for an omega sanctuary.” Alden said the words as if they were an appalling idea akin to pigs flying, “I’ve got eye and ears all over London. They’ve been following your every move. You went to Wyck Hall and the Boutique Hotel looking for properties. You wanted Daniel Riggs to find geological maps on Wyck Hall. You wanted to build a little back way out. An escape tunnel. Who were you thinking to escape from?” 

Thomas had already known the Brigade was watching him. Alden’s words did not frighten him. 

“Lone alphas.” Thomas kept his voice light. “You remember how Dover Castle has walls?” 

“Naturally.” 

“Same concept.” Aligning himself with the enemy would keep him safe. “An escape tunnel would be used to help unclaimed omegas hide from lone alphas trying to force a bond. Particularly if the omegas in question are to be mated to another alpha. You wouldn’t want a scandal arising from lack of resources.” 

“Then why didn’t you take Wyck Hall?” Alden asked. 

“Didn’t like the feel of it. Boutique Hotel had mold issues.” Thomas figured they already knew this. 

“You’ve been a little cold on the trail.” Alden leaned back in his chair, relaxing. Was it just Thomas, or had Alden grown more morbid in the past months? It was like some of his boyish charm had worn off. “Going off the idea? You certainly were gunning for it at Felbrigg Hall. You claimed you wanted to help us, but we both know that isn’t true.” 

“Is it so scary to be offered help?” Thomas parried. 

Alden sniffed, and stood up. 

His chair scraped back as he rounded the table at a leisurely pace. Thomas kept his eyes forcibly forward, wary of every move that Alden made. He steeled himself for the pain about to come. He mentally wagered that every inch of calamity he suffered would be worth it if he were able to save Robert. 

Alden came to stand behind Thomas’ chair.   
He cupped Thomas’ shoulders, his massive hands dwarfing Thomas’ lean frame. He massaged Thomas’ neck, as tenderly and sweetly as if they were in love. 

Thomas swallowed around the bile he felt rising up. 

“Have you bought a property?” Alden whispered in his ear. 

 

“I thought you knew everything.” Thomas said, keeping his eyes forward. Either Alden was bluffing or he truly didn’t know about Moira Hall. Thomas would have to force him to reveal his hand. 

Alden squeezed his shoulders tight. “I do.” He growled. 

“Then you’ll know I haven’t.” Thomas replied softly.   
Alden’s grip slowly relaxed. 

_He doesn’t know_. Thomas thought triumphantly. _My anonymity worked. The jack ass doesn’t know_. 

Alden lowered his mouth to Thomas’ ear. His whiskers brushed against Thomas’ cheek, slightly scratchy as the shell of his lips coasted over Thomas’ lobe. 

“I’m only going to warn you one time, Thomas… and it’s because you hold a special place in my heart. You’re a rare treasure, a male omega. In my life… I’ve seen six.” Alden paused, and moved to the other side of Thomas’ head, speaking into his opposite ear. “You are the prettiest by far. But you’re also the most selfish and spoiled. Drop the idea of a sanctuary now, and I will let you walk from this room and mate with Robert Kinsey. Go against me, and I swear to you that I will take you myself… and you’ll never know a day when you’re not bouncing on my cock.” 

Alden kissed his cheek, then pulled back to massage Thomas’ shoulders again. 

_I’m going to kill you_ , Thomas thought. _Someday, somehow… I am going to kill you_. 

“It wasn’t you on the phone. I know your voice too well.” Thomas spoke in a conversational tone, as if Alden had not just threatened to rape him. 

“Phone?” Alden stroked back a lock of his hair, “Did someone call you?” 

A dark chuckle rippled through the room again. 

“You know they did.” Thomas refused to budge, “You told them to.” 

“I might have.” Alden said, breezily. “I can’t recall. I’m a very busy man, you know.” 

“So what’s your plan?” Thomas asked, “To kill me?” 

“….Kill you?” Alden paused, coming around Thomas’ chair. He looked deeply hurt, his face etched in mock pain. “Thomas… why on earth would I ever kill a beautiful omega like you?” He reached out and cupped Thomas’ face in both his hands. 

“You’re a gift from the Supreme Alpha.” Alden praised. “You’re the ointment to my ache. The only medicine I’ll ever need.” 

Thomas refused to play games. Alden seemed to realize Thomas was growing cold to their little tug-of-war. 

“Look… Kinsey wants you.” Alden urged. “It’s clear you’re just as besotted with him. So why not cast the idea of a sanctuary aside now? Go be his omega. Dutiful, loyal, pure… let him provide for you, give you a knot, a bite, pups, a nest… everything you’re ever wanted. Why kick up all the fuss?” 

Once again, Thomas refused to answer. 

Alden leaned forward, his hand sliding up to Thomas’ neck. He did not squeeze, he did not choke… but he could if he wanted to. 

“I asked you a question.” Alden whispered. The room was deadly silent now. “A good omega would answer me.” 

“Maybe I don’t want another child to die.” Thomas replied, “Is that so strange, when mine was robbed of me?” 

“Oh Thomas….” Alden sounded haggard at this point. He sighed, leaning against the edge of the table where he perched like a child in the kitchen. “You can’t save them. Omegas are resilient. They’re built to take an alpha’s beatings. That’s the way of the rod. Pups come and go… Strong pups live, weak pups die. It’s a fact of nature. You think we’re the only species to suffer loss in our litters?” 

And it was then that Thomas realized the way of the rod. If you aligned yourself to an animal then you couldn’t be judged when you acted like one. It was the oldest excuse in the book, being used to propel violence and cruelty into the 20th century. All it required was that people play along, and not hold alphas to a higher standard. 

It made Thomas feel murderous. 

“We’re the only species that writes books about it.” He challenged. Alden made a face as if to say ‘touche’. 

“Taking an omega away from their alpha goes against the way of the rod.” Alden warned. 

“Then you’re going against the way of the rod.” Thomas said. Alden was taken aback. “Kinsey is not here. I am here because you make me stay. You are keeping me away from my alpha.” 

Alden snorted; several other alphas laughed along. 

“You’re a trouble maker.” Alden was gleeful at the concept, coming back around to massage Thomas’ shoulders again. “Isn’t he sweet, boys?” 

“Like a peach.” An anonymous alpha taunted. Thomas bristled at the insinuation. How did the Brigade know about Lawrence’s pet name? 

“You’re not bonded yet.” Alden reminded him, “You’re just courting.” 

He came back around, perching on the table, and reached into his trouser pocket to pull out Robert’s tortoise shell glasses. 

Thomas’ heart pounded in his chest. 

“Gotta admit, you’re a sweet as honey on him.” Alden praised. “A briefcase, two hundred pounds, and glasses.” Alden held them up to the light, peering into their lenses to wince. 

“Tortoise shell.” He praised. “But it brings up an important point.” Alden pawed the glasses from hand to hand, running his thick fingers over the slim frames. 

“An omega without an alpha… is blind.”   
And with that, Alden crushed the glasses in the palm of his hand. 

Thomas visibly bristled at the sound of glasses and frame crunching in Alden’s meaty grip. Those glasses had been a gift from his heart, a one of a kind item meant to be an expression of his love for Robert. 

Alden crushing them was an ugly and vivid reminder of the terrible reality Thomas now faced. Robert was in pain, in trouble, and only Thomas could save him. 

The glasses were an ugly but necessary sacrifice. 

“You can get that repaired, right?” Alden teased, reaching out and putting the broken frames in Thomas’ vest pocket. Alden fingered the collar of his shirt sleeves, wondering at the material. “What a pretty suit you’re wearing.” 

“Where is Robert?” Thomas’ ability to keep his voice calm was slowly running thin. 

Alden seemed to realize that Thomas wouldn’t play. He looked thoroughly put out as if his biggest card to play had turned out to be less powerful than he’d hoped. 

The fact of the matter was, the crushed glasses had wounded Thomas deeply, but he refused to let Alden know that. To show defeat was to accept defeat. 

“He’s in a private suite.” Alden slipped off the table, hands in his pockets as he walked back around towards the door. He unlocked it breezily, but for each metal that Thomas heard slide he felt his spine un-tense a bit more. “Thane’ll take you to him. Do your duty, take his cock, and you may just be able to save him from a world of pain. Course, he might have some trouble seeing your cunt without his glasses, but his nose can do the trick. I taught my son to see with his nose, so I know that it works.” 

Alden opened the door to the hallway and stepped aside.   
Thomas rose from his chair, tugging a bit at the bottom of his vest to make sure the fabric lay flat. He walked from the room, entering in a narrow hallway that was likewise made of stone. He seemed to be in a different castle than Dover, which made sense since Dover Castle proper wasn’t in London. Maybe the Brigade had several houses spread across England. 

This place seemed to be smaller than Dover Castle, but still large enough to hold several levels and large rooms. Maybe it was another house taken from a noble that had fallen out of money. 

Thane was waiting for Thomas outside. He did not address Thomas verbally, but instead turned and walked away down the hall.   
Thomas followed him. 

There was an ugly musky scent in the halls. Thomas could hear men groaning far off, and the sound of women crying. Thane took no notice to any of these things, instead showing Thomas up a set of spiral stairs that might have at one time been used for the servants. Thomas had been right to assume this house had once belonged to a toff. It was old, but it was wired for electricity and had an abundance of linen cupboards. This was hardly a fortress. 

As they reached the attics, the sound of men groaning was amplified tenfold. The doors that had once held servant’s bedrooms were now guarded heavily with iron bars. Brigade members were barring each door; most of them carried clubs. When Thane arrived with Thomas on his tails, the men stood up straighter and lifted their chins with pride. 

_“-Emily-!”_ An alpha roared wildly from the door next to Thomas. _“Give me your cunt, you bitch-!”_

The hinges of the door quaked but remained intact. Clearly the alpha beyond had tried to throw himself at the door. 

Thomas walked on, following Thane’s lead. 

They went down the hall, until they stopped at a seemingly normal door guarded by two men. Clearly Robert was inside. Thomas could hear nothing; no groaning, no moaning. Just… silence. Eerie silence. 

Thane turned to Thomas, there was a grave knowledge haunting his ancient features. His hair seemed more gray. His skin seemed ashen in the pale lantern light. 

“Once you go in there… there’s no going back.” Than warned, “Y’understand?” 

But Thomas would not be swayed. He knew Robert Kinsey, the true man when a rut was not upon him. He loved Robert, and would gladly be his omega. His and his alone. 

“I’m not afraid of my alpha.” Thomas declared. He did not alert Thane to the trembling emotion in his chest. It wasn’t fear he felt, not true fear anyway. It was a mixture of desire and a worry at the unknown. Whatever would come next, Thomas would not run. 

Thane unlocked the door, and stepped back to let Thomas inside. 

~*~

 

 

_Hot… so hot_. 

It was like Rob was baking from the heat of the sun. 

With each breath he took, his chest ached. With each exhale, he felt his throat burn. 

His loins; his cock and balls were on fire. His pulse resounded in his aching member, each thrum making his cock twitch. Precum was drizzling from the tip of his penis to drip onto the floor. He was naked; his clothes had been taken from him as had his glasses. 

_Fuck. Mate. Breed. Bite_. 

The mantra pounded in his head, ruling out any other thought. 

_Fuck. Mate. Breed. Bite_. 

He was bound at the wrists, on his knees in a wooden room. He was chained to the walls behind him, forced to wait out his rut and unable to move. He knew his omega was close. He could smell that beautiful peach aroma; it was the only comfort he possessed at this moment. 

_Fuck_. He’d fuck his omega’s tight hole. Pound into it with all his strength until it was stretched so beautiful. So perfectly pink. Dripping with seed- 

_Mate-_ he’d watch his omega’s stomach swell from the force of his semen. Watch his omega cry out and writhe, the heat infecting another till it was bearable again. Their scents would combine; everyone would know. Everyone. He’d take his omega to the school and show him off, let him be stripped naked so that everyone could see how round and pale and perfect his was. Bend him over a desk and spread his arse cheeks apart, let the others marvel at his fluttering hole. 

_Breed_ … oh how beautiful he’d look. So swollen, so ripe; Rob would let him sleep in their nest, watch him pant and moan when the time finally came. Anything he needed, he would have… Rob would care for him so sweetly. He’d give birth, and Rob would be amazed at his strength, at his courage. Rob would hold them close, his mate and his child… scent them both. Let them know that they were safe and belonged. 

_Bite_ …. his mouth would fill with blood, with scent, and the rest of his world would know forevermore. 

That Thomas Barrow belonged to him. Him and no one else. 

 

The creaking sound of the door opening slowly filtered through Rob’s murky senses. The smell of peach was thick in the air, and he greedily drank it in. He lifted his head, and saw a shadowy figure before him. 

Without his glasses, he was all but blind. 

There was the sound of the door shutting again, the groan of metal sliding into place. And then- 

Sweet, cool hands were touching his face, lovingly caressing him. Water- water!! 

Rob drank, guzzling greedily. The sweet liquid did nothing for the fiery ache in his belly but it helped his parched throat. The smell of peach surrounded him, consumed him. He knew instinctively that the shadow before him was his omega. That he’d brought Rob water, and was caring for him in his rut. 

But Rob didn’t need water. He needed a sweet, wet cunt.   
Thomas’ cunt. 

“Omega…” Rob groaned, nuzzling into the hands the caressed him. 

“Yes.” Thomas whimpered; he was afraid but he needn’t be. Rob would take care of him. “I’m here. It’s me.” 

Thomas was before him, pressing a wet flannel to his chest and neck. 

“Untie me.” Rob commanded, his voice soft. 

“Okay.” Thomas didn’t even question it; such a good good omega.   
Rob could feel slim fingers tugging at the locks holding him to the wall. 

“Alden crushed your glasses.” Thomas sounded close to tears, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Shh.” Rob whispered. That bastard would not be allowed to frighten his omega, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of everything.” 

Glasses; who the fuck needed glasses. He didn’t need glasses, he didn’t need water. He needed Thomas, and his sweet beautiful cunt. The rest could fuck off. 

“But you can’t see.” Thomas begged, still tugging him loose. 

“Mm, not up close.” Rob was farsighted. “I’ll be okay. Just let me loose.” 

“You’re oddly coherent.” Thomas was trying for a bit of humor, trying to lighten the mood. “There, I’ve got it-“ 

The chains holding Rob’s wrists to the wall opened. He fell forward on his hands and knees, the ache in his wrists fading as blood rushed back to his limbs. 

“Rob?” Thomas gently rubbed his back, trying to comfort him, “Robbie, are you okay?” 

He drew in a deep shuddering breath, lifted his head, and let the scent of peach fill his lungs. 

“Omega-“ 

It was a base animalistic need that Rob could not deny. He reached up with both hands, blindly groping till his fingers found Thomas’ sweet flesh. He held on tight, pulling Thomas close, and pressed their mouths together to kiss sloppily. There was no finesse, no control, no need for anything but lust fulfilled. Thomas whimpered, succumbing to inner desire as he fell upon his back. Rob went with him, pressing him into the wood as he ravaged his mouth. This omega… his omega… was so very beautiful. Forever and ever, he would belong to Rob. Utterly in mind, body, and soul. Rob knew in that moment that Thomas would be the mother of his children, that their family would flourish and grow with their love. Until death, they would mate. Until death, they would be bound. 

His cock was bursting with desire. As he crushed himself against Thomas, he felt clothes in the way. 

“Present.” Rob groaned. “Clothes- off-“ 

“Yes.” Thomas whispered. 

He could feel Thomas writhing against him, trying to push away clothes. Rob helped him, feeling his vest, shirt, and trousers come undone. Pale, sweet skin greeted Rob’s hot fingers. He pressed sloppy kisses to Thomas’ neck and chest, sucking in the scent of peach and the sweat he found there. 

“Let me touch you-“ He groaned against Thomas’ naked skin, “Let me fuck you- let me- mine-!!” 

“Rob-“ Thomas whispered, “Alpha-" 

A throb of pain rocketed through his manhood, spurred on by Thomas’ words. 

Rob lost control, yanking away at Thomas’ clothes till he was naked before Rob and laying on the ground. Rob could not see without his glasses, but he could feel… 

Ah oh… the feeling of Thomas Barrow’s body was divine. 

The plump sweet supple flesh beneath his fingers, shifting like kneaded dough as Rob moved Thomas’ thighs apart. Thomas panted and keened, desperate for more. 

Rob would gladly give it to him. 

“Present-“ Rob growled again, pressing his mouth to Thomas’ little ear. Thomas rolled, his body shifting beneath Rob till the swell of his rump was pressed right against Rob’s aching cock. 

“I’m scared.” Thomas blurted out. Rob understood completely, and felt a pang of sympathy roll through him. It was not Rob’s desire to scare Thomas, or to dominate him. He loved Thomas, and wanted to be with him always. In a way, he was grateful that he was in rut now, that they would break this barrier and be together finally. It was a difficult hurdle but one they would have to jump. 

Lawrence Gray had shown Thomas sex mixed with pain. Raping. Fucking. 

Rob would show him how to make love. 

“It’s okay.” Rob whispered in his ear. He rolled Thomas onto his side, following him so that the pair of them were intertwined at the legs. Rob took Thomas’ top thigh and gently lifted it, curling in at the knee so that he could easily access the cleft of Thomas’ arse. Rob’s cock slipped between his cheeks. 

“Oh god damnit-“ Rob moaned, close to tears at the beauty of the feeling… and he wasn’t even inside Thomas yet! “I love you so much, Thomas.” 

But he couldn’t push in. Thomas was too tight, too try. He wasn’t Rob’s yet. They needed to bind, to become one. Then they could mate without pain. 

Rob sat up, taking Thomas with him. Thomas was effectively in his lap, his naked bottom pressed against Rob’s aching cock. 

Rob could feel Thomas shaking. He held him close, rubbing his hands over Thomas’ arms and stomach. He was cold; the attics were freezing despite it being early July. 

“…Oh my god.” Thomas whispered. Rob could hear tears in his voice. “Oh my god-“ 

“Sh…” Rob lovingly rubbed his back, mouthing gently at the juncture of Thomas’ neck.   
It was time. 

“We’re bound in soul.” Rob whispered into Thomas’ ear. Thomas was nodding, listening. “You’re my omega, and I’m your alpha. We’re for each other and no one else. An’ I know that you’re afraid, an’ I know this is scary… but you’re gonna have to be a good boy and trust me. And submit.” 

The word made Rob’s cock ache with desire. 

Thomas nodded once in agreement, then slowly tilted his neck. 

“I’m scared.” Thomas said again. “But I love you so much. Please don’t hurt me.” 

Rob’s heart clenched with worry. He held Thomas tight in his arms. 

“… Don’t abuse me like he did.” Thomas prayed. Rob felt a tear slip down Thomas’ cheek. 

“Never.” Rob swore. 

He opened his mouth wide, lips stretching around his extended canines. He tongued the swollen scent gland beneath Thomas’ ear… he leaned in… 

He bit. 

Thomas let out the tiniest cry as blood exploded in Rob’s mouth. The scent of peach was like a liquor. It was so strong, so beautiful, that Rob felt close to orgasm just from the experience alone. His mind was flooded with white, his sense of being momentarily erased till only the thought of Thomas filled him up. 

Sweet, beautiful, perfect, innocent Thomas….   
His omega. 

Thomas was whimpering; Rob licked at the raw wound, careful to tongue at the sensitive puncture holes. The pair of them collapsed back down, overcome with desire. 

They were rolling; Rob could feel a moisture collecting between Thomas’ thighs- slick!   
He dove a hand down, fingers creeping; he found Thomas’ channel and prepared it gently, groaning obscenely at the feeling of slick gushing through his fingers. This slick was all for him. This sweet hole was all for him. Everything was all for him; Thomas was so generous and loving to give Rob his body. 

Thomas was beginning to pant and keen, a savage heat coming over him in response to Rob biting his scent gland. If only he were sober enough to enjoy this moment; if only they both were… 

But it didn’t matter. 

Rob’s entire existence, his heart beat and soul’s survival, hinged upon these moments as Thomas bowed his neck submissively and spread his legs. Rob gently kissed Thomas’ swollen gland, maneuvering the tip of his penis to Thomas’ fluttering hole. Every so often a dollup of slick would slip free, coating Rob’s erection in a pearly pink fluid. 

He pushed inside of Thomas. 

Thomas screamed from the feelings; Rob’s cock was thick and firm, as wide as four fingers lined up in his rut-induced state. Rob could feel Thomas shaking, no longer from cold but from desire as he clawed at the wooden floor beneath them. He was panting, gasping as if drowning from emotion. 

“Oh-!” Thomas grappled at thin air, only to snag Rob’s arm and hold on tight. “Oh, shi-… Oh…! Oh!” 

For every inch that he slid him, Rob could feel the burn within him growing stronger. The fire that had driven him to madness was now pouring out in every way possible. 

“Sh…” Rob nuzzled Thomas’ lovely jaw. He spoke so softly, his mouth pressed right against Thomas’ ear. This moment was for them and them alone, “I know… Just stay still. It’ll be alright. I’m right here.” 

“Ooooh!” Thomas keened at Rob’s words. He seemed torn between the desperate desire to avoid pain from Rob’s thick cock and the even more desperate desire to keep going. To keep impaling himself till they were both one. “R…Rob… you’re too big. You’re too big-“ 

Why then was Thomas smiling blissfully? 

Rob didn’t quite know what to make of that, a tiny laugh bubbling up in his throat. 

“You’ve got a naughty mouth, omega.” Rob praised. But there were still inches left to go and they weren’t one yet. “Relax for me, sweetheart. Let out a deep breath through your mouth.” 

Thomas did as he was told, the result was perfection.   
Rob could feel a throbbing ache deep within Thomas’ passage. It was his heartbeat. It was Thomas’ too. The pair of them were together now, completely pressed from neck to toe as Rob began to thrust. Thomas rolled with them, the pairing of them sighing wildly in a chorus of orgasmic bliss. 

Through it all, Rob could only think one thing: _Mine. Mine. Mine_. 

“Mine…” Rob groaned. “My omega… my perfect omega… my sweet omega…” 

Thomas was close to delirium. The heat of his channel began to clamp down around Rob’s inflamed prick, and in response Rob just grew more incensed. He would own, he would possess, he would— he would—! _Fuck!!_

Rob was sunk so deep within Thomas now that his balls were beginning to slap against Thomas’ perineum. Each thrust caused him to touch against Thomas’ prostate, rubbing it raw as the pair of them rocked together in tandem. Rob gripped onto Thomas tight, his fingers boring grooves into the supple flesh of Thomas’ hips and arse. The resounding squeeze of Thomas’ channel was stimulating Rob’s knot, causing him to swell. 

_Fuck. Mate. Breed. Bite_.   
_Now, do it now!_

The first time Rob had pushed in, he’d had to be careful. Thomas had been tight, Rob had been sensitively raw, and the pair of them needed to care for one another. 

Now they were joined. Now they were ready, and Rob fucked Thomas with such pounding gusto that he was certain one of them was going to break a hip. But fuck if it didn’t feel divine-!! Rob could pull out all the way to his glans, then slam back in, and the resulting friction was causing him to snarl like an animal. 

Thomas was just as wild, screaming not from the pain as he’d done with that Gray bastard but from the utter delight of being claimed by his true alpha. 

How dare that mother fucker think to take what was his-? Gray, the fucker-!! Rob was insanely furious at the thought of Thomas being forced to take another man’s cock. No.   
No, never again! Thomas was Rob’s, and Rob’s only. 

“Fuck-“ Rob gasped and groaned, “Fuck, God, fuck, fuck!” 

“Rob-!” Thomas’ voice went higher and higher. He was getting close to orgasm. 

_Good_ , Rob thought fiercely, _He’s coming for me and me alone_. 

 

Thomas’ cunt was softening for Rob, splaying open with each thrust that Rob pulled back jut to get a view of the fluttering hole. Raw pink turned dark, and Rob bent forward to chase the rim with the flat of his tongue so that he could taste the salty sting. 

“Rob, please!” Thomas screamed, “Put your cock back in me please-!” He was close to sobbing.   
How could Rob refuse? 

He re-aligned himself, and rocked back in. Thomas threw his head back, perched on his calves and hands with his mouth open to let out a long explicative of bliss. 

Rob bent over him and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Their tongues swapped the taste of their meeting. Thomas was so perfectly tight, and primed in his core. He needed to be bred, needed to be fucked, and Rob was just the man for the job. 

Rob’s cock all but smacked into Thomas’ prostate with every thrust. He was beginning to see red, out of his mind with desire and lust. He couldn’t breathe- he couldn’t see-! He could only feel, smell, and taste! 

“Mine, mine, mine, MINE-!!” Rob roared, losing himself. Thomas was shaking violently, close to hyperventilating. 

“I- you- yes- yours- I-Rob-PLEASE-!!” Thomas screamed the last word. It was too much, and Thomas came from the sensation, his smaller cock spilling over. Rob dropped a hand beneath Thomas’ belly, searching out his prick to carefully stroke it. He milked Thomas dry, careful not to hurt his overstimulated flesh. 

But the result of Thomas coming before Robert was that his channel was now tighter than ever. The compression on Thomas’ channel was stimulating Rob’s knot to inflate. The feeling of it seemed to frighten Thomas at first. He pulled way from Rob, a terrified cry bubbling from his lips. 

But Rob was patient and kind. He waited for Thomas to regain his courage, to start leaning back into Rob’s touch. When he did, Rob kissed softly at Thomas’ neck and pressed forward inch after inch. 

“Ah- AH-!” Thomas cried. “Too much- too big-!” 

But the words just put an animalistic lust into Rob. He sucked at bit again and again at Thomas’ throat. He wanted to bite him again, wanted to feel the blood in his mouth; it was almost impossible to hold back. He could feel his knot pushing into Thomas’ core. The going was slow, and the stretch was close to being painful. Rob was careful not to hurt Thomas. He would not dare put a tear in his omega’s beautiful cerulean eyes. 

He wrapped his arms around Thomas’ stomach; he could feel his cock moving inside of Thomas. It was goddamn divine, like Rob was holding the hand of god. 

And then it happened. 

Rob finally pushed his knot inside. The force of the pressure sucked the very soul from his body. He came, gasping explicative in his mate’s ear. His ejaculate seemed to suck away all his heat. Seemed to make him… whole. 

Like the fever was dying. 

And suddenly Rob could realize what an awful thing he’d done. 

He looked down at Thomas beneath him, still shuddering and sweating deliriously. 

He’d wanted to marry Thomas properly. He’d wanted to take Thomas in a marriage bed, not on some dirty floor. He’d ruined his mother’s party, embarrassed himself in front of every man, woman, and child that he’d considered a friend. 

And Thomas… He’d debauched Thomas. He’d taken his omega in an ungentlemanly fashion and for the rest of his life Rob could never ever take that back. 

He could never make this right. 

Suddenly cold and sober, his rut diminished by the cure of his knot sicking into an omega’s channel, Rob broke down like a child and wept against Thomas’ back. He could feel Thomas’ hands reaching up around him, holding him close as they fell onto their sides on the dirty floor. They were covered in cum, slick, and dust. They would never be clean again. 

Why had this happened? Rob had been in control. He’d felt the heat coming, but had been determined to overrule his alpha tendencies. He’d thought he’d stood a chance… but he’d been wrong. 

“I’m so sorry-“ Rob wailed, holding Thomas close. “I tried… I tried so hard-!” 

“Shh…” Now it was Thomas’ turn to console him. He held Rob close as best he could, sweet and understanding in a way that Rob had no right to expect or deserve. 

“I’m so sorry- I wanted to do it right- I wanted to be good-“ 

“You are good.” Thomas was close to tears himself. “You are a so good, Rob. You’ve done wonderfully-“ 

“I tried…” Rob whispered. “I thought I could control it.” 

“It’s okay.” Rob felt his heart break at the love he heard in Thomas’ voice. His omega’s love. His perfect… perfect… omega. 

The pair of them were growing exhausted, their orgasms and love making having robbed them of energy. 

“I love you…” Rob whimpered, and he meant it with all his heart and soul. He did not know what the future held for them, but Rob knew he would face it with Thomas at his side. It made him feel strong in a way he hadn’t known in years. “I love you so much. I’ll never let you go. I’ll protect you. I’ll never do what he did. You’re so safe with me…” 

“I know.” Thomas was sleepy, his hands slowly slipping from Rob’s face as his breathing began to even out. “And I’m so glad.” 

Rob cried for a little while longer against Thomas’ neck. The puncture bites of Thomas’ mating wound were like little divots for Rob’s nose. The smell of Thomas’ scent was, once again, his only source of comfort. The knowledge that Thomas loved him, even though the dinner party had nosedived into disaster and erotic debauchery. 

Thomas loved him.   
Thank god. 

 

~*~

Halfway across England, Robert Crawley sat in the dark, barely recognizable for his status save for his fine pocket watch and his valet at his side. 

It had taken a great deal of time and energy to find this man; Bates had had to use old contacts from the army to get back into touch with men he’d served with during the war. Why, you asked? 

Simple. Robert Crawley knew when to admit he was wrong… and he wanted to do right by Thomas Barrow. 

When he’d received a call from Dr. Clarkson, alerting him that both Thomas and Kinsey had been taken by the Brigade, Robert had known the time was ripe for action. After the rejection of his advances, Robert was certain Thomas wouldn’t dare accept aid from him. The best he could do now would be to act through a third party. This particular man was known as the best of the best in regards to omega rights. 

He was also known for being an absolute cad, which was why Robert had decided to bring Bates along with him to a barkeep on the edge of Grantham near the country line. The man in question would not give his name to Bates or to Robert. He merely requested that they meet somewhere out of the way, that they tell no one of their plans, and that they sit in the dark. 

The latter seemed utterly pretentious but Robert was determined to help Thomas, so he’d look like a fool for the cause. 

Bates had a shorter temper than Robert, and so was the first to find fault as they waited for their bizarre companion to meet then in the back of the Butcher’s Son. He was fiddling with his bowler cap, his cane jaunted at his side as he crouched near the back of the booth. 

“Punctuality isn’t his strong point.” Bates muttered. “But they say he’s one of the best when it comes to taking on the Brigade.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Robert said, and though from any other man this may have sounded like a lack of faith it was quite the opposite. 

But even as they spoke, a young man with wiry blonde hair and sharp green eyes slid into the booth next to Bates as if they were all good friends and knew one another well. There was something oddly mischievous about the man, like even though he was surely in his early thirties he still had the spirit of a youth. 

Bates narrowed his eyes, skeptical. 

“Can we help you?” Bates demanded. 

“I dunno, you called me.” The man replied. Without warning, the youth reached out and turned down their little table lamp so that all of them were suddenly plunged into gloom. Robert’s eyes had to take a moment to grow adjusted. 

So it seemed their aid had arrived. 

“I confess this is the first time I’ve ever spoken to a man with the lights off.” Robert tried for airy indifference, but it was difficult to ignore the foreboding aura of danger which seemed to swamp their youthful friend. 

“A precaution.” The man said, taking off his newscap to lay it upon the table, “I apologize for the inconvenience to yer Lordship.” 

Well. At least he remembered titles. That was a step above Kinsey. 

“I’ve been told you’re the kind of man who can make things happen.” Robert began, “The kind of man brave enough to take on… certain obstacles.” 

“That may be.” the man shrugged. 

“I suppose, given your occupation, you’ve heard of the name Barrow?” Robert asked. 

“I have.” The man said, “Chirpy little thing. I’m grateful for his voice. I like his style. He’s got good ideas but he’s going to find them difficult to implement without friends.” 

“I see you’re aware of the problem, then.” Robert said, “I’m afraid Thomas needs help, and allies.” 

“Why not you?” The man gestured, “Beggin’ yer pardin’ M’lord but you found me so you know my contacts.” 

Robert pursed his lips, wishing that the truth put him in a less brutal light, “I’m afraid Barrow will not allow me near him.” 

Bates shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Robert knew that the downstairs had been thrown into an upheaval after Thomas’ departure. There were two solid sides, or so Bates had said: those that thought Thomas was right, and those that thought Robert was. Bates refused to tell him who was on Thomas’ side for want of remaining impartial, but he had assured Robert that Carson was most certainly on his own side. 

Robert hated that there were sides. He had never wanted there to be a war of wills. He felt his actions had divided the house more than ever; what would his father say if he could see Thomas now? 

“Why not?” The man was wary. Robert’s eyes flitted over the man’s arms, noting the faded tattoos that covered his skin. It was like the man had tried to get rid of the ink but had failed. 

“I confess I acted less than gentlemanly.” Robert murmured, “He ran away from my house. I grew angry at him and said things I shouldn’t have. I’ve made mistakes but I’m man enough to admit them and determined to learn from them. Word has reached my ears from London that Thomas is in danger. Certain people have him in a certain London house.” 

“Mm.” The man stroked his chin with a lone finger, deep in thought. Robert wondered what plan he was already concocting. 

“I want you to protect Thomas.” Robert said. “I’ll pay you anything you require. I’ll aid your cause as best I can.” 

The man nodded, still silent and thinking. 

“What did you do?” the man asked, catching Robert’s eyes. “If you want me to help you, I require a bit of honesty.” 

“Why does it matter?” Bates cut in, “Does it really matter what his Lordship did to make Thomas hate him?” 

The man glared at Bates. “I don’t make excuses for alphas, and I won’t be pretending to be on your side. I’m Barrow’s ally in this… and I want to know what he’s endured.” 

Robert waved Bates off, for the man had opened his mouth, obviously angry. 

He understood the point the man was trying to make. Robert could not pretend to be on the side of the light when he’d acted the same way as MacNaire. 

“… I forced my scent on him.” Robert said. “He was emotionally unstable, overcoming a miscarriage. He was deeply upset, and I thought that by scenting him I would calm him.” 

“Mm, didn’t think to ask him if he wanted to be scented by you?” The man folded his arms over his chest. “Alright. I appreciate your honesty. Thank you for telling me the truth.” 

Bates still looked moody. 

“Word on the street is that he’s got an alpha now.” The man added, “I’m going to be honest with you… call it a return favor.” He gave Robert a dark look, “I don’t play courting games. If you’re calling on me to try and win him back over for you-“ 

“No.” Robert cut him off. As much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud… he knew the truth. 

That Thomas loved Kinsey. That Thomas would never love another. 

“I accept the state of things.” Robert said. “That’s not why I’m contacting you now.” 

“So you’re actually contrite.” The man didn’t seem to believe it at first. “Well if that’s the case.. I’ll take your money and use it to help Barrow.” 

Robert nodded, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out an envelope which he handed over to the man. 

The man opened it and shuffled through the contents. Inside was a check for three hundred pounds, a headshot of Thomas, and the number to Kinsey’s apartment.” 

“His headshot, and a number to reach him.” Robert explained. The man’s eyes flicked to the check, which he folded into thirds and tucked underneath the flap of his newscap. Never before had a hat been worth so much. 

“There’s more where that came from.” Robert added. “Rally your men, aid Thomas and keep him safe. If you do these things, I will pay you more.” 

“You’re a generous man.” The man said. He paused, reaching into his own breast pocket to pull out a business card which he slid over to Robert. 

Robert picked it up to read a phone number, and the phrase “The fish are biting”. Confused, Robert tucked the business card away. 

“You call that number… see if you can speak to the man fishing.” the man said. “He’ll let you know if they’re biting or not.” 

“Are you fish in question?” Bates asked dryly.   
The man snorted, sliding out of his seat and picking up his newscap to put it back on at a slight angle. 

“No, John.” The man said, without revealing how it was that he knew Bates’ name. “I’m the bait.” 

He left without another word, cutting through several people that were forming a cue for the bar to head out the door. 

~*~

Thomas woke in layers, as if he was swimming up to the surface of consciousness. 

There was a pain in his neck. A heat that seemed to be infecting the base of his brain.   
He couldn’t remember where he was or what had occurred at first; all he knew was that he was in incredible pain. His arse felt like it was on fire- had he been raped? 

But no… No, Thomas knew instinctively that something had changed.   
There was something in his veins, close to poison or a drug. It had no name but it made him whole and complete. It was the sweetest song Thomas had ever heard. It was a dream form months ago when his true alpha had come to him and saved him from Lawrence’s abuse. 

But the dream was in waking moments now. Thomas could hear the voice of his alpha, shouting angrily. Triumphantly. 

_Robert_ , Thomas thought. _You’ve come for me_. 

“I’m not a fool!” Robert sounded furious, “I know there’s a telephone in this building! I want to speak to my family, and if I’m refused then I assure you I’ll be pressing charges!” 

“You’re still unwell sir.” Another man responded. He sounded afraid, “You need to be cleared by Dr. Calhoun-“ 

“Calhoun does not have a medical license.” Robert seethed, “I refuse to be examined by a charlatan. I have my rights!” 

“Sir, I’m not allowed to bring you anything until you’ve been examined by Dr. Calhoun! Those are the rules!” 

“Fine then!” Robert sneered, “Bring your little charlatan. Let’s see if his snake water can hold up against a real doctor!” 

Thomas heard the sound of a door slamming; feet padding across the floor…   
And then? 

Sweet, loving heat. Tenderness. The smell of white tea and musk over him, and a shadow blocking out the sun. Thomas slowly opened his aching eyes, looking up to see Robert above him. He was without glasses, looking slightly dazed in his blinded vision, but still obviously sober. His honey brown eyes were no longer dilated. His skin was no longer flushed. 

“Darling…” Rob looked afraid. He was caressing Thomas as if he were damaged.   
Then again, Thomas felt too weak to move. What did Rob know that Thomas did not? It was at that moment that Thomas noted his clothes upon the floor; the suit he’d arrived in had been ripped to shreds, torn into long ribbon… but by whom? Rob? 

“…I… don’t feel good.” Thomas whimpered. Something was wrong with his stomach. It felt heavy and hot like he’d swallowed poison. 

“Don’t worry.” Rob whispered. His eyes were bright with passion and fear. “I’m going to get us out of here today. We’re going home.” 

“Don’t let them touch me.” Thomas begged, for he knew instinctively that he was damaged and susceptible to the Brigade’s attacks. He would have to rely upon Rob to protect him until they were somewhere safe again. 

“They won’t dare.” Rob growled. He lay upon Thomas, sheltering him from the cold. Thomas could feel a damp sweat at his neck and brow. Rob was protecting him as best he could, though both of them were naked and laying upon a dirty wooden floor. 

What was wrong with him?   
Why did he feel so horribly weak? 

Thomas could not remember much of the night before. Only that Robert had been with him in his heat. That Robert had made love to him, and the resulting passion had been so intense Thomas had saw stars. 

That Rob had bit his neck, and now they were bound in soul until death. 

Thomas glanced up, slowly meeting Rob’s eyes. Rob seemed so fretful, so bitterly ashamed. But Thomas understood; Rob had acted out of character in heat and it would require many apologies to many people. Thomas would help him make them. 

Rob held him close. 

When the door opened again, it was not brought upon by a knock or by any other act of good will and grace. There was great presumption in the move, an ugly sort of way of saying ‘I am in charge here and you are not’. Thomas kept his eyes resolutely closed, determined to play possum just as he’d learned to do so many months before. He might have felt afraid for his nakedness had it not been for Rob standing over him. Rob would protect him, he was certain. 

Rob would keep him safe. 

“Feeling back to normal, are we?” Thomas easily recognized the insidious voice of Dr. Calhoun. Thomas could still feel the awful sensation of Calhoun shoving a cold, sterile rod into his anus. 

“I’m told you are the gatekeeper out of this place.” Rob refused to bow down to a flake. 

“Incorrect.” Ah goody Alden was in the room too. Thomas remained still as best he could, praying he would be invisible to the alphas. “I’m the gatekeeper. Cal just likes to make sure that everyone’s feeling peachy before they go.” 

Thomas heard the sounds of heavy feet, and felt the floorboards shifting underfoot. Quite suddenly there was a shadow over him, and the sound of Rob growling. Thomas had never heard Rob make such a noise before. Well… apart from the other night. 

“Defensive?” Alden joked. 

“Stay away from my omega.” Rob threatened. 

“Is he yours?” 

“My sight might be shady but even I can see the bond mark on his neck.” 

There was a sudden sensation of heat near his feet, as if someone was standing unnervingly close with the intent of touching him. 

Thomas heard the grappling of flesh, but could make sense of none of it. 

“I have a brood. I don’t mean any harm-“ 

“I don’t know that for a fact.” Rob said, “And he’s mine to protect.” 

“You talk big for a man with his dick out.” 

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Rob said, and Thomas could not help but agree. The night before was a blur to him, but the feeling or Rob’s cock pounding away within him would not soon be forgotten. 

Alden just laughed and laughed, “Cal?” 

Thomas cracked open an eye, frightened. 

As sure as he’d imagined, Alden and Calhoun were before them with a sickening aura of smug pride. Calhoun had even brought his traveling bag, as if to perform an examination. 

But he wouldn’t even get the chance. Rob barred the way to Thomas with such grizzly determination that it seemed not even a bullet could set him under. 

“All I want to do is examine him.” Calhoun tried to be the voice of reason, but his lies fell on deaf ears. 

“Name ten bones in the human body.” Rob commanded. Both Alden and Calhoun were taken aback at the sudden demand. 

“I’m sorry?” Calhoun was so flabbergasted that at first he seemed unable to formulate a complete sentence. 

“If you can name ten bones in the human body, I’ll let you examine us.” Rob said. 

Calhoun didn’t know what to say at first, “I don’t have to prove myself to you.” 

“Oh you really do. Doctor.” Thomas could hear the sneer in the term. 

Calhoun tried to side step Rob, but he was not quick enough. Rob thrust himself in front of Cal, and without warning shoved his hand in the man’s face. Rob flexed his fingers, pointing to each separate bone with his one hand so that everyone present could see the facts well stated: “Phalanges: distal, intermediate, proximal. metacarpals. carpals: hamate, capitate, trapezoid, trapezium, pisiform, triquetral, lunate, scaphoid.” 

At this, Rob curled his fingers into a hard fist. Thomas heard two of the bones pop. 

“And if you put one finger on him, I swear to god above that all twenty seven bones in this hand are going to crack into your face!” Rob threatened. 

Calhoun did not budge. It seemed that Rob’s warning had sunk home. 

“Jesus man.” Alden scoffed, amazed at Rob’s brutality in that moment, “You got your dick wet just thinking about it.” 

Alden laughed and laughed, but no one else joined in his humor. “You’re among friends.” Alden lied, “You don’t have to be afraid-“ 

“A man that threatens my mate is not my friend.” Thomas closed his eyes again, afraid to be seen as awake lest he be taken from Rob or put into a more dire situation. 

“Then what do you want, man?” Alden was losing patience. 

“I want clothes brought to us.” Rob demanded, “I want a phone. I want to leave today, and if you do not comply with any of these requests I will alert the authorities that I have been held against my will and that my mate has been harassed.” 

“You want a mint on your pillow too?” Alden teased lightly. 

When Rob did not respond, Alden seemed to grow bored again. Perhaps playing possum could be done on both sides of the spectrum, and not just for omegas. 

“Fine.” Alden sounded like he was long suffering, “But from one alpha to another, a bit of advice, eh…?” Alden’s voice dropped low. Had he not been standing so close, Thomas would not have been able to hear what was said. “Fill him up with your seed.” 

Goal fucking accomplished, but Thomas dare not open his eyes lest he see Rob looking murderous or hopeful. He didn’t know which one would be worse for his situation. 

When the door closed again, Rob returned to him and lay over him.   
The heat his body brought lulled Thomas into a sense of security, but the pain in his lower intestines was still causing him great discomfort. 

“We’re going to get out of here.” Rob whispered in his ear, stroking hair away from his face. “I promise.” 

“…Rob, I don’t feel good.” Thomas whispered. Something was bubbling in his stomach; he thought he might vomit. 

“It’ll be okay.” Rob rubbed his back carefully. It helped but Thomas still felt like something was coming up his throat. “I’ll be okay-“ 

“I think I’m gonna be sick-“ Thomas whimpered. 

Rob fetched him a chamberpot, which neither of them had yet to use. Grateful for it being empty. Thomas vomited several times, purging his stomach of acid till his tongue felt fuzzy. Rob held his hair back from his face, careful to wipe sweat from his brow. 

The door opened, which was horribly inconvenient as it gave several members of the Brigade the lovely sight of Thomas curled up on this knees, naked and being sick. The guard member which had barred the door to Rob’s room now carried two sets of clothes. He looked uncertain, casting a glance over his shoulder at Alden and Calhoun who were both watching as if this were some kind of sport. 

“A bit unwell, are we?” Alden asked, shutting the door so that the five of them were effectively sealed in. The guard member seemed to be sweating as if under enormous pressure. 

“Mating fever.” Calhoun said. “It’ll pass as you become adjusted to the bond.” 

“Believe it or not, I’m not inclined to take the medical advice of a man without a degree.” Rob growled, holding Thomas close to his chest. Vomit stung Thomas’ lips; he felt weak and light headed. Had it not been for Rob, he would have been completely at the mercy of the Brigade. 

“Rob…” Thomas whimpered, “I wanna go home-“ 

“Shh.” Rob stroked the back of his neck, close to his new bite mark. The skin was fevered, the bite wound weeping at the puncture sites. 

“Your clothes.” The guard blurted out. He seemed determined to get this part of the job over with and back to his regular duties. Rob took what was offered, but stiffened. Thomas looked about to see that they’d been given one pair of simple trousers and shirtsleeves, along with a red dress with a deep plunging neckline and a draw string waist. Flowers adorned the breast plate; it was a dress meant for a woman. Thomas flushed with embarrassment. 

“He doesn’t wear dresses. He wears trousers.” Rob said, offering the dress back to the guard. The guard did not take it, looking nervously to Alden. 

“Goes against the law of the rod.” Alden said. “You wanted him to have clothes here? He wears a dress. Of course, he could always go around naked. You could show off your new bite mark, eh?” Alden teased, reaching out as if to pet Thomas’ hair. 

Rob wrenched Thomas away, putting himself bodily between Alden and Thomas. It was an incredible feeling… to be loved and protected. 

“Oh don’t be such a spoiled sport.” Alden said to Rob, “I’m not going to take away your new toy.” 

“He is not a toy, he is a human being.” Rob snapped, “And I believe I requested a fucking telephone call?” 

“Well you’d better get on your fucking trousers, eh?” Alden snapped back. “But of course, you’ll have to leave your omega here. We don’t like newly bound omegas walking around-“ 

“Absolutely not.” Rob barked, “I’m his alpha, and I say he can do whatever he likes wherever he likes. Now get out. He needs privacy.” 

“I’m in charge here, Kinsey!” the two men were squaring off, each of them determined to win out over the other, “What I say goes. I can stand here and watch your omega dress all day!” 

Rob was torn between the desire to get Thomas dressed and the desire to get Thomas privacy. It seemed that one would not be granted to them, so they would have to make do with the other. 

Rob gently set Thomas down upon the floor. Thomas instinctively curled up, hiding his private parts from Alden’s blazing eyes. In a shocking move, Rob handed Thomas the trousers and shirtsleeves. 

“I’ll take the dress.” Rob said, and shoved the garment over his head. 

Alden burst out laughing, though he laughed alone. Rob paid no mind to him, not even bothering to tie up the drawstrings or fix the dress more comfortably upon his frame. He fit, but just barely, and he was obviously pinched at the shoulders as he shielded Thomas bodily from the eyes of the Brigade. 

“Soon as we get home, we’re going to the hospital.” Rob whispered, opening the buttons of the shirtsleeves to wrap Thomas up like a babe. Thomas shivered, the cool clothe making him feel oddly sweaty and hot. Rob had a hard time seeing Thomas without his glasses. Indeed, he looked a little dazed as he leaned his head all the way back and observed Thomas’ bite wound. He winced at the sight of the weeping punctures. 

“You’ll probably need an antibiotic.” Rob murmured. 

“Okay.” Thomas didn’t know what else to say; Rob was essentially dressing him, helping him to slide on trousers even though he was still sitting on the floor. His bum burned and his genitals were sore, but he was incredibly grateful to have on clothes once again. The less Alden saw of his penis, the better. 

“A friend of mine, Dr. Landley, he should be working. He usually takes the morning shifts. He’ll see us.” Rob said. 

Once again, all Thomas knew to say was “Okay”. 

Rob yanked the hem of his dress down, eager for it to cover his arse. It barely went to his knees. 

“Put your arms around my neck.” Rob ordered. Thomas did so at once. 

It was difficult, for Rob to maneuver from his knees up onto his feet. Thomas went with him, as Rob took him beneath his own knees and around the back of his shoulders. Thomas was grateful, knowing it would be difficult for him to walk. 

“I’m leaving now. Goodbye.” Rob sneered. He headed for the door, but had to pause as the guard member cautiously opened it for him. 

“Nice dress!” Alden jeered, as if trying to bully Rob into feeling embarrassed. 

Rob didn’t answer to the taunt. Instead, he left the attics at a slow pace, having to watch every corner he turned lest he accidentally smacked Thomas’ head against the side beams. 

Everyone was laughing at Rob as they passed. Alphas seemed delighted to see one of their own forced into a dress, like they were all five year olds swapping stamps and limes on the playground and picking on the new kid. Rob was the only adult among them, it seemed, and did not respond to the jeers that were thrown at him. Thomas had to help him maneuver around the stairs, giving him caution when Rob was close to over stepping or was straying too near the wall. Rob was walking blind, only able to see out past a certain distance. 

When they reached the bottom floor, Thomas found that they were in a large parlor room with marble flooring. This house at one time might have housed an affluent family; now it was just overrun with jeering alphas and frightened omegas. A telephone sat in an alcove near the hallway towards the sitting rooms. It was guarded by a member of the Brigade, but one ugly look from Rob was enough to dispatch the man to a safe distance. 

Rob could not call for help and hold Thomas at the same time. He had to go through the laborious process of getting down on his knees again, just to sit Thomas along the side of the wall. Thomas’ arse throbbed at the sudden impact, but he bit down a wince so that Rob wouldn’t be distracted. Team work was their only defense to get out of this hellhole alive. 

Rob snatched up the telephone as soon as he had the chance, jiggling the receiver rapidly to get a connection to the operator. 

“George Kinsey of Welbourn Lane, Camden.” Rob’s voice was shaking. Was he afraid or angry? 

Thomas closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. He focused on the smell of Rob’s musk; the timber of his voice. These things made him feel steadier somehow. 

“George, it’s me!” Rob blurted out; it seemed they’d gotten through, “I’m in Dover House, in London. I’m getting out today- Yes…” He paused, his tone turning bitter, “Yes, I’m afraid I did. So much for a white wedding, and no he’s not doing well. We’ve got to get him to London Memorial Hospital. Landley should be working today; can you call him for me? Well-“ Rob paused with an ugly snort, “They’ve got me in a dress and they’ve broken my fucking glasses that Thomas gave me. Yeah..” Rob paused, his voice soft and sad, “Yeah. Would you mind bringing me my spares? They’re in my bedside table. Also bring us clothes; yeah. I don’t care which one and I doubt Thomas cares either. I’m calling a cab to take us to LMH. Tell everyone; tell Clarkson. He’ll tell that posh git.” 

And with that, Rob hung up the phone. 

He jiggled the receiver again till he got the dial tone. “Taxi services near Dover House in London. Anyone, I don’t care.” Rob begged. When the connection got through again, he was quick to get the point across, “My name is Robert Kinsey, I’m in Dover House in London. I need a taxi as quick as possible…. We need to go to LMH. I-“ Rob paused, “No, I don’t think it warrants an ambulance just yet but that’s a good point. No, I’d rather not wait. Please. Thank you!” Rob set down the receiver without hanging up, and bent down on one knee to speak to Thomas. 

“Do you think you need an ambulance?” Rob whispered. 

Thomas felt along his lower stomach, wincing at the pain. He couldn’t imagine he was in such dire straights that all hell would break loose if they didn’t go by medical transport instead of taxi. He shook his head. 

“Just water.” Thomas whispered. 

“Right.” Rob agreed, before picking back up the phone. “I just spoke with my omega. He doesn’t need an ambulance. So a taxi, straight away. Thank you- yes. No. I’m not going to wait. I’ll be walking along the road.” Rob paused, bitter, “Tell your driver to look for a man in a red dress.” He snapped, before hanging up the phone. 

“We’re getting out of here, now. I won’t give you water from these people; I don’t trust them not to drug you.” Rob whispered, stooping over to pick Thomas up again. 

Alphas were clustering in the hall, having been called over by friends. They wanted to see the alpha in a dress, wanted to mock him before he left. There was Alden, sitting on the stairs amidst it all like a king on his throne, wiggling his fingers goodbye as if this were all some battle he’d won. Rob ignored them with all the patience of a saint as he took Thomas from Dover House and back out into the world of clean, sober living. 

It was like being pulled from an opium den. The air smelt sweet to Thomas; the sunlight was warm on his skin. The house was situated in a suburb that had become increasingly run down over time. Grass had gone uncut, bushes were not maintained, so it was a bit like fighting way out of a jungle (particularly if you didn’t have on your glasses). Thorns scraped at Thomas’ flesh, but he didn’t care. He just held onto Rob’s neck and rod the waves out. 

As soon as they were back onto the sidewalk, Rob paused to hoist Thomas higher up into his arms. Brigade guards barred the way back to Dover House; there were barely any people out on the streets. Those that were walking, whether they be urchins or street workers, were shocked to see Rob in a dress. 

Rob addressed none of them, walking south bound back towards London proper. 

“Any minute now.” Rob grumbled. “We just need to wait for the cab. Shouldn’t be two blokes in red dresses walkin the street… least I hope not. Is that a cab?” 

“Trashcan.” Thomas mumbled; Rob’s eyesight was horrific, making even smaller black objects appear larger and blurry. 

“Oh. Explains the smell.” He kept walking. 

Soon enough though, the sound of a motorcar drawing near caused Rob to pause. He looked over his shoulder, and Thomas picked his head up to see that a taxi was coming their way. 

“Thank god.” Rob was relieved to flag the man down, and the taxi pulled neatly to the curb driven by a man about Thomas’ age with a crooked grin and a newscap over his eyes. There was something oddly mischievous about him, like taxi-work wasn’t really his style. He threw on the break, hopping out of the driver’s seat to come around the side and open the door for Rob. 

“Nice day for it.” The man tried for a joke, but Rob wasn’t in the mood. 

“Look, I won’t beat around the bush.” Rob snapped, “I need to get to LMH as fast as possible. My omega is hurt-“ 

“Brigade do that?” the driver asked as Rob lay Thomas on the seats inside the cab. The leather smelt faintly of tobacco and cheap perfume. 

“The details aren’t important.” Rob was wary of trusting strangers, climbing into the back of the cab alongside Thomas and shutting the door, “Just get us there as fast as you can.” 

“Right you are then.” The cab driver hopped back up, reaffixing his newscap before throwing off the break and honking his way back onto the flow of traffic. 

Rob squatted on the floor of the cab, which was sticky from drinks spilled and god knows what else. He cared for none of it, instead rubbing Thomas’ neck sweetly and whispering nothings to him so that only Thomas could hear. 

“You’re safe now.” Rob whispered. “You’re going to be just fine.” 

Lulled by the warmth of the seats beneath him and the rumbling of the motorcar, Thomas found it easy to fall back to sleep. 

 

~*~

George met him at the hospital, with a bouquet of clothes and glasses like any good brother should. 

As soon as the taxi had pulled up, they’d been met by George out front who paid the driver a generous tip for his silence and offered Rob over his hand-me-down glasses. The prescription wasn’t quite right and the frames sat awkwardly upon his face but Rob didn’t care because he was finally able to see. 

This blessing came with its drawbacks, as Rob soon discovered when he was finally able to see Thomas up close. 

Even with the trousers and shirtsleeves, it was clear that Thomas was a mess. His hair was askew, and dried bodily fluids covered his face. His lips were blistered, his neck was covered in bruises, and worst of all he whimpered when touched. 

The fact that Rob was responsible for this carnage made him sick to his stomach, and when he went to the lavatory to change into his clothes Rob took the moment to vomit several times into the toilet. It did not matter that he washed his face or straightened his tie. No matter how he looked on the outside, on the inside Rob felt like an animal. Thomas was taken to a communal wing where Dr. Eric Landley was presiding over the day shift staff. George had, as promised, called ahead to warn Eric they were coming. Rob and Eric were chums from school, as fellow students underneath Dr. Clarkson when he’d still been nothing more than an intern. 

Rob felt like a young man again, practically a child as he waited outside Thomas’ hospital wing on a visitor’s bench. George had bought him a cup of coffee and a croissant from a tea lady rattling about the hospital with a buggy. Despite not having eaten in at least a day, Rob did not feel starved; indeed he felt a little nauseas and did not so much eat as peck at his breakfast. 

George was up the hall, speaking rapidly on a communal telephone to their mother. He’d urged Rob to speak with her but Rob couldn’t bear the thought of hearing the disappointment in his mother’s voice. Despite having won a spot on the St. Helena, Rob’s party had gone up in flames. For the rest of his life, he would have to life with the awful guilt that he had assaulted the love of his life in front of everyone he considered a friend. 

A Dick…! God… Dick.   
Rob groaned, burying his head in shame. 

 

“Hey.” George was back from the telephone. “Just talked to Mum. She’s damn relieved you’re alright.” 

George sat next to Rob on the bench. “She told me to tell you that she loves you; that everyone’s been damn worried about you and no one’s angry.” 

“And Dick?” Rob whispered, unable to look his younger brother in the face. 

“Dick didn’t even leave London.” George said. “He stayed the night at our place. He’s upstairs right now with Landley. Apparently that Grantham fellow paid him to make sure Thomas was alright.” 

“Course he did.” Rob said bitterly, setting down his coffee on the floor next to his foot, “And why shouldn’t he when he’s a gentleman and I’m an animal?” 

George did not respond. Rob glanced up to find his brother glaring at him fiercely. 

“Self pity looks ugly on you.” George warned, “And that’s saying something since your face already is hideous.” 

Rob was peculiarly comforted by his brother’s sarcastic jibe. 

“Count your blessings.” George demanded, using his hands like dividers upon the meat of his left thigh. “Thomas accepted your proposal despite you being in rut and acting like a tosser. He put everything on the line to save your arse from the Brigade. And yeah, the pair of you might have lost the white wedding Mummy wanted, but he’s for you now and you’re for him. No one on earth could divide you two. Not even Grantham.” 

Rob found comfort in his brother’s words. He’d never felt stronger than when Thomas was at his side, and now they would never be parted. They’d found love, and managed to keep it despite the Brigade. They’d mated, but they could still have a bonding ceremony for their family and friends. Rob was heavily tempted to take Thomas to Vienna with him, but there was still the fact of the sanctuary and all the omegas who were in need. What was more, Rob now found himself for the first time in his life truly wondering if he should go to Vienna. 

To meet Freud had been a dream since childhood… but there came a time when childhood had to be put aside to take up the responsibilities of adulthood. His mate needed him now. Thomas’ sanctuary was more important than meeting with Freud. Saving omegas was the future; equality of the sexes would have to be fought for tooth and nail but would be far worth every drop of blood spilt. 

“… I don’t know about Vienna anymore.” Rob admitted. George shifted, catching his eyes. His brother seemed worried, which was never a good sign. “Should I still go? I can’t decide.” 

“That’s for you two to decide.” George said. “But you better do it quick. You’ve only got a week left.” 

Rob bristled, his heart beating quicker. 

George clapped Rob gently upon the thigh, squeezing the muscle he found. Rob was grateful for his brother’s kindness in that moment. 

“You’re a good man, Robert.” George whispered. “Even if you’re hideously ugly.” 

“Thanks George.” Rob held his brother’s hand. Even as children they had never been afraid to be close to one another. “You’re really handsome even if you’re the devil incarnate.” 

“Well…” George teased, using his other hand to gently push at the coif in his golden hair, “One of us has to look good.” 

“It is a burden you bear with such humility that I am shamed.” 

“It is I that is moved by your willingness to be arse ugly. Indeed I’ve never known a man more willing to the cause.” 

“And to think, you act like a trollop without ever asking for a brass farthing.” 

“I’ll leave the groveling to you.” 

“I see that we’re back to normal?” 

The voice of Dick Clarkson was one that Rob could easily associate with joy if it were a normal day. Now, however, he felt nothing but hot shame and at once dropped his head again. He could see Dick approaching out of the corner of his eye, sans his white lab coat but still clearly in the zone with a stethoscope around his neck. He looked haggard, and paused before the Kinsey brother’s to run a hand through his graying hair. 

“How is he?” George asked at once. 

“Fine.” Dick said. Rob felt his heart relax just a bit. “He has a bit of an infection but Dr. Landley prescribed him an antibiotic. He has a bit of a fever, but it’ll break easily.” 

“He said his stomach was sore.” Rob mumbled to the floor. “Appendicitis-“ 

“No.” Dick cut him off. “Just a bit of bruising. Rather common after rigorous matings, I’m afraid. A hot bath and a long rest will make him feel better.” 

Rob nodded, not meeting Dick’s eyes. 

“Just out of curiosity, are you going to look at me, Kinsey?” Dick drawled.   
Shamed, Rob finally glanced up and met the man’s eyes. 

He couldn’t remember much about the night of the party, but he knew instinctively that it had been Dick and George to keep him under control. Nathan Reyes had been there too, and thank god for it because the best of intentions didn’t hide the fact that Dick and George were weedy men. 

Dick was tired, but relieved. His blue eyes were soft with understanding. 

“They broke your glasses.” Dick noted, gesturing to where Rob wore his hand-me-downs. Rob nodded, silent. 

“… Broke his heart.” Dick murmured. He was so determined to get you those glasses. He all but strangled your prescription strength out of me.” 

“Doesn’t that go against Doctor patient confidentiality?” Rob mumbled, attempting to tease but not really having the heart for it. 

“As someone who is now bonded to a former patient, I do believe you have forgone your right to speak on that subject.” Dick said. 

Rob said nothing, looking away. 

“…Rob.” Dick reached out and braced Rob’s shoulder, squeezing him carefully, “I’m kidding. You know I’m kidding, right?” 

Rob was ashamed at the burning sensation he felt. 

“But you’re right.” Rob’s voice was throaty. “I’m a shit doctor aren’t I-?”   
He buried his head in his hands, desperate to keep in the howl that felt close to bursting from his lips. 

He could feel George patting his back. Instead of making him feel better, it only served to make Rob feel more guilty. 

“You’re a damn fine doctor.” Dick said, “And I won’t hear a word otherwise.” 

“It’s not your fault, Robbie.” George urged. “These things happen. We’re all alphas, we’ve been through rut too.” 

“I mated with my own omega during a rut.” Dick reminded Rob, pausing at the painful emotions it stirred. “I understand the guilt you feel but it’s undeserved. Thomas loves you, and thinks nothing but the best of you. He’s waiting to see you right now; he’s comfortable and on the road to recovery. Every minute that you sit out here feeling sorry for yourself is another minute you’re away from him. Now tell me that doesn’t make you angry?” 

Stirred, Rob rose to his feet and scrubbed hastily at his eyes. He took off his glasses, wiping at his cheeks with his pocket square till the flannel was damp to the touch. His eyes were blurry, his nose stung, but he did feel slightly better. 

When Dick embraced him, Rob returned to the act. He all but squeezed the life out of Dick, so very grateful that his best friend was here for him. 

Dick thumped him heartily on the back, determined to put him in better spirits.

The fact that Thomas was waiting for him momentarily put Rob’s self-pity on hold. He walked down the hospital corridor with Dick leading the way; George brought up the rear as a guest. Thomas’ communal room was on the third floor, and was shared by four other omegas who were all being attended to by their alphas. This was apparently a closed wing, selectively reserved for freshly mated omegas who were in need of extra care. It was not strictly Eric’s wing, but he’d been kind enough to dote on Thomas so that Thomas didn’t have to wait a long time to see a physician. As it stood, Thomas was resting in a bed near the back corner. The cot was small but warm, covered with fuzzy blankets that were fading with age. There was a bandage over his bite mark, and he had an IV inserted for fluid replacement. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling slowly; Eric Landley stood over him, monitoring his condition while scribbling constantly on a worn clipboard. 

Landley had never been a handsome man, with buck teeth and red hair that could have rivaled the blood of an Irishman. It the same breath, he was incredibly kind and had an excellent bedside manner which made him a hit with patients. He had the resounding ability to be subdued enough for alphas and yet assuring enough for omegas. That wasn’t an easy feat. 

When he saw Rob, Eric came around the bed and shook his hand at once. 

“Rob-“ Eric seemed pleased to see him, “By jove it’s been an age. Well- not really-“ He paused, looking guilty, “I confess I was at the party. We didn’t… really pass each other.” 

Rob’s cheeks burned with shame. Eric continued on, eager to show there were no hard feelings. “No matter! You should know Thomas is doing quite well. We gave him an examination and a bit of a wash. Right as rain, and resting comfortably.” He paused, looking Rob up and down, “Would you consent for a small examination just to rule out some passing worries?” 

“I’m fine.” Rob flustered. Dick gave him a dry look. 

“I think you’re a poor example for your own health.” Dick warned. “Why not let Dr. Landely look you over. I’ll watch Thomas.” 

And so that was that, with Eric shepherding Rob behind a folding curtain so that he might take off his shirt and trousers. Eric measured his heartbeat and temperature, finding both slightly elevated but cooling. He likewise noted that Rob had several heat rashes near his naval, and gave him an ointment that would take out the sting. When Eric was quite convinced that Rob wasn’t going to explode, Rob re-dressed and returned to Thomas’ beside to sit in the guest chair and wait for Thomas to wake. 

It didn’t take long. Thomas wasn’t so much sleeping as he was dozing. He blinked, turned his head upon the pillow, and regarded Rob with such love that Rob thought his heart might break. 

“You’re fever is breaking.” Eric said, taking Thomas’ temperature again, “Can you hear me?” 

“Rob…” Thomas mumbled. His voice was weak. 

“Shh-“ Rob leaned up and gently placed a kiss upon Thomas’ brow. Anything to give Thomas comfort. 

“My stomach.” Thomas caught Eric’s eye, only to see that Dick was there as well, “…Dr. Clarkson?” 

“I’ve informed Lord Grantham that you’re safe.” Dick said. “He wishes you well and hopes that you feel better soon.” 

“Your stomach is fine, Thomas.” Eric added, “I’ve run a few tests just for clarity, but I’m almost certain that I know what’s causing you pain. It’s just a bit of bruising, nothing more. A hot bath and a long nap will have you feeling much better.” 

Thomas blinked but said nothing. What Eric said next, though, put them both on edge. 

“I feel like this goes without saying, but you should know that I’ve sent work to the lab to confirm if you are in fact pregnant.” 

Thomas froze, his cerulean eyes going wide as he stared at Rob. Pregnancy was just a difficult subject with Thomas after the horrible loss of Ada. The idea that the pair of them might be expecting put both dread and hope in Rob’s heart. He wanted it, he would not deny it… but he knew that it would cause Thomas emotional upset. It was a barrier that Rob had known they were to face from the start. He just wished they’d been given more time in the fabled honeymoon period before being tossed into strife. 

“…I’ll let you rest.” Eric said, when no one answered him. “If you need anything, send for a nurse. Dr. Clarkson-“ Eric shook Dick’s hand. “I appreciate you’re help today.” 

“Think nothing of it.” Dick replied. He took the chair opposite Rob so that George had no choice but to remain standing or slouch upon the end of Thomas’ bed. He curled up near Thomas’ feet, swinging his legs a bit as the three of them waited for news. 

Thomas’ hand lay upturned on the bed before Rob. He took it without questioning the act and laid his head down upon Thomas’ thin mattress. 

“What happens now?” Thomas whispered. This was a conversation for two, with George and Dick merely onlookers. 

“I don’t know.” Rob admitted. 

“Should I go with you to Vienna?” Thomas wondered. 

“Let me talk to my director about it.” Rob decided. Maybe Nathan Reyes would have some answers. “We’ll have to push some papers if we decide to do it, but I bet it can work.” 

For a moment there was silence, and Rob was grateful for the pause. Then, Thomas spoke again. 

“Rob…” His voice was small and fearful, “If I’m…?” 

Rob lifted up his head, meeting Thomas’ eye. He was afraid, and Rob understood why. 

“I don’t know how I’ll feel about it at first.” Thomas said. 

“You don’t have to.” Rob was under no illusions of motherly joy in these dawning hours. It would take time to adjust for both of them… and Rob was willing to roll with the punches. 

Thomas’s hand in his own, Rob was at peace and willing to wait. 

He fell asleep without meaning to, and was awoken by the sensation of George shaking him awake. 

Rob felt horribly groggy, coming to with the shocking realization that he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. Eric was back, speaking softly with Dick who looked grave. The pair of them kept glancing over at Thomas and Rob, and Rob knew instantly that he news would be positive. 

That Thomas was pregnant. 

Eric walked over, smiling mildly as he checked Thomas’ temperature again. He found it to his liking, “You’re breaking your fever, which is good.” He paused to write something else on Thomas’ clipboard. “I think it should be feasible for you to go home tonight if you wish.” 

No one seemed willing to speak. Dick and George were both waiting for Eric’s news. Rob and Thomas were both silent as well, simply because they had nothing to input. They needed to hear Eric say the words… then they could move forward. 

Eric seemed to realize as much. He clasped his hands behind his back, giving them all his most charming smile. 

“The results from your tests came back.” Eric said. “The diagnosis was conclusive with my original hypothesis. You are pregnant.” 

Thomas said nothing. Rob looked to him at once, and found Thomas to be pale and withdrawn. He was afraid, perhaps reliving his abuse at the hands of Gray… the fall down the stairs and the loss of Ada. 

Rob still had his hand clasped in Thomas’. He squeezed Thomas’ hand encouragingly, and it allowed Thomas to return to himself long enough to nod. It was a weak response, but Rob knew it was the best they were going to get. 

“We’ll give you two some time alone.” Eric said, glancing at George and Dick. It was a silent beckoning, and George slid off the bed to head back out into the hall. 

“I’ll call a cab to come take you two home.” George said. Dick went without a word, but he clapped Rob on the shoulder all the same. It was a silent congratulations, meant for him alone. 

In time, Thomas would be congratulated too; first, however, he needed to come to terms with the reality of the situation. 

Moderately alone, save for the other patients in their beds, Rob and Thomas were able to drop their guard. 

Thomas began to blubber, unwilling to cry aloud but still whimpering. It evoked a great passion within Rob. He rose from his seat, and at once clasped Thomas to his breast. 

Thomas sniveled against his chest, clutching at his shirt and vest. In that moment, Rob loved him so powerfully that it seemed impossible all the rest of the world wasn’t changed. The fact that they were expecting had not truly sunk in yet; Rob didn’t know what to say on the subject save that in time he would know his heart better. Right now, all that mattered was protecting Thomas. Keeping him safe, and loving him as best he could. 

“I love you.” Rob whispered into his hair, “And one day, we’ll look back on this, and be happy.” 

He didn’t know when that day would be, but he knew it was coming. The future was bright, the way was clear… and he was certain their bond would stand the test of time. 

“Yes.” Thomas mumbled against Rob’s shirt. It was all that need be said. 

~*~

 

The cab ride back home was a quiet one.

Thomas felt oddly disconnected from his body, as if he were floating over the scene and not existing in it. 

London was basking in the warmth of a clear and sunny day. Children were running along the road, playing tag and jump rope. Nannies were taking their charges for walks, pushing prams along park pathways. A man sold soda water from a push trolly by the side of the road. A young boy looking to earn a pence sat shining shoes outside the bakery beneath their apartment, taking customers who stopped by for a fresh loaf of bread or a cinnamon roll. 

Rob paid the taxi with a bit of money his brother had leant him. Neither of them had had their wallets on them when they’d been taken by the Brigade to Dover House. Now, exhausted and filthy, the pair of them trudged back up the stairs quite resolved to never leave the apartment again. Thomas in particular wanted nothing more than to take a bath and to go to bed. 

He supposed there was no point in Rob sleeping on the couch anymore. 

Rob unlocked the door to the apartment, letting them both in. Thomas was greeted by the sight of Melvina Kinsey’s casserole dishes waiting upon the living room table. Thomas had forgot to bring them to the party; he really needed to do that before the week was out. 

Rob sighed, shucking off his shoes as soon as the door was shut and rubbing his eyes. 

“…Bath.” Rob said, a monosyllable command that Thomas agreed with whole heartedly. 

“Bath.” Thomas repeated, taking off his coat. There was still tape on the inside of his arm where the nurse had put in an IV at the hospital. Thomas took the tape off, wincing when it stung his skin, and headed down the hall towards the bedroom. Rob followed, and why shouldn’t he? The pair of them were mated now; there was no point in waiting for an official ceremony to enjoy the perks. Besides, they’d done enough couch sleeping to last for a lifetime. It was high time to sleep in a bed, like decent human beings with jobs and responsibilities. 

Rob headed into the bathroom and splashed water upon his face, taking off his spare glasses to disrobe. 

Thomas watched him from the doorway, unsure if he should join Robert or if he should just climb into bed. 

Robert caught his eye and gave him a small smile. 

“Don’t think it’ll hurt to share a bath now… do you?” Rob murmured. 

In truth, Thomas didn’t think it would much matter if they shared earwax at this point. 

He entered the bathroom, and began to timidly pluck off his suit. George had been kind enough to bring him a full three piece, but Thomas had only put on the shirtsleeves and trousers. He’d been too sore and tired to done a vest, or even tuck in his shirt. Now that they were home alone, he was grateful for the opportunity to take everything off and let the cool air sooth his bruised skin. 

Rob started a bath, plugging the drain and moving the wash rack off the side of the tub so that they could bathe unimpeded. He had to put back on his glasses, unable to see up close without the prescription lenses. 

He didn’t have much in the way of toiletries, but put in a few epsom salts all the same. 

He looked over his shoulder to find Thomas shyly standing on the outskirts of the bathroom. Robert rose up, twisting his back to pop a joint before stepping over. Thomas’ first thought was that Rob would do something brash, like sweep Thomas into his arms or demand that Thomas come and kiss him. Instead, Rob reached up and took a bathrobe off its hook behind the door. He draped the coat over Thomas’ slender frame, and even made sure the collar fit right around his neck. 

Thomas could not help but remember another bathroom confrontation with an alpha that had ended with Thomas having a vase smashed against his face. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Rob whispered. It seemed that hitting Thomas in the face with a vase was not on his list of objectives. 

Rob was incredibly tender with him, turning off the taps to help Thomas into the bath and joining him. The pair of them could barely fit together, and were a tangle of legs with Thomas sitting on Rob’s lap. It was a sweet and delicate affair, with Rob running a washcloth repeatedly over Thomas’ bony shoulders and down his back till the filth of Dover House and LMH were washed away. To be honest, Rob was more dirty than Thomas. The water was becoming discolored by the time they were done with their bath, and for a while the pair of them simply sat in the scalding water holding onto one another. 

Thomas could have never done such a quiet and simple thing with Gray or Lord Grantham. It was the sort of act that he might have associated with Bates and Anna. To have it for himself…? It was like something out of a dream. 

Thomas was so used to living in nightmare, he wasn’t sure how to take it. 

 

Of course, eventually the water turned cold. 

Rob helped Thomas out of the tub, taking care that he didn’t slip when he stepped. It kept hitting Thomas at strange moments that he was carrying Rob’s child. The simple act of climbing out of the bathtub could be dangerous now, but not with Rob around. 

He was so loving and attentive that Thomas knew instinctively no harm would befall him while Rob was around. 

The pair of them brushed their hair and teeth, and though it was only a little after one in the afternoon, they drew the curtains in the bedroom and climbed into bed side by side. The mattress was soft and heavenly. The shadows of the bedroom made Thomas feel like he was safe inside a cocoon. 

Rob tucked Thomas up close to his side.   
The pair of them easily slid into sleep, eager to catch up on the rest they’d missed. 

 

~*~

 

They slept for the rest of the day without getting out of bed save to use the restroom or to fetch toast and bovril for dinner. 

It was a poor meal, and of course it wouldn’t stave them for long, but neither of them were eager to do much moving around after the awful few days they’d had. The phone kept ringing off the hook, with Rob ignoring the calls until around eight at night when he’d finally cracked and jerked out of bed to yell at his mother. Apparently she’d been the one making most of the phone calls. After that, the pair of them were left in evident peace, and slept easily through the night with little bother. 

The next morning, however, Thomas awoke around six feeling out of sorts. 

For a moment he thought himself coming down with a simple cold, after all the moving and shaking that he’d done, but then (once again) the realization that he was pregnant slammed into him with sudden force. 

“Oh hell-“ Thomas croaked, darting out of bed in a tangle of limbs and stumbles as he ducked into the washroom. He barely made it to the toilet in time. 

Rob slept through the morning sickness, for which Thomas was grateful. Rob needed to sleep more than him; the rut had worn his body out. He likewise needed to eat something more than toast and Bovril. Perhaps Thomas could salvage the bacon in the larder that had been left over from Melvina’s many dishes. 

He shrugged on the housecoat with care, tying the sash about his waist to sneak out of the bedroom. He paused in the door, watching Rob sleep on his side. His mouth was slightly ajar, so that with every inhale he let out a tiny snort. He was drooling, and the pillow had made rough indents into his face… 

But he was beautiful; so very beautiful to Thomas. 

Thomas leant down and pressed a soft kiss to Rob’s temple, reaching down to pull up the blankets around Rob’s chest so that they covered him better. He then headed for the kitchen, determined to make some headway on breakfast. 

 

It turned out that the bacon was still quite salvageable, and mercy above they even had eggs. Thomas set to frying the bacon, using the left over grease to cook beans as well as fry up several eggs. Rob’s arteries were going to be screaming for mercy by the time Thomas was done with him, but it was just as well. The pair of them needed a hearty breakfast. 

The phone began to ring, midway between Thomas heated up a saucepan full of baked beans. Eager for it not to wake Rob, Thomas stepped around the stove and snatched up the phone to talk with one hand and stir with another. It was a bit of a stretch, but Thomas could manage it so long as he held the spoon by the very end of its handle. 

“Kinsey residence.” Thomas said. 

_“Oh! Thomas, this is Melvina- George has told me everything-“_ Rob’s mother sounded somewhere between distraught and overjoyed. The poor woman would have to sit in a cool dark room for a few hours to get her composure back together. _“You must be feeling dreadful, you poor thing!”_

“I’m alright, honest.” Thomas assured her, “I just needed to rest, and so did Rob.” 

_“Georgie said that Rob bit you.”_

“He did.” Thomas said. 

_“Oh Thomas…”_ Melvina simpered, _“I know exactly how you’re feeling. Rob’s father did the same to me. It was a complete accident, we’d only been married a few weeks. I was already pregnant with Robert. I suppose nature just took its course. Georgie said that you were expecting. I wanted to talk with you and make sure that you’re feeling alright. I know you’ve been through a horrid time with your first pregnancy. I just want you to know that you can call me for anything, dearie! Anything at all.”_

Thomas smiled, oddly touched. Melvina Kinsey was slightly overbearing, and at times could even be annoying, but she meant well and she cared. Compared to the Dowager Countess of Lincolnshire, she was an absolute saint. She reminded Thomas of a cross between Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. 

“Thank you.” Thomas meant it too. “I have to admit… I’m very nervous. A lot of things went wrong the last time I was pregnant. I was bound to an alpha that hated me; he beat me often. I don’t think I’ll be having those problems with Rob.” 

_“No.”_ Melvina said kindly, _“No you will not.”_

“Well- I hate to say this but I need to let you go.” Thomas said, for the beans were about to cook over and the eggs really needed to be flipped. “I’m making breakfast for Rob. I’m going to try and get him to eat something besides toast and Bovril.” 

_“Thomas Barrow, you are a saint.”_ Melvina seemed ready to sing his praises. 

“I need to give you back your casserole dishes.” Thomas blurted out before he could hang up. 

_“Keep them, dear.”_ Melvina said. Thomas was shocked by her generosity, peeking his head around the corner into the living room where the dishes sat on the table. They were surely worth a couple quid at least. _“I have too many and you and Rob need to start building your supply.”_

Well. That was bloody nice of her. 

Hanging up with Melvina, Thomas quickly resumed with making breakfast and began to sort his completed dishes onto side plates so that he could free up an eye for the kettle. Tea would put his stomach right, or so he hoped; the smell of eggs was starting to put him off. 

“No.” Thomas mumbled to his stomach, though it was a silly act that would do him little good. “You hear me? No. No nausea. You’re going to behave and be good to me.” 

The microscopic fetus seemed to differ, but that was an argument for another time. 

The phone began to ring again. 

Thomas let out an exasperated sigh, dropping the lid of the kettle back down to wipe his hands on a rag. He caught the phone on the third ring, panting as he set out dishes on the kitchen side table. At least he didn’t have to worry about the bacon or the eggs anymore. 

“Kinsey Residence.” 

_“Is this Thomas Barrow?”_ The voice sounded oddly familiar but Thomas couldn’t place where. Perhaps it was an alpha from Dover House. 

“It depends whose asking.” Thomas said. If there was a brooding undertone…? Well. It was deserved. 

_“I can’t tell you my name.”_ the man said, _“But I can say that I’m your friend.”_

“If you’re my friend then why can’t you tell me your name?” Thomas did not believe the man for an instant. He was probably in league with the Brigade, trying to get Thomas to drop his guard. 

_“I’m on the lam, just like you.”_ The man said, _“The Brigade wants me dead, and I’m not willing to say anything over the phone that could give my location or my identity away. See… you ever wonder why the security around Dover is so tight? That’s my doing. I was a spy inside their ranks. I snuck out omegas and brought them to safe houses across the country. Bit of a notorious fellow in their eyes-“_ the man chuckled, _“I’ve heard you’re developing a sanctuary. I want to help.”_

Thomas chewed on his tongue for a moment, unsure of what to say, “I don’t trust you.” Thomas finally said. 

_“Good.”_

“Why is that good, after all you’ve told me?” 

_“I’m your friend even if you don’t trust me. That will never change.”_ The man said, _“But you and I both know you’re surrounded by sharks. There are spies everywhere you look, and if you aren’t careful they’ll sink your cause. I have connections, men and women that think like you. We’re an underground organization, and we want to join you.”_

 

It seemed too good to be true. 

“How did you find me?” Thomas asked. “Someone in the Brigade?” 

_“Robert Crawley.”_ The man said. Thomas stiffened. _“He went looking for me, poking his nose around rumors. Word got back to me and I made contact. He knows he did wrong… he knows you don’t want anything to do with him. He’s not asking for contact or forgiveness. He just wants to help. Course, he can’t do shit. And that’s where I come in.”_

It had been a while since he’d thought of Robert. His emotions had yoyo’d, going from being angry to being regretful. The loss of contact with Baxter had hurt him deeply; the knowledge that Robert had cut him off from Downton Abbey out of spite had wounded him to the core. At the same time, Thomas could not help but remember how thoughtful Robert had been at the start. How he’d tried everything to make Thomas comfortable. He’d been overbearing and exhausting, but he’d meant well and that was more than Thomas could say for some. 

 

“… Who are you?” Thomas asked again, now truly curious. 

_“I don’t have a name, Thomas. I’m an idea.”_ the man said. _“And you can’t kill an idea. That’s why the Brigade hates me so much.”_

“So… what happens now?” Thomas asked, unsure, “If I don’t know who you are or where you are.” 

_“We meet.”_ the man said. _“Wait for me to make the first move.”_   
And with that, he hung up. 

Thomas was left holding a dead phone line, blinking rapidly to try and come to terms with what had just occurred. 

He eventually hung the phone back up, and sat down at the side table until he heard the teapot whistle. The noise made him cup and he took the kettle off at once to pour two cups of tea. He and Robert both took tea the same, so it was easy to share the honey and cut a lemon wedge for two. 

Who had that man been? 

It didn’t surprise Thomas that there were others who wanted a sanctuary for omega, but this man seemed different. He’d taken the Brigade head on; he’d snuck omegas out. How had Robert Crawley come to hear about him, and how had he managed to get into contact? Maybe Robert was more resilient than Thomas had first thought. Maybe he had connections after all, even if he couldn’t really use them because of his open status. 

Unsure, Thomas set the kettle back on the stove to reheat more water for their second cups, and lowered the heat lest the fire bring to boil too fast. 

There was a shadow in the doorway. Thomas looked around, and found Rob watching him from the door to the living room. He seemed captivated by Thomas in a way he’d never been before. 

Thomas gave Rob a timid smile, and offered him a cup of tea. Rob took it, only to set the teacup down on the kitchen table and take up Thomas’ hand instead. His fingers played over Thomas’ engagement ring. 

“…So.” Rob whispered. 

“So.” Thomas agreed. 

“We are…” At first Thomas thought he would say ‘expecting’, until he actually said, “Getting married.” 

“Oh yeah.” Thomas hadn’t thought about it much in the past 48 hours. He was delighted by the concept but the past two days had been such a damn shock he’d not been able to focus. “Yeah we are, aren’t we?” 

“We are.” Rob smiled, picking up his teacup to take a small sip. His hair was all over the place. His glasses were askew on his nose. While he wore pants, he went without anything else, and his entire being seemed to reek of sex. He was more gorgeous to Thomas in that moment than words could rightly convey. 

“What are you thinking ceremony wise?” Rob asked. 

To be fair, Thomas hadn’t even considered the options. He supposed whatever he’d want it would be quiet and somewhere rural. Maybe out in the country where the open air could blow through. 

“A quiet affair in the country.” Thomas said. 

“I like it.” Rob agreed. 

“Family, close friends.” Thomas carried on. 

“Sounds good.” Rob agreed, setting his teacup back down. “I want to wait till after Vienna, if that’s alright?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” There was no way they could have an entire wedding in a week. There was too much to do, too much to prepare. They’d need months to get it all sorted out. Now that Thomas thought about it, maybe they should put the wedding off till next year so that they could have more time to organize around Rob’s schedule and Thomas’ building Moira Furnace. “I want something in the spring or summer; maybe next April?” He said. 

But then he paused, remembering with a sudden jolt that he was pregnant.   
It was like ice slid into his stomach. Thomas swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. 

“Dovey?” Rob murmured, rubbing Thomas’ back at his sudden quiet. 

“…I’m pregnant.” Thomas said, hoarse. Rob said nothing, waiting for Thomas to finish his thought. Without warning, Thomas’ bottom lip began to quiver. 

Thomas looked down at his finger, and counted nine months from July. He came to the tally of March. 

“…March.” Thomas whispered. “by March, I’ll have the baby. So if we do it in April, the baby will be a month old.” 

He didn’t know why but, quite suddenly, Thomas felt that he was going to cry. 

It made no sense, when he thought about it. He was bonded to a man he love, set to marry him eventually, and now they were expecting their first child. He had money, he was secure, and what was more he was safe from the Brigade. But despite it all, Thomas was suddenly overwhelmed with a terrible heartache that made his lungs squeeze tight. 

He crumpled to the ground by the stove, bawling like a child. He wasn’t alone for a moment, with Rob right behind him holding him tight so that they were back to front. 

“I’m gonna lose it-!” Thomas wailed. He spoke his worst fear aloud, it was incredibly important to him that Rob know how scared he was. “I’m gonna lose it!” 

But Rob was behind him, and rocked him gently back and forth till Thomas felt he could regain control of his sudden hysteria. He sniveled, sucking in deep breaths to try and calm down as Rob whispered directly into his ear. 

“You are safe.” Rob promised, “You are safe with me.” 

He was safe. He hadn’t been safe with Gray. If he’d been safe, he would have carried Ada to term. 

“We’re going to be okay.” Rob said. Once again, this was a different concept than when Thomas had been with Gray. He chose to believe it over the terror he felt inside. 

“We’re going to build your sanctuary.” Rob whispered, “And I’m going to meet Freud. And we’re going to be reunited… and we’re going to build our life together… and have our baby.” 

“But… What if I lose it?” Thomas whimpered. Would Rob… 

…No. Rob wouldn’t leave him, surely. 

“Then we will mourn, and heal, and live.” Rob said. Thomas let out a small breath of relief. That seemed doable somehow. That seemed logical. 

Thomas wiped his eyes. Rob reached about to take up his teacup, which he offered to Thomas. Thomas took a slow sip, feeling slightly calmer. 

How silly they were, sitting on the floor. Their bottoms would be covered with dust when they stood up again. 

“I don’t want to lose it.” Thomas said. He wanted the baby to grow and flourish. He wanted to see a physical image of his union with Rob. He wanted their family to grow, and be happy. 

“I don’t want you to lose it either.” Rob said. He paused to rub his brow, “But even if that does happen, we’ll still be together Thomas. We’ll be mated, we’ll be happy. You are so safe with me, and you will never have to be afraid of spousal abuse ever again. I promise.” 

Thomas nodded, listening intently. 

“And now we have others to think of.” Rob said. “We’ve got to think of the omegas you’ll save with Moira Furnace. We’ve got to push forward as much as we can before I have to leave for Vienna. So let’s try and focus on making as much progress as we can with Moira Furnace so that way you can coast along until I come back.” 

“How long will you be gone?” Thomas wondered if he sounded as needy as he felt.   
Rob gave him a tiny smile, and kissed him lovingly upon the cheek. 

“… About two months.” Rob mumbled into his skin, “But I’ll write to you every day, and I’ll call you as often as I can, and as soon as I’m able, I’ll come home.” He nuzzled Thomas’ cheek. 

Thomas chewed on his lip, “I don’t want you to go- I can’t bear the thought of being parted for two months-“ 

“Shh.” Rob held him close. For a moment they simply sat there in the quiet, reveling in each other’s scents. “I know.” 

~*~

 

After the breakdown, Thomas seemed to feel much better. 

Rob was grateful, but he highly doubted that Thomas’ anxiety would be quenched with just one outburst. He fully expected to get several fearful letters while in Vienna, to say nothing of the phone calls. They would take the hurdles one leap at a time, and put Thomas’ health first. Rob refused to allow himself to get excited about a fetus, particularly so early into Thomas’ pregnancy. he, unlike other alphas, knew that his omega was more than just a womb to breed. If it so happened that this pregnancy would result in a healthy baby, that would be wondrous… but either way Thomas came first. Until two were solidly three, Rob knew who was more important. 

Their time together, as bitter as it was, was drawing to a close. Rob had little more than a week left to pack, but now was able to avoid the worry of rent and papers simply because Thomas was now in the equation to care for the flat. He and George would look after things while Rob was in Vienna, with Reyes helping out at the school should anything work-related rise up. Rob had to get money changed over, not to mention pick up several items for his trip. He got a new pair of glasses with Thomas’ blessing, and the pair of them made a day of giving each other gifts. Thomas bought Rob a new pair of tortoise shell glasses from the same pharmacy he’d selected before, and Rob bought Thomas four boxes of raspberry crisps. To say that Thomas was delighted was putting it mildly; he went through an entire box in a day and even licked the inside of the box to fetch the crumbs that had fallen by the wayside. 

With preparations for the trip easy to set to the side, Rob then focused on helping Thomas allocate resources. The first thing they needed was a contractor to scout out Moira Furnace for repairs and renovations. The sanctuary would have to be built properly before it could be filled. Fortunately, George had many business contacts be they in the field of medicine or the field of masonry. He offered up Robert a contractor by the name of Arthur Durmand, a youthful chap that had apparently made quite a name for himself in several businesses. Durmand’s name had been brought to George’s attention by a fellow businessman, so Rob trusted that Durmand’s credentials were excellent. What was more, Durmand was a sympathizer to Thomas’ cause, or so George swore. Indeed, Durmand was known to be very liberal in regards to omegas. Rob was glad to put the charge of Moira Furnace into the hands of a man who could respect their cause. 

So it was that with only a few days left on England’s green soil, Rob and Thomas made an appointment to meet Durmand at Moira Furnace. 

The pair of them decided to stay the night at a hotel in Moira; it was too exhausting to travel all the way up from London and then head back on the same day. Thomas and Rob packed a lunch to go, buying sandwiches from the bakery below their flat before heading on a morning train to Hugglescote. 

The train ride over was a quiet, but muggy affair. Thomas ended up taking off his jacket and laying down in Robert’s lap, lulled to sleep by the rocking of the train and the warmth cascading in from the window. Soon it was going to be blistering hot and everyone was going to be miserable. For now it was just on the edge of uncomfortable. 

Rob toyed with Thomas’ beautiful locks. His black hair took on an almost sienna tint in the sunlight. 

When they arrived in Hugglescote, the pair of them had to disembark their first train to take a bus into Moira. It was hardly a long drive, but the air was thick and humid resulting in time seeming to slow down. 

Thomas nearly fell asleep again, going slightly green when the bus bumped over several potholes in the road. Rob scented him, well aware that Thomas had been battling with morning sickness for the past several days. 

Unbeknownst to Thomas, Rob had called Dick thinking something was awfully wrong until Dick had reminded him forcibly that _pregnant omegas tended to vomit_. 

Dick had been very busy, and slightly irritated that Rob (an actual doctor with an actual medical license) had forgotten something so silly and simple.   
Chalk it up to being in love and call it a lost cause. 

When they disembarked the bus, finally in Moira, Thomas was still looking slightly green.   
Rob took his arm, the pair of them walking hand in hand along the cobblestone lane towards the far off profile of Moira Furnace. It looked haunted, even in the daytime. 

Thomas paused up, and Rob went with him. He looked oddly queazy, and Rob knew that he was going to vomit at any second. 

When Thomas darted into the bushes, Rob wasn’t surprised. 

“Let’s buy you a water.” Rob urged, glancing at shops nearby. Surely one of them would consent to give them a cuppa. “We can wait a few minutes.” 

“No. I’m fine.” Thomas mumbled, “I just need to sit down for a few moments.” He proceeded to do so on a bench for the bus, still pale and queazy. 

Rob wouldn’t take no for an answer, though, leaving Thomas momentarily to sort out a bottle of sparkling water from a nearby cafe that offered homemade croissants and freshly pressed juice. It was rather pricy but Rob didn’t care. He returned to Thomas to open the bottle for him, and Thomas took a delicate swig before burping at the carbonation. 

“Christ this stupid fetus.” Thomas mumbled, sighing as he rose up from the bench again. He recapped the water bottle, and Rob took it so that Thomas wouldn’t have to worry about carrying it. The pair of them continued along their trek, now walking slightly slower as Thomas recovered his senses. 

“It was the same way with my last pregnancy, you know.” Thomas admitted; Rob listened, intrigued. “First I couldn’t stop puking, then I couldn’t stop crying. Then I evened out.” 

“Something to look forward to.” Rob joked. Thomas shrugged. 

“Maybe it’ll be different this time.” And Rob’s heart squeezed with joy at the tiny dollop of hope he heard in Thomas’ voice. Rob squeezed his hand, thinking of how marvelous it would be if the baby were to be born. Rob had never truly envisioned himself as a father but it seemed that he was going to be one whether he was ready or not. 

To be fair, if George could pull it off then it couldn’t be that hard. George was an idiot. Sort of. 

“It will be.” Rob agreed, as the pair of them approached Moira Furnace’s back slope. The had to be careful walking down; a recent rain had made the pathway slick. Rob helped Thomas along, wary of every slick step they had to take as they made it down to the gravel road. 

“I want this whole place booby trapped.” Thomas mused, gesturing out at the grounds. “I want bombs-“ 

“Mmm, might find the home owners association less that receptive.” Rob reminded him. Thomas sighed wistfully; the world was an awfully unfair place. 

“Barbed wire?” 

“Getting closer, but I’m thinking the best offense is a good defense. Let’s focus back on those underground tunnels again. I’m sure Mr. Duggard will be happy to look into the idea. 

“But the barbed wire isn’t totally ruled out, right?” 

Rob grinned in spite of himself. Who was he to deny the whims of his omega? “Certainly not.” 

Thomas giggled; the noise made Rob’s heart soar. 

As they approached the ‘front door’ (if you could even call that), they were pleasantly surprised to find it already open and standing ajar. Clearly Duggard was here, and had left himself in. Rob had forwarded over a copy of the key to Duggard’s office, but had honestly expected to get here before the man given that Duggard was wrestling up a few of his work mates to do the walkthrough with him. 

The smell of sulphur was heavy in the air as the entered into the gloom of the furnace. Rob noted that several of the loose debris had already been pushed aside; it was a prospective sign that their newfound contractor was a man of quality. 

“Hello?” Rob called out, his voice echoing about the furnaces welding cauldron. “Mr. Duggard?” 

Sure enough, there was a wiry haired man in the far corner of the furnace, checking out damage that had been done to the floor from what might have been a contained blast. He was flocked with men and women both, but Rob was surprised to find that none of them looked like contractors. There were about six of them in all, and none of them were wearing work clothing. The woman even had a parasol. Upon seeing Rob and Thomas, the woman tapped the wiry youth on the shoulder and pointed in their direction. The man straightened up, smiling pleasantly as he stepped around a pile of cleared debris.

“Finally made it?” The man said. “Usually I’m the late one.”   
The others chuckled; clearly an inside joke. 

Thomas froze in his tracks. Rob looked over his shoulder to see that Thomas’ beautiful cerulean eyes were wide with rapt attention. 

“…Your voice.” Thomas said, amazed. “I know your voice. You were the one on the phone!” 

“Phone?” Rob asked, suddenly very wary of the group. Were they really contractors? Were these the men who had been threatening Thomas on the phone? In a sudden defensive streak, Rob stepped bodily in front of Thomas. 

“Thomas, get out of here!” Rob commanded. “I’ll head them off-!” 

“Wait, wait, wait!” The wiry man threw up his hands, “Don’t take on so-!” 

“No, not that phone call-“ Thomas talked rapidly over Rob. He sounded oddly curious instead of afraid. 

Suddenly Rob felt like a plonker, not to mention completely out of the loop. 

“I don’t understand.” Rob looked to Thomas for answers. 

“To be fair, I don’t either.” Thomas said. “We got a phone call the day after we came home… a man claiming to be an ally but I didn’t believe it. He said he’d snuck omegas away from the Brigade. That Lord Grantham wanted to help our cause, and had paid him to be an aid. But… i didn’t believe it.” Thomas admitted. 

The man gave Thomas a warm smile. 

“Not surprising.” The man said. “An’ I don’t blame you. Truly I don’t-“ 

But now Rob was catching on too. The man looked oddly… familiar. He couldn’t say how or why. He squinted his eyes, trying to search his memory for where he had seen the man before. 

The man laughed, noting Rob’s expression: “Nice day for it! Course, I miss your red dress.” He said as way of a clue. 

…Jesus. It was the cab drive that had picked them up outside of Dover House! 

“You picked us up!” Rob was gobsmacked. “Who the hell are you?” 

The man took off his newscap with a pleasant flare, “Amos Dorsette.” He paused, adding, “Also known as Arthur Durmand.” 

“Also known as Archer Drewcot.” Spoke up the woman. 

“Also known as-“ another man chimed in till Amos waved them off. 

“Alright, alright, they’ve gotten the point.” Amos said. A soft chuckle wrapped its way around the group. Clearly they were all in cahoots. “I’m a man of many skills, Doctor. I drive cabs, I build sanctuaries, I free omegas, I beat up Brigade members.” Amos shrugged. “You could say I wear many hats.” 

He gave them a toothy grin, putting his newscap back on his head. “Pleased t’meet you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to voice them. The story is about 2/3rds of the way done at this point but it will have an explosive conclusion. I'm thinking there were probably be maybe 35 chapters? unsure. This is definitely going to be my longest story so far.


	24. Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amos Dorsette is a strange man, but Rob and Thomas have very little time to contemplate their newfound ally as they finish their work on the Furnace and prepare for Rob's departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about fifteen pages shorter than what I usually produce, simply because this chapter was very hard to write. I had to bounce back and forth between Thomas' fragile mental state and Rob's wilting willingness to go through with his plans for Vienna.. blah! 
> 
> Still job hunting. Still pushing forward. Onward and upward! 
> 
> Just a slight warning for **ptsd from physical abuse, and medical kink**  
>  Relax friends, Rob is a licensed doctor. He has to check Thomas for a fever!

_Litigo 20: 37-38: “And there was much weeping on the part of his omega; he embraced his alpha and kissed him being sorrowful most of all because of the love they had known, and that he would not see his alpha’s face again. And so, with weeping, he accompanied his alpha to the ship.”_

Amos Dorsette was a strange man. 

Rob had met many a man while in service to the public health, and prided himself on his ability to listen and learn. From time to time, however, Rob came upon men who were so damaged that it was impossible to make an impact. The most you could do was listen to their story and offer them validation in their struggles. You could see the darkness in their eyes, the way that they compressed their emotions till any trigger could be their boiling point. Rob could not help but watch Dorsette closely, particularly when he interacted with Thomas. 

Dorsette, like many dark souls, was attracted to Thomas’ gay and bubbly light. Thomas was so excited to have men at his fingertips that would do his bidding that he didn’t care if they were dark or dangerous. Thomas snapped his fingers and Dorsette did as he asked. In a way, Rob was incredibly grateful. Dorsette worked hard, and his crew were loyal stalwartly men that didn’t tire easily. There was an enormous amount of work to be done, cleaning and caring for the furnace. Thomas, being pregnant, couldn’t do much without growing nauseas. Instead of mocking Thomas as some alphas might, Dorsette’s men jumped at the chance to give him aid. They worked as a tight-knit team, joking and friendly with each other as they cleared debris, cleaned floors, and segregated danger spots in the panels. 

Of course, a great deal needed to be done in the basement level too. From this base concept, Thomas wanted to extend a network of safe tunnels that could be used as a method for escape. Irene, a geologist and female alpha with a position in the British government, had gathered up terrain maps from North Leicester’s local government. They were slightly older than hoped for, but seemed consistent with the current layout of the land. Moira Furnace was bordered with a river to the east and a heavy forest to the west which went up into mountains and caves. To the south sat the village proper, and to the north was the extended stream and the fields of farmers. The obvious way out was to the west, and so with that in mind a group of excavators delved down into the furnace basement to see what tunnel work could be laid while in the early stages of development. 

Thomas led the charge, of course, and was followed up close behind by Dorsette who held up a lamp to light the way. It was incredibly dank, with the smell of mold overwhelming at times. The ground underfoot was moist, with small puddles gathering every so often near the walls. It was likewise low in the ceiling; if you weren’t careful you’d smack your head against a metal support beam. The smartest thing to do was keep your head low or walk at a crouch, but you ended up with a crick in your neck if you weren’t careful. 

“So you really used to beat up Brigade members?” Thomas called cheerily from up ahead. Rob was right behind Dorsette, slightly wary of leaving him alone with Thomas. He knew it was ungenerous… Dorsette had done nothing to raise suspicion, but Rob had this odd feeling that Dorsette was a damaged man. He didn’t want Thomas to be on the receiving end of one of Dorsette’s dark moments. 

“Used to be a member.” Dorsette said, “Fucker’s tried to ruin my life-“ He paused, having to duck his head to avoid a beam. Rob followed close behind, careful to stay within the beam of Dorsette’s lamp. These tunnels ran parallel to the blast furnace, and would surely end up somewhere near the base where the fires used to be stoked. 

“I got the better of ‘em in the end but I still like to make my displeasure be known.” Dorsette flashed Thomas a cheeky grin. His wiry blonde hair was dusted with grain from the walls. “Like to fight the good fight.” 

“You’re a brave man.” Thomas praised. Dorsette flushed with pleasure. 

“Some would say.” He shrugged, “But you’re the one who’s really brave, Barrow. I’m truly amazed at your morale. If half the men in parliament were as strong-willed as you, we’d live in a completely different country.” 

“I don’t know if my morale is a good or bad thing.” Thomas paused as they hit the end of their trail. Irene, a female alpha involved in geology, had been near the back end of the group. She wormed her way up to the front and began to run her fingers along the walls. Before them was the door to the base of the blast furnace. Coal would have been flung inside, keeping the fires hot while pig iron was melted down above. 

“Well-?” Thomas stepped back to let Dorsette’s men see, “What do you think?” 

Dorsette held the lamp up high, careful not to let it drop into the old coal pit. 

“We’re looking at the mountains, straight ahead.” Irene said, holding up the map so that everyone could see. “Perfect back way out.” 

“They’ll be expecting that.” Dorsette warned. 

Another man spoke up, whose name Rob did not know, “Rig it and go under?” 

“That’s what I thought.” Thomas piped up. Of course, Thomas was delighted by the idea of bombs and bullets. Rob grinned, charmed by Thomas’ charisma. 

“We’ll have to get papers on the whole layout of this land, even up into the mountains.” Dorsette said. Irene pulled out a slender notebook from her vest pocket and scribbled something down in the gloom. 

“What about this blast furnace? Can we use it?” Thomas asked, before getting up onto his hands and knees and crawling into the coal box. 

“Ah- careful dovey!” Rob urged, stepping forward. God only knows what the hell was inside. Thomas was only visible by his arse and elbows now. Rob would be lying if he claimed the image of Thomas’ plump behind wasn’t arousing. 

Rob was careful to help Thomas crawl back out. He was horribly sooty, and disgruntled at Rob ruining his ‘fun’. 

Rob carefully dusted off Thomas’ arms and waist. “You’ll have to clear this whole place out first. It’ll take heavy hand labor but it’ll be manageable.” 

“Maybe-“ Dorsette didn’t seem too sure. He poked his head up inside. “I’ll admit it looks a right mess right now but it might be useful.” Powdered coal was baked all along the insides; it would have to be scrubbed before it could be re-lit. “It’s pure iron up above… and raw pig iron can be the base of incredible things…” 

“To get it you’ll have to melt it.” Rob reminded. “Do you think you can clean this blast furnace?” 

“Ah, I don’t have to clean it.” Dorsette said, with a dark grin that boded nothing but mischief, “All I need is charge. Lots and lots of charge.” 

Oh goody. Let’s just blow the damn thing up. 

“We have that!” Thomas perked up at once, delighted by the idea. “We have a room full of it!” 

“Wait-“ Rob was loathe to cut Thomas off, but he felt that someone had to be the voice of common sense. Charge wasn’t like sugar and butter; it needed to be handled with care. “I appreciate the ideas you’re putting forth, but I want to make sure that you’re safe too.” 

Thomas scowled, looking slightly put out. The moment was saved however by a portly man with a large ruddy nose. He was hanging near the back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. 

“If I might butt in?” The man spoke up, causing everyone to look around. He was a beta, and seemed to have a genial nature. He looked like the sort of man who might have worked on a construction team or anything with intensive labor. His beard was tangled at the tips, turning gray from age. “i’m a blacksmith by trade. I think I could be of some assistance with the charges.” 

“Would you like to be in charge of that project?” Thomas offered. The man was taken aback. 

“If you’ll have me, I’d be more than happy to join the cause.” the man said. He flushed with pleasure at being picked. 

“I’m a geologist.” Irene spoke up, “I can offer much in regards to these tunnels.” 

“Then you can be in charge of the digging!” Thomas beamed. Irene dipped her head, smug with her promotion. 

“Hey now,” Amos joked, “What about me?” 

“Mmm…” Thomas tilted his head, pondering the subject while the others tittered, “You can be in charge of our security.” 

“Consider it done.” Amos said. Rob had a feeling that, of all the men present, Amos Dorsette would be the best to take over security. 

“And I’ll make tea!” Rob joked. The others laughed, even as Thomas reached out and lovingly rubbed at his lower back. 

“You… are very important, doctor.” Thomas praised. Rob flushed with pride, holding Thomas about the shoulders. So many times during the day, Rob was shocked at the beauty and perfection of his omega. How had he gotten so lucky, to be loved by such a wonderful man? 

“Now from what I hear,” Amos spoke up, “You’re leaving us in a few days for Vienna.” 

Given that neither Thomas nor Rob had told Amos as such, Rob was wondering where the man had gotten his information. How much did he know about Rob? 

“You’re well connected.” Rob said, unsure if it was a compliment or an insult. 

“I have to be.” Amos shrugged, “I’m wanted dead by the Brigade.” He paused at this, a dark expression taking over his face. “You know the minute you leave for Vienna they’re going to hone in on Thomas. What’s your plan for security?” 

“I’m unsure.” Rob felt an ugly kernel of guilt clench in his stomach at the thought of leaving Thomas behind. It was a necessary sacrifice to follow his dreams, and one that he had already discussed with Thomas extensively. At the same time, however, Rob did not want to leave Thomas behind. He wished, more than anything, that Thomas would consent to come to Vienna. But Thomas would not leave Moira Furnace, nor should he when he too was following a goal. 

This situation was bitter, now matter which way you looked at it. One could not win without the other losing. 

“I think it would be best if you moved to a safe location.” Amos offered, Vanish off the map-“ 

But Thomas was slowly putting on a stony expression. It seemed that leaving the apartment, in lieu of Rob’s imminent departure, just made Thomas feel more abandoned and unhappy. “No.” Thomas snapped. “I’m staying in the apartment. It’s all I have until Rob returns.” 

The fact that Thomas felt he was losing everything made Rob feel sick to his stomach. 

“I understand how you might be feeling,” Irene spoke up, sympathetic, “But you have to admit the security of the building will be poor. Anyone could go inside, and break into your flat.” 

“Then I’ll buy a gun.” Thomas decided. The thought of Thomas having to use it just made Rob grow cold. 

“And be jailed for shooting a member of the Brigade.” Irene finished. 

“I could claim self-defense.” But even Rob knew that that wouldn’t go well. 

“It won’t work.” Amos warned, “And we both know why.” 

Thomas was growing frustrated, and Rob had learned that a frustrated Thomas lacked a mouth filter and self-restraint. Determined to keep Thomas from insulting their new friends, Rob stepped in to calm the situation. 

“We’ll talk about it in private and let you know our decision.” Rob said.   
But Thomas didn’t seem too happy either way. 

 

 

They left Moira Furnace close to ten at night, and walked to the hotel in silence. Thomas seemed to have withdrawn, and there was an odd tension in the air that Rob did not like. When they reached their lodgings, both of them were eager for a bath and bed. Rob let Thomas go first, and listened to the sound of Thomas bathing while he changed into night clothes and turned down the covers of the bed. He folded up his clothes, making sure his vest and jacket hung up straight to be used tomorrow. His belt was coiled like a snake atop the chest of drawers. 

When Thomas emerged from the bathroom, he was steaming and damp to the touch. His black hair was slick against his head, coming up at tufts around the nape of his neck where the strands took a natural curl. 

Thomas seemed pensive, and sat down upon the bed without making to change. 

“… You’re angry at me.” Thomas whispered. Rob was confused, for he certainly wasn’t angry at Thomas and wondered where Thomas had gotten that impression. 

“Why am I angry at you?” Rob asked. Thomas chewed on his bottom lip, not meeting Rob’s eyes. 

“Because I’m disagreeing with you.” Thomas spoke up. “Because… you want me to leave the apartment, and I won’t.” 

“I’m not angry, but I don’t think you should stay at the apartment while I’m gone.” Rob sat down beside Thomas on the bed, “Amos is right, it’s unsafe, and if you try and attack a Brigade member you could face serious trouble. Why not stay with George or my mother even? Both would be more than happy to have you.” 

Thomas just shook his head. “No.” He said, “I belong in the apartment. It’s my nest. It’s where I’ll stay. I can’t leave.” 

Rob was amazed at the panic he heard in Thomas’ voice. Why was he so scared?   
Rob reached out to touch Thomas’ back. Thomas jerked away, still in nothing but a towel. 

“No!” Thomas was clearly afraid.   
The deafening silence that followed his outburst was unnerving. Rob was speechless, unsure of what to do. 

With his back to Rob, Thomas bowed his head and sniffled at the floor. 

“Please don’t go.” Thomas whispered, finally speaking his mind and revealing his true fear. “Please?” He turned around to face Rob, and his beautiful blue eyes were full of tears. 

Rob felt like he’d been sucker punched in the stomach. 

“Not when I love you so.” Thomas pleaded. “Not when you’ve given me back to me. My life before you came along was…” But Thomas couldn’t finish the sentence. The reality was too grim. “I can’t go back to that. I can’t; so please don’t ask me to.” 

Deeply concerned, Rob stepped forward and took Thomas by the upper arms. He was shaking, though it was hard to say whether from cold or nerves. 

“I am not asking you to do anything of the sort, Thomas-“ He tried to tuck a wet lock of hair behind Thomas’ ear, but Thomas jerked away, bitter. Rob was stung. 

“But you’re still going.” Rob could hear the awful pain in Thomas’ voice. 

“This is something that I have to do.” Rob begged. In truth, he was just as choked up as Thomas. 

“Why?” Thomas demanded. “Why do you have to do this, when I’m pregnant and need you?” 

“I…” Rob felt like a bastard. How selfish was he? How horribly selfish. “It’s a dream I have… and I believe that conversations I could have with Freud might benefit both his career and mine.” 

Thomas was distraught. He bowed his head, breathing shallowly. “Fuck me.” He whispered. 

Rob let out a tiny breath, stepping forward again to try and take Thomas into his arms once more, “I know it’s hard-“ he began, but Thomas cut him off. 

“No. I’m being disobedient.” Thomas’ bottom lip trembled. 

“Thomas?” 

“I need to be punished. I need you to beat me.” Thomas looked up, his blue eyes wild.   
Rob was stunned into silence. He’d never dreamed of such a horrific request. 

When Rob did not immediately take Thomas up on his request, Thomas took matters into his own hands. He turned on the spot, saw Rob’s belt curled atop the chest of drawers, and snatched it up to let it unfurl at the buckle. He held it out to Rob, but Rob recoiled from it like the belt was a snake. 

“Beat me.” Thomas begged. 

“No.” Rob shook his head rapidly. He’d never do such a thing- not ever! 

“BEAT ME!” Thomas screamed, and with a sudden ferocity he threw the belt at Rob so that it smacked into his chest and crumpled to the floor with a strange clinking noise as metal hit wood. Rob jumped, shocked at Thomas’ outburst. “I’m your omega!” Thomas beseeched, “Punish me, beat me, discipline me, destroy me— just don’t leave me!” And with that, Thomas broke down to crumple on the floor. 

Panicking, Rob stooped beside him and wrapped his arms about Thomas’ chest. He was shaking violently. 

“Please!” Thomas sobbed, his anguished voice gutting Rob as if like a knife. “Please!!” 

Rob had no idea what to say. 

This was why it was unheard of to date a patient. When you became romantically entangled, you lost your sense of awareness. How long had Thomas been slipping down an emotionally unstable path without Rob noticing? The blissful veil of the honeymoon period was forcibly ripped back to reveal an ugly raw wound: Thomas’ inability to healthily process arguments. In the past, any argument lead to pain. Now Thomas was unable to discern the process between having a disagreement and having an altercation. 

Rob looked down at Thomas, who was clinging to him like he were the only life line available in a treacherous storm. He was still wet from the bath, shivering from the cold air. He looked so much like a child in that moment that Rob felt horribly guilty… as if he’d mated with a boy and not a man. 

He snatched his jacket from the bed and threw it around Thomas’ shoulders… anything to bring him warmth. 

Neither of them would sleep well that night. 

~*~

The next morning, Thomas awoke with a horrible headache and blocked nasal passages. 

It was no surprise that he had a cold after going to bed with his hair wet. As a result, Thomas’ hair looked like it had been licked by a cow in the morning light, and Rob was pointedly concerned about him. 

They rode back to London on the morning train, with Thomas drinking several cups of hot chamomile tea to try and sooth his throat. Rob said nothing, a constant calming presence as he watched Thomas read the paper and try to fill in a few bubbles from the crossword. Normally they would be chatting, leaning into one another and enjoying a moment of quiet. Now, there was a terrible tension between them that was tinged with sadness. Rob seemed genuinely worried, and it made Thomas ashamed. 

He could not adequately explain last night, save to say that it had been dire for him to be loved by Rob. That if they disagreed, that if Rob left, it meant that Thomas was doing something wrong. As an omega, he ought to be by his alpha’s side and support him in all matters. When had Bates and Anna ever argued? Or Carson and Hughes? Why couldn’t Thomas be good and do the same? 

 

When they arrived back in London, Thomas felt slightly better but still looked a bit peaky. Rob stopped at a local grocers to pick up a few fresh apples and a fish fillet for dinner before heading back to the apartment. Thomas sorely had to use the restroom, and when Rob finally unlocked the front door Thomas made a bee line for the lavatory while Rob went to deposit the fish in the larder. 

Thomas washed his face in the sink after flushing the toilet, trying to splash cold water on himself to wake up better. When he returned to the living room, he found Rob making another brew of tea and slicing an apple for a snack. Both their valises were deposited in the corner of the room, save that Rob’s was open and the belt Thomas had brandished as an impromptu punishment was laying on the kitchen table. 

Thomas pointedly avoided staring at it, knowing the silent topic Rob was trying to broach. He moved instead to the sink, and began re-washing Melvina’s casserole dishes. If they were to belong to them now, they would have to be placed somewhere safe. Perhaps in a low cupboard underneath the pantry? 

Rob watched him wash. 

“… Are we going to talk about what happened?” Rob murmured as Thomas dried off the last dish and began to search for a proper storage facility. Rob’s kitchen was cramped; there wasn’t much room for new additions. 

“What happened?” Thomas asked with a bland tone, knowing full well what Rob was referring to. It felt like there was a lead bar in his stomach. 

“…You had a desire for me to punish you.” Rob said. He took up the belt from the kitchen table, and held it in both hands as if putting evidence before a judge. “You took up my belt, and you asked me to destroy you last night.” 

Thomas pursed his lips, turning the lids of the dishes upside down to conserve more space and sliding them beneath the pantry where nothing lay save a large bag of flour and rice. He dusted his hands off, standing back up to take the whistling kettle off the stove so that he could start making tea. 

“It was a moment of confusion.” Was all Thomas could think to say. 

“Punishing you was a solution for a problem, but I do not know what problem you wished me to punish you for.” Rob said. 

Thomas coughed to clear a sudden lump in his throat. “Believe it or not, punishing an errant omega is the norm, not the exception.” 

“How were you errant?” Rob asked. Thomas shrugged, even as he dolled honey and lemon out into their cups. 

“… I…” Thomas didn’t know what to say, “I disagreed with you.” 

“… Is that your definition of difficult?” Rob asked. 

Thomas suddenly felt like a fool, and sat down the tea kettle before he even poured the brew. 

“I just…” Thomas looked away, staring out the kitchen window to where he could see pedestrians crossing the street. A shop across the way was having a sale; three bolts of fabric for the price of two. “It’s my job to agree with you. To be on your side. If we fight, if you leave I… I’m doing something wrong.” 

Rob came up behind Thomas, and gently took Thomas in his arms. Suddenly they were pressed back to front with Rob’s pointed chin on Thomas’ shoulder. 

“… You are doing nothing wrong.” Rob whispered in his ear. Thomas closed his eyes, folding his arms. “It is unrealistic and unhealthy to imagine we will never argue. It’s healthy to have arguments. It helps you grow. But there is nothing on this earth that would ever give me the right to strike you. Not with my belt, not with my hand…. not with anything.” He placed the softest kiss on Thomas’ flushed cheek. “And me leaving for Vienna is no mark on you.” 

“… I don’t want to leave this apartment.” Thomas said, bitter. 

“It’s unsafe here.” Rob said. “Amos and Irene are right. Anyone could walk into the building. What if they broke in?” 

“So we put locks on the doors.” Thomas offered up, imagining all the dead bolts he could buy. “I’ll… get a pistol.” 

“But don’t you think that it’s just safer if you go and stay with my brother, with my mother?” Rob offered. “You wouldn’t be alone. You could have company and be protected.” 

“No.” Thomas mumbled. “I want to stay. This place smells of you. Of us. I won’t leave it… not if you’re gone.” He whispered the last words, broken hearted to know that, come a few days, Rob would be getting on a boat and leaving. 

Rob was silent for a moment.   
“I’ll consent to you staying here… but I want to make sure that you’re protected.” Rob said. “I’m going to oversee a few additives to the door, and I’m going to speak with several of my neighbors. I’m going to get you a gun, and we’re going to have a safe plan.” 

Thomas nodded, glad that they could come to an agreement of some type. 

“So there, see?” Rob pressed a kiss to Thomas’ temple. “We’ve disagreed, we’ve compromised, and we’re better. And no one has to be spanked or hit.” 

Thomas felt better for it, too. 

They poured out cups of tea, and the pair of them sat down for a small snack of apples and peanut butter. The whole time, Rob’s belt sat on the kitchen table between them. When they finished with tea, Thomas collected the cups and the plates only to deposit them in the sink. He felt oddly lighter now, like he could joke and play about again. Rob was watching him, smiling absently in a way that just reeked of sex. Thomas couldn’t stand how gorgeous the man was, and approached Rob to wrap his arms about Rob’s shoulders. 

They kissed, again and again, using the moment to reaffirm the solidity of their relationship. Come rain or come shine, argument or agreement, they were together until death. Thomas had never been in such a healthy relationship before, and it caused him to have all sorts of fantasies of how he and Rob might grow together. 

 

Thomas chewed his lip, a naughty thought suddenly popping into his head. He toyed with the buttons of Rob’s vest, careful not to pull at a loose thread. 

“You’ll never spank me?” 

“Never.” 

“What if… we’re having sex and I want you to spank me?” Thomas murmured, batting his eyelashes at Rob. 

Rob arched a handsome eyebrow, “Softly softly, touch the monkey.” Rob teased. 

Thomas grinned. 

He got in Rob’s face, nose to nose to say defiantly, “I disagree with you and I’m not leaving this apartment. And there’s nothing you can do about it, Kinsey.” 

Rob just smiled. 

Eager to be naughty, Thomas let go of Rob to turn about, searching avidly till he found Rob’s belt draped over the back of the kitchen chair. He picked it up, cracking the leather between his hands. Rob laughed, delighted by Thomas’ antics until Thomas turned the belt on Rob to try chase him from the kitchen. 

“Turn around!” Thomas commanded, “I’m gonna swat you for even daring-!” 

Rob laughed as Thomas began to flick the belt at him. The leather bit at his shins, “Oi! Easy now!” 

Thomas chased Rob about the living room, dodging from chair to chair as he tried to smack Rob on the behind. 

“Ay-! Ay-! You little-!” Rob finally stopped running, turning on Thomas to snag him up by the waist and hoist him with a feat of incredible strength over his shoulder. Suddenly Thomas was draped along the planes of Rob’s back, kicking his feet as he let out a shriek. 

“Ah!!” Thomas cried, still clutching tight to the belt as Rob took him down the hallway to the bedroom. He was cackling, his abdomen compressed against Rob’s bony shoulder. 

“You’ve been a very naughty omega.” Rob chastised in a voice that would make Alden proud. 

“No!!” Thomas giggled. Rob opened the bedroom door, only to throw Thomas upon the bed so that he bounced twice on the settling mattress. 

“You stay right there and don’t move!” Rob commanded, but Thomas was too wound up in the fun to do as he was told. He leapt off the bed, slamming the door to the bedroom and pelting off down the hall to sequester himself in the broom closet. He clapped a hand over his mouth, desperate to keep quiet, and listened intently as he heard Rob burst through the bedroom door. 

“Oi!” Rob barked, heading back into the living room and fully expecting to find Thomas hiding behind the table or chairs. Instead, Thomas took the opportunity with Rob down the hall to leap out from the broom closet and run pellmell for the bedroom to slam and lock the door. It was just a simple spring lock, nothing to truly boast about, but Thomas cackled wildly as Rob ran back to the door only to find himself barred from his own bedroom. 

“Thomas!” Rob’s voice as muffled through the wood, “Open the door!” 

“No!” Thomas giggled. 

“Oh yeah?” Rob paused, “I’m gonna use my alpha voice. I’m gonna get scary!” 

“Do it.” Thomas was desperate for a chance to have Rob boss him around. It was delightful; it made him shudder all over. “Command me to open the door.” 

Thomas could hear Rob coughing, trying to register the deeper tones of his voice. Thomas waited with baited breath, grinning from ear to ear; by god if he wasn’t already growing moist. 

**“Omega…”** Rob murmured. Thomas shuddered, blissful. **“Beautiful omega… sweet lovely beautiful omega…”**

Oh sweet jesus. Thomas’ eyes were ready to roll back into his head. 

“Alpha…” Thomas whimpered. He fell against the door, chewing his lip as his composure began to slip away. Rob could ask for anything, anything at all and Thomas would give it. 

 

**“Open the door.”** Rob commanded, and Thomas did so at once. When the door creaked open, it revealed Rob just on the other side. His eyes were blown, pupils heavily dilated. Rob sniffed, smelling Thomas’ newly emerging slick. He was pleased, his mouth lopsided in a crooked grin. 

**“Get on the bed.”** Rob commanded. Thomas stumbled, hauling himself up onto the bed to lay in the center with a boneless air. God, he was ready to orgasm just from the sound of Rob’s voice in an alpha tone. 

**“On your stomach.”** Rob said; Thomas rolled onto his stomach, curling against the pillows at the headboard. **“Spread your legs for me.”** Once again, Thomas did as commanded by pulling his knees to his chest so that his arse was in the air. He was still wearing trousers and pants, but Rob surely wouldn’t mind. God this was blissful-

He could tear them off. Thomas didn’t give a fuck. 

“Mm…” Rob’s voice broke; clearly he didn’t have the capacity to talk in an alpha tone for long. He would end up going hoarse if he tried, “You know, Thomas… I think you might be ill. You seem to be very flushed. You might have a fever; would you consent to an examination?” 

“Of course doctor.” Thomas mumbled. He would be such a good patient, too, “I’ve been feeling very… odd.” 

Mostly because his arse was seeping slick. 

“Oh well, we can’t have that.” Rob thumbed at the cleft of Thomas’ arse through his trousers. Thomas whimpered at the sensation, wishing his trousers and pants could just bloody well vanish. He need to be touched. To be owned. To be fucked. 

“No alpha.” Thomas whispered, blissful. 

“May I pull down your drawers?” Rob rubbed back and forth at the base of his spine. 

Instead of answering flat out, Thomas arched his arse into Rob’s touch, “I’d wear a dress for you. I’d do anythin’… anythin’ at all.” 

But instead of taking Thomas up on the offer, Rob came around and gently laid a kiss upon Thomas’ neck and temple. 

“I love you very very much.” Rob whispered. “And you will never have to wear a dress for me. Or do anything at all. All you have to do for me, is be. And that is enough.” 

Thomas nodded, a dopey grin growing on his face: “Doctor, I’m ill…” He reminded Rob. 

“Oh, alright. My little patient-“ Rob stepped out of the room for just a moment, leaving Thomas alone on the bed. Thomas didn’t fret, comfortable and quiet as he heard Rob fishing about in the hall. He heard the closet door close, and then the sound of Rob returning to the bedroom. He opened his eyes, only to burst into a hysterical peal of laughter at the sight of Rob wearing a white lab coat. 

If Thomas had ever laughed at Lawrence Gray, be it in a fit of ennui or a moment of true hilarity, Thomas had a feeling that he would have been beaten unconscious. Instead of being aggravated by Thomas’ slip in character, however, Rob gave him a dazzling smile and swatted him mildly upon the behind. 

**“Silence, omega.”** Rob boasted, his alpha tone of dominance putting a dreamy smile on Thomas’ face as he slowly quieted down upon the pillows. He’d never been so charmed in his life, and squirmed a bit as Rob continued to rub and squeeze the flesh of his arse. 

“I’m only joking, you can keep laughing.” Rob said sweetly. “Your laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world to me.”

But there was nothing to laugh about as Rob fished beneath Thomas’ hips for his trouser buttons. The sensation of fabric sliding from Thomas’ skin was cool and smooth, leaving him exposed and bare to the bedroom air. 

“Mmm..” Rob rubbed the curve of Thomas’ arse, parting his cheeks to gently stroke at his fluttering center, “I think I can see what the problem is.” 

“Can you help me doctor?” Thomas blushed into the pillows, a shy smile upon his lips. 

“Don’t worry.” Rob said, “I can fix you as right as rain.”   
It was a mark of Rob’s medical training that he actually washed his hands in the lavatory sink before making to touch Thomas more. Most men didn’t wash before engaging in sodomy, or at least that was Thomas’ experience. But Rob even went a step further than that, fetching a can of petroleum jelly from the beside table to ease the initial discomfort of his ‘medical procedure’. 

“First I’m going to take your temperature.” Rob said. Thomas was back to blushing, hoping that he and Rob were on the same page. 

“I think I’m in shock, doctor.” Thomas teased, “Maybe you shouldn’t use my mouth.” 

“How very smart you are.” Rob praised. Thomas heard the sound of Rob slicking something with jelly. “I’m going to insert my finger now.” 

God, there was nothing quite like a man who’d warn you before jamming something up your bum. 

The stretch and burn was minimal, easy for Thomas to endure and enjoy. The feeling of Rob fingering him was exquisite but in the same concept it simply wasn’t enough. Thomas wanted so much more, if only Rob would give it to him. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Thomas sighed. 

“Such a good omega.” Rob murmured, his voice barely a rumble in his chest. Thomas was chasing a euphoric high by this point. “So pliant and lovely for me. What a perfect patient.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” Thomas said again. 

Suddenly Rob’s finger was gone, only to be replaced by something much cooler and longer. Thomas knew that it was the thermometer and pursed his lips at the intrusion. A simple exhale later, he was comfortable again. 

“How does that feel?” Rob asked. 

“Good.” Thomas said. 

Rob waited for the temperature to register, then withdrew the instrument. 

“Your temperature looks good.” Rob said, with just the slightest bit of cheek, “I’m very proud of you.” It was a funny thing to be proud of someone for. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Thomas wished Rob would stretch him further, or just take him. God only knows, Thomas would thank him for it. 

“Mmm…” Rob pulled at the flesh of Thomas’ arse cheeks, spreading them wide. He leaned in, placing the softest kiss upon Thomas’ center. 

Thomas gasped, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. 

“I think I need to get a better look.” Rob growled, “Will you consent to let me look inside you?” 

“God yes.” Thomas sighed, “But how will you do that?” 

“Well, I have a few tools from medical school.” And like a child eager to show and tell, Rob came back around the bed to sit next to Thomas so that Thomas could look inside his large black bag. There were many different silver tools, gleaming dully where they weren’t wrapped by sterile cloth. Thomas perched his chin on his hand, reaching into Rob’s bag to pull out a scalpel that was garnished with a dull blade. 

“You wouldn’t cut me, would you doctor?” Thomas dared to give Rob his most woeful expression. 

Rob leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to Thomas’ temple, taking the scalpel back from him. 

“No dovey.” Rob promised, “I will never ever hurt you.”   
He paused to reach back into the bag to pull out a hinged instrument that might be able to spread a body cavity. It wasn’t particularly large, as far as medical instruments could be, and its edges were smoothed round for minimum discomfort. 

“This is a speculum.” Rob said. 

“Calhoun used one of those.” Thomas said. 

“Did he?” Rob grimaced at the name before showing Thomas the inside of the bag again, “Can you pull out anything else he used?” 

Thomas fished around inside, unsure of what he might find. He could remember Calhoun having a large tray of equipment but he’d been unaware of the specifics save for one instrument that had been stuck inside of him. It had transported a liquid somehow… if Thomas remembered correctly it was something to do with making him produce more slick… it had burned horribly. 

He found the instrument near the bottom of Rob’s bag, and pulled it forth so that Rob could see it. 

“So this is a Kerrison Rongeur.” Rob explained. He paused to unwrap the rongeur from its gauze holding, then flexed the copper handle so that Thomas could see how its mouth could cut. Calhoun had put some kind of pill or gel in the mouth. “It’s used to cut bone and cartilage.” Rob explained. He allowed Thomas to hold the rongeur so that he could experience the sensation of squeezing the handle. The spring was tense; it was not easy to wield this tool properly. 

“Can that really cut bone?” Thomas murmured, touching the jaw bit at the far end. It was strange to imagine. 

“Not really,” Rob said, “It could if it was sharp. This is just a sample tool given to medical students during their trial periods. I got to work on some cadavers but that was long ago. This tool hasn’t been used in a good long while.” Rob paused, a dark look taking over his handsome feature, “Why did Calhoun use it?” 

“He put something in the jaws and put it inside me really high up… and squeezed the handle. It burned horribly.” Thomas felt ashamed to admit it. He buried his face in his arms, looking the other way so that Rob could not see his shame, “He used it to cut a pill or move a gel or something- I dunno. I’m not that smart.” 

But Rob just swooped down upon him and peppered him with soothing kisses. 

“You are the smartest dovey in all the world.” Rob corrected him, “But now I honestly do want to examine you and make sure there’s no damage.” 

He was back to his doctor character, returning behind Thomas to slick the speculum with a copious amount of jelly. He went incredibly slow, careful not to stretch Thomas too fast lest his cause his ‘patient’ pain. The burn was beautiful, and Thomas whimpered as he felt his passage stretching around his alpha’s loving fingers. 

The speculum was cool and long. Thomas groaned, throwing his head back as Rob gently pushed the handles to spread Thomas wide. 

**“Easy omega… easy.”** Rob murmured, using his alpha voice to bring Thomas some comfort. “Ah…” Rob whispered as he began to stroke the inside of Thomas’ revealed passage. “How pretty you are.” 

But the feeling of Rob stroking him was just too much. Thomas was going to come if Rob didn’t knock it off. 

“Easy…shh…” Rob soothed. 

“He-“ Thomas choked out, the sensation of Rob stroking him bringing back another memory. “He used a- a- a sound-“ 

“A uterine sound?” Rob murmured. Thomas nodded, noticing only faintly that Rob fetched a small sound from his own bag to return to Thomas’ opening. He stroked with care, pushing very cautiously on a small wall of muscle inside of Thomas. Thomas whimpered; it didn’t hurt but it felt… tight. 

“Does that hurt?” 

“No, alpha.” 

“Hmm.” Rob pulled back, wiping the sound and setting it aside, “I can see where Calhoun cut you. Just a nick, nothing more. He probably has no idea what a rongeur is used for, the pillock. No matter, dovey. You’re just fine. You don’t have to worry.” 

Rob paused, becoming more amorous. Thomas felt good to know that Rob had examined him properly, but all conscious thoughts floated away as Rob began to stroke at the rim of Thomas’ anus. 

“I can see your glove.” Rob murmured. “It’s beautiful.” 

He bent forward and began to tongue at the ring of muscle inside Thomas’ anus. Thomas cried out, all but screaming in delight at the sudden shocking sensation of Rob’s tongue writhing within him. His prick was rushing with blood, throbbing-! 

“I’m gonna come!” Thomas whined. 

“Mm, don’t.” Rob urged him. “Not yet, dovey.” 

Thomas was ready to cry, pressing his face into the mattress. Rob was kind enough to pull back, rubbing at the cleft of Thomas’ stretched arse again as he continued to admire Thomas’ opened passaged. 

**“Clench your glove… Clench it tight for me.”** Rob commanded. Thomas wasn’t quite too sure how to do that but acted instinctively, bearing down on his passage so that the speculum inside him was forced to bend to the pressure of his body. **“Tight. Tighter. Hold it-“**

The burn was absolute fucking bliss. Thomas’ heart was pounding in his ears, his blood singing in his veins as he felt his passage throb. He couldn’t hold on, he couldn’t-! 

Thomas wailed and let go, the speculum re-stretching to return to its natural position. Thomas gasped, panting upon the bed; Rob continued to rub his cleft and arse. 

“Beautiful.” Rob praised. “That was beautiful, Thomas. Can you do that again for me?” 

But Thomas couldn’t. It was just too hard to push down on the spring, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist coming if he tried it twice. 

“I- I can’t.” Thomas whimpered. “I’m so sorry doctor. I’m a bad patient-“ 

“No!” Rob urged, pressing bizarrely chaste kisses to Thomas’ neck and cheek which was now damp with sweat. “No sweetheart you’re a wonderful patient. You did such a good job for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better omega.” 

Thomas breathed a little easier, grateful for Rob’s beautiful spirit and understanding. 

“I… I need you.” Thomas begged. “Not a… Not a toy. You…” He pressed his face into the pillows to hide his blush. “I need you. Please doctor? I’m very sick.” 

He even faked the tiniest most pathetic cough ever known to man. Rob scoffed, unable to hide his humor at Thomas’ obvious act. 

“Oh you’re a naughty little omega, aren’t you?” Rob murmured in Thomas’ ear. He pulled out the speculum inside of Thomas, going very slowly so that there was hardly a burn. Thomas felt his hole gape and flutter for a moment, and lay breathless upon the mattress as Rob washed up and put away his tools. He was such a good doctor. 

“Please fuck me doctor.” Thomas whispered as Rob sat his re-packed bag aside. 

“That’s not covered by your prescribed method of treatment.” Rob teased. Thomas scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. 

Rob helped Thomas to fully shed his clothes, so that Thomas suddenly found himself naked and surrounded by a pile of shed clothing. Rob didn’t fold anything or even bother to hang up their trousers; it was obvious that he’d never had to be someone’s valet. 

“The trousers will crease-“ Thomas tried to get off the bed, but Rob caught him about the waist and sat him back down, pressing him right into the pillows so that Thomas’ black hair fanned out around his head. 

“The trousers… can wait.” Rob murmured, pausing to press a kiss to Thomas’ lips.   
Their next kiss deepened. Thomas reached up to gently toy with Rob’s curly locks, and when they parted again a slim trail of saliva linked their swollen lips. 

Rob dove forward, nipping at Thomas’ bottom lip, then sat up properly to unlace his wrist watch. He lay it upon the beside table, before turning his attentions fully to Thomas. 

They moved together in synchronicity, Thomas spreading his legs and Rob hiking Thomas’ calves about his waist. 

They kissed again, mouths spread wide as their tongues merged and slid. The smell of white tea and peach filled the air, soaking into the mattress and staining the wall. A hundred years, when this flat was inevitably torn down to make way for something else, the contractors would wonder at the smell of peach and tea in this room. 

Rob buried his face into Thomas’ neck, nibbling protectively at his bite mark as he positioned himself at Thomas’ stretched and moistened entrance. 

He slid inside with minimal effort. Thomas groaned aloud, wrapping his arms about Rob’s back to keep his close. 

They moved together like a wave beating on the ocean shore, rolling back only to pound again. Rob’s rhythm was strong and sure, his cock slamming against Thomas’ prostate with the precision of a god damn olympic athlete. But this was more than just making love, which Rob proved when he slowed his rhythm and carefully laid his hands upon Thomas’ stomach. 

He was still slender; it would be several months before he would begin to show the life inside of him. The fact that it existed, though, was more than enough to amaze Rob and Thomas both. Somehow, from both their difficult pasts, an incredibly and joyous union had been formed. Now the future would be bright, even with Rob leaving for Vienna for two months. He’d be back soon enough and they’d be able to carry forward. 

And come March, they would welcome a new soul to their circle. A new voice to join their harmony. 

That thought, coupled with the sensation of Rob sliding within him brought Thomas to orgasm. Rob bowed his head, licking and nipping at Thomas’ nipples till he teethed at the rosy buds. Thomas grabbed at Rob’s head, desperate to keep the sensation going as his orgasm overtook him. 

“A-Alpha!!” Thomas shrieked; the neighbors would be banging on their door if they didn’t knock it off soon. 

Ah, fuck it. Life was short. 

“God I fucking love you.” Rob moaned. Thomas’ glove clenched around his cock, milking him and robbing him of proper speech. “I- ah- Fuck- SHIT!” 

That was all it took, and Thomas could feel the cum dribbling from inside him. Rob dove forward, teeth latching onto his healing bite mark. He did not break the healing skin, inside sucking and gently abusing the flesh till Thomas was a puddle in his arms. 

They slowly came to a stop, like a train finally arriving at its station.   
Rob sighed, his breath a slight mist on the air. Thomas could hear Rob’s heart pounding beneath his breast bone, slowly pittering out till the beat was steady and gentle. 

Now was the time for gentle declarations. For vows of love everlasting. But Rob and Thomas didn’t have to do either for it to be so. They simply knew, like the age old adage that the grass was green and the sky was blue. Some things were obvious. Some things were perfect. 

~*~  
Underneath Irene’s command, the tunnels beneath Moira Furnace were carved out and backed by newly forged iron stilts. The plan was to expand along the already set tunnels and push towards the river bed where the tunnels would they begin to rise up. There wasn’t much to be done in the way of escape besides use what was already in motion; boats could be taken from impromptu launch pads to push omega’s down the stream. Where they would end up was anyone’s guess, but Amos swore that he had a plan so Thomas trusted him. 

Amos likewise had men poking fingers into hospitals, looking for doctors that had been decommissioned due to their radical stances. Thomas was pleased to see that Rob was eager to help with interviews, wanting every man and woman involved to be thoroughly rooted on their side. The result was a cast of ten doctors, a mixture of betas and alphas, who had either been kicked out of hospitals for providing abortions to omegas or had forcibly split ways from the larger hospitals to provide specialized omega care. They were brought in one at a time, shown around the Furnace, and then offered a chance to put in opinions on the concept of the hospital ward. Underneath Rob’s care, Thomas bought hand-me-down hospital beds, and every other thing you could possibly imagine to stock a wing. By the end of the venture, they were boasting a ward split into five wings, each of which hosted eight beds. One of the wards was a nursery, and had resulted in several hospital beds being chopped into thirds to be welded into bizarre cribs. Thomas wondered if it would be enough, but both Rob and Amos seemed satisfied so he contented himself to be as well. 

Of course, there was one more room that Rob wanted an input on which made Thomas scoff: an office. 

Once upon a time, when the furnace had actually been a furnace, the foreman would have looked down on his men from the third floor in an office with a great glass front wall. The wood was rotten, the panes were fogged with dust, but the desk and chair were still inside along with every type of paperwork you could think of. The standing cabinets were emptied out, the wooden floors were repaired, and suddenly Thomas found himself the owner of his very own office for no reason what so ever… besides the fact that he was ‘in charge’. 

He really wasn’t, but no one seemed to believe him. Amos even stole a telephone from a local motel and had it sneakily installed with some jerry rigged wire wrapped in tin. To say that they were home-grown was an insult. They were properly from the dirt patch. 

Two days before Rob’s scheduled departure, after a long day of grueling work, Thomas found himself tidying up the nursery ward and laying fresh linens on the cribs. He kept sweeping again and again, but found that no matter what he did that was little way to care for dust that constantly settled inside the furnace. Thomas wished they could open the windows, but to do so would be suicide. Everything had to be done under the guise of trying to care for a historical monument. If anyone dared to get closer, they could very well hear men building of discussing omega rights. 

It couldn’t be tolerated. It couldn’t be allowed to happen. 

As Thomas spread yet another hand-me-down quilt upon a crib, he heard the sound of men approaching and looked up to see Irene. She was by far one of the stranger characters of the movement. As an alpha woman, she faced her own types of discrimination, and even pursued a higher education. She constantly seemed to have dirt under her nails, which made sense since she was a Geologist and in charge of the tunnel project. 

“Mr. Barrow,” Irene stepped in, “I see you’re taking care of the nursery.” 

“Never helps to be too prepared.” Thomas said. “How can I help you?” He straightened up, taking a moment to pop a small kink in his spine. 

“There’s a private meeting going on tonight.” Irene explained, dropping her voice so that only Thomas could hear. “Amos is bringing in his most trusted allies… former members of the Brigade that left and banded underneath him. They’re good men, and they’ve offered themselves up to be a barrier between you and the Brigade.” 

“And he doesn’t trust the men who’ve been building the Furnace?” Thomas was put off at the thought. 

“It’s nothing to do with trust, in that sense.” Irene explained, “The men working on the furnace have never dealt with the Brigade from the inside. They don’t understand the struggle of taking on the Brigade. They wouldn’t be able to handle raids or save omegas without making mistakes. Mistakes lead to death where the Brigade is concerned.” Irene paused, glancing at the cribs. “We have to be willing to admit when we’re not enough.” 

How true she was. Thomas had recently come to terms with his own inadequacies in regards to the pull of Vienna. 

“Amos wants you to speak to these men.” Irene explained. “They’ll listen to you. A few of them were involved with the Brigade when you were captured the first time. They want to listen to what you have to say.” 

“…Alright.” Thomas felt wary at the idea, but decided he would go through with it so long as Rob was allowed to be at his side. 

And if Thomas said anything the others disagreed with… he could use Rob’s belt to keep them back. 

 

That night, Rob and Thomas stayed behind after most of the workers left. A few were sleeping in the furnace, simply because they had no other home to go back to. Others were eager to return to their omegas or simply wanted to take a bath. The furnace was coming together beautifully, and by now was unrecognizable on the inside for the wreck it had once been. If Riggs could see the furnace now, he would have shat himself. And to think! Thomas had gotten this place for only five thousand! The only thing that had stayed the same was the outer exterior, which Thomas was using as a guise should anyone unwanted stray too close. It would be the ultimate sham, to pretend that the furnace was still out of commission while boasting a working hospital and living quarters inside. 

Of course, the one trouble with holding court to a gaggle of burly men and women was that they inevitably wanted to eat. Bringing in food had been a difficult task to originally take on, but the answer had come in the form of the river and rafts that often floated down it selling wares. It didn’t take much convincing to gather a few of the poorer men, and pay them gratuitously to bring in food from nearby towns. They were always met by a different man, and were picked at random by Amos who screened for any triggering ideologies that might link their little ‘rafters’ back to the Brigade. For the most part, the men were just eager to get paid. They couldn’t give a shit about morals or what Alden MacNaire wanted. There was no lure so shiny or steadfast as a steady salary. 

In regards to how food was made, it came down to the teamwork of three and a gaggle of on-off helpers. Herr Koch was a German that had fled his home land after the first world war, only to find the world rather unforgiving. This was unfortunate, for the man had a good temperament and wanted nothing to do with war or the topic of German authority. Instead, he merely wanted to cook, and Amos had apparently found him doing just that for barely any pay in a unknown London pub. He’d given Amos a few pints for free, offered him some battered beer chips, and suddenly found himself in a position with an actual salary along with two assistants and a whole gaggle of alphas, betas, and omegas that were willing to wash pans if asked.

Tonight, in celebration of Amos’ many ex-Brigade brothers coming to visit, Herr Koch had put together an array of English pub food. There was nothing quite so endearing to a hungry British man as a toad in the hole or a cumberland pie. He’d even decided to make a lemon pie, which was quickly devoured by all in the communal mess hall that had once been used by furnace workers on their meal breaks. Herr Koch was a stubby man, squat in stature and barely discernible in the crowd save for his white toque. Thomas sat on the side of the crowd, not wanting to interact as his stomach gurgled with displeasure all through dinner. Rob sat at his side, an arm around Thomas’ shoulders and adhering to his every whim as the pair of them made their way through a shared helping of toad in the hole. 

“How are you feeling?” Rob asked, even as he loaded another fork full of potato and meat. 

“Okay.” Thomas said, taking mental note of his physical limitations. He didn’t feel nauseas par the moment but that was bound to change at the drop of a proverbial pin. “I’m not feeling sick at the moment but the day’s not out yet.” 

Rob reached up, gently stroking a lock of Thomas’ hair out of his face. Thomas leaned into the affectionate touch, soaking Rob up like water to a dry sponge. “I want you to take a supplement.” Rob murmured, “I think it’ll help with your nausea. Peppermint tea.” 

“Ew.” Thomas grimaced. That didn’t sound like something he’d enjoy, “I don’t think that would be good with honey or lemon.” 

“I know.” Rob consoled, kissing him softly on the forehead. “But pretty please? for me?” 

Oh, how could he resist? Thomas gave a shy smile, daring to lean forward and gently kiss Rob on the lips despite their company. He was well aware that several alphas were watching out of the corners of their eyes. 

“Always for you.” Thomas said. Rob rubbed the tip of his nose against Thomas’. He reached down and carefully stroked the still-slim flesh of Thomas’ stomach. Soon it would swell; by the time Rob had returned from Vienna, he might be over his nausea. It would be incredible to watch his stomach grow with time. Come March, they would be parents to a happy healthy baby. The future was bright, and Thomas was blessed to be a part of it.

They were intruded upon in their moment of bliss by Amos, who walked through the crowd to make a beeline for their private corner. 

“Mr. Barrow… Dr. Kinsey.” Amos tipped his newscap to them, “The meeting is about to start. Will you come with me?” 

They left their dishes for others to clean, rising up to dust grime off their backsides and head downstairs for a room adjacent to the newly structured tunnels. It had originally been the backside of an underground storage facility, but had been excavated and renovated into a type of bunker that could undoubtably withstand a bomb blast. What was more, it was completely closed off to foreign access, so that only specific members of their conquest could venture inside and hear private plans of Amos’ men. Inside there was little more than a cluster of tables and chairs, able to sit thirty men at a time, along with a large chalkboard that had one sat upstairs counting work related accidents and minors scheduled to specific tasks. 

Now, it held a meticulously drawn map of Dover Castle and Dover House, along with a tallied list on both sides of prominent Brigade members and notable members of Amos’ personal team. Thomas noted that both held over seventy names. 

Amos, Thomas, and Rob were the first men to enter, and took center stage near the chalkboard as other men filed in. They were hardy, adorned with vivid tattoos depicting scriptures from Litigo. A few of the men had gone so far as to cauterize a few of their tattoos, physically maiming their flesh to distance themselves from the Brigade. Each of them looked capable of chewing on a tin can and spitting out a nail, and Thomas instinctively stood closer to Rob as twenty men entered the room to finally close the door and seal their meeting. 

They were murmuring and grave, eyes locked on their leader. In retrospect, Amos was half their size and hardly as intimidating. It was a true measure of his ability though that he was able to keep these men in check. Thomas noted that there were no female alphas in the room… not even Irene. 

“Alright, fuckers, listen up.” Amos spoke, so that an absolute hush fell over the room. It was a rather appropriate way to address a large crowd; Thomas wondered what the staff of Downton Abbey would have had to say if Carson had addressed them as such. “We all know why we’re here. We all know what we’re willing to do. We’re more than allies, we’re a family. We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. And that’s why I want to introduce a new member to our family: Thomas Barrow.” 

Suddenly twenty eyes were locked on him. Thomas flushed, stepping back a little so that he was in line with Robert. He didn’t like being the center of attention. 

“Now, a few of you only just recently left the Brigade, but you’ve been working for me for a while. You were there when Thomas was brought in the first time. You were there when he was questioned while Dr. Kinsey was indisposed.” Amos paused, “But now you’re here on equal playing ground, and you’ll learn what kind of a man you’re tangling with. We’re Thomas’ men now. We follow his orders. We fight for his cause. It won’t come as a surprise to any of you that I am planning a raid on Dover Castle. Our biggest one as of yet.” 

The men were peaked with curiosity, each looking to the other to wonder at what their glorious leader might be up to. 

“I won’t tell you the specifics just yet. I want you to be aware that it’s in the works though. And with luck… we’ll not only be able to free our omega sisters, we’ll be able to take out a few members of the fucking Brigade.” 

There was great deal of clapping, many men delighted with the prospect of getting their revenge. 

Amos held up a hand for silence, which came quickly. “I’m glad you’re as enthusiastic as I am. It’ll take all of us to make the upcoming mission successful. With that, I’ll hand you over to Thomas Barrow for a bit of an introduction to what we’re trying to do here at the Furnace… so if you’ll pay fucking attention that would be lovely. Quit picking your noses, stand up straight. A nice representation of your intelligence wouldn’t go amiss lads.” 

And, obedient as could be, the men turned to look at Thomas instead. To be fair, none of them were picking their noses. 

“…Thank you.” Thomas coughed to clear his throat. He was starting to sweat a bit at the back of his neck. “I imagine that some of you might have heard about my little interrogation at Dover House a few weeks ago. I told Alden that we didn’t have a sanctuary and the idiot swallowed it. Alden thinks that we’re dissipated… and he’s about to find out he’s wrong.” 

A dark chuckle went through the crowd. 

“We’re going to be working under the guise of anonymity!” Thomas spoke up, cutting across the slowly growing chatter so that silence took over again. “I’ve got the money, I’m paying you, so you do as I say. If anyone asks what you’re doing at all in regards to Moira Furnace, you say you’re cleaning it up for a historical reservation project. That you’re excavating. That you’re digging. Mention nothing about restarting the furnace, or that people are now going to be living inside.” Thomas broke off, unsure of what to say next. He looked to Amos. 

“Anyone have any questions?” Amos offered. Several men shot up their hands. 

Thomas picked one near the front, a strapping lad that looked like Jimmy if Jimmy had been taller than Alfred. 

“If we’re confronted by Brigade members near our territory, how would you like us to handle them?” The man asked. “The minute they see us, they’ll know the jig is up. They’ll recognize us.” 

“Well…” Thomas had to admit, the man had a point. But could they truly get away with killing men? Wouldn’t the police become suspicious? For god’s sake, Thane was the chief of police in London! “I’m unsure if killing them is the best idea.” 

“With all due respect.” Another alpha near the back spoke up; several people stepped aside so that his voice could be heard better. “I’ve recently had to abandon my post inside the Brigade. I was there after you left the second time. MacNaire has spoken in length about what he’s planning on doing to you. He’s going to try and capture you and have you bred like an animal. They’re going to put you into a Brigade brothel just as soon as they get the chance. These men deserve no mercy. Death is the only solution.” 

Several men chorused in agreement. Amos threw up a hand to make them be quiet. 

The idea of being spoken about by Alden with such insidious intents made Thomas’ stomach go into knots. Could he truly keep the upper hand if Alden was willing to go so low? Maybe the men were right. Maybe death was the best way forward. Thomas looked to Rob, who was grave. 

“How is MacNaire planning on capturing Thomas?” Rob spoke up. 

“The minute you leave, they’re going to launch as many attacks as they can.” Amos warned, “I told you this the other day… I thought you took me seriously.” 

“I’m going to barricade my door.” Thomas offered. 

“They’re going to kick it in.” Amos said. “They’re strong men. Look at us, don’t you think that we could break down a door?” 

Thomas looked from man to man. Forget break, they looked like they could eat a door.

Thomas suddenly felt very small and very frightened. 

“…I’ll… keep that in mind. Thank you.” Thomas mumbled. He jumped, suddenly shocked at the feeling of Rob touching the small of his back. He looked to his left and found Rob supportive, keeping calm in the face of the storm. 

“If I might just make a suggestion?” Rob offered in a calm voice that hinted at nothing to the violent undertones which came next. “Since these men have decided to act like animals, perhaps we should treat them like animals.” 

Amos seemed mildly impressed. Thomas, on the other hand, was stunned. Rob was such a gentle and open minded soul… but it seemed the topic of Thomas being stolen away and put to a public brothel had taken out his normally docile veneer. 

“Kill them.” Rob advised. “Kill anyone who dares to threaten Thomas’ safety.” 

Amos gestured with a hand as if to say ‘there you go’, and no one made to doubt Rob’s decision. 

 

~*~

It was with greatest trepidation that Rob felt his final days approaching. 

The first thing Rob had to do was finalize his boarding papers. The Saint Helena would leave dock at three in the afternoon from Folkestone, and would hit Calais around six in the afternoon. From there, Rob was to board at a local Calais hotel and leave on the morning train for Paris which would arrive at 12 the same day. He would then board a sleeper train for Zurich, with very little window for hopping, and would keep to the train for the next two days. When he arrived, They would rest for one day at a Zurich hostel before boarding another sleeper train which would take them through a period of five days across the Austrian border, past Innsbruck, and onto Vienna. All in all, Rob would spend about a week on the road, and would leave England on the 15th and arrive in Vienna on the 22nd. 

While Rob was starting to inwardly jiggle with excitement at the prospect of meeting Freud, his heart was sinking into his stomach at the idea of leaving Thomas alone. Amos’ warning had sent a chill into his bones, and prompted Rob to amp up security in the flat tenfold in the final two days before his departure. Rob nabbed George on his lunch break, and the brothers went shopping for heavy door locks. You’d have thought they were preparing for an invasion of the German army with the way they were set on buying a heavy duty deadbolt. It required two hands to operate, pushing opposite moving cranks that allowed a bolt to spring free. It was about the size of four fingers lain together, and honestly could have kept out a rampaging bull. 

But Rob didn’t stop there. He likewise bought extra deadbolts for each of the windows, and at his brother’s insistence had purchased Thomas a revolver. It filled Rob with dread, to imagine Thomas might use his new Webley, but Rob refused to leave his omega to the mercies of men like Alden MacNaire. Thomas would be protected and safe, even if Rob was a thousand miles away. It was not just his life that Rob aimed to protect… it was the life of their unborn child as well. 

 

When Rob presented Thomas with all of these purchases, Thomas did not so much as spare them a second glance before bidding Rob to fetch his completed boarding papers. So it seemed he wasn’t too keen on living in an impromptu bomb shelter. 

Of course, Rob didn’t mention to Thomas that while he was out fetching his papers, he also picked up a little present. It was a sort of throw back to older times, and Rob suffered for it when he was injected in his scent gland by a rather peculiar man who might not have been a medically licensed professional. Never the less, he was well regarded for his craft of making scent lockets, and even took Rob’s picture as well so that the combined effect was a lovely and intricate gift. It was a large locket, oval in shape, which when opened up revealed Rob’s portrait as well as a padded velvet lining that was injected with pure scent from Rob’s gland. It resulted in Rob having to wear a bandage upon the juncture of his neck… but it didn’t matter. Thomas’ happiness was much more important to him than a bit of a booboo. 

Besides, he had a feeling Thomas would kiss it better. 

The night before Rob’s departure, Rob returned home to find that Thomas was sitting amid a pile of valises, shirts, trousers, shoes, books, papers, glasses, and ties. Thomas had been ironing all day, lacing Rob’s shirts and trousers in lavender lining paper that Rob assumed were for richer men. He’d never seen the expertise of a valet up close, but was delighted to have Thomas’ experience on his side as Thomas mended tears, sewed buttons, and shined his shoes. 

Rob had tried to be a good sport and had brought Thomas home a serving of roast lamb from a diner that was open close to the school. It allowed Thomas to eat without breaking his back to make the servings, and Rob had made sure to include Thomas’ favorite portions of Brussels sprouts, carrot, and roast potatoes. Upon walking in and seeing his mate in a sea of chores, however, Rob temporarily forgot about his treat. 

“Christ, Dovey!” Rob was shocked; Thomas had somehow turned into an octopus in his efforts to have Rob well on the way, “Take a break!” 

“No thank you.” Thomas said with a small smile. He peeked around, noticing Rob carrying the many sacks of food, “Is that dinner?” 

“Yes, it is.” Rob said, “And I’ll get it onto plates.” 

He stepped through the kitchen with slight difficulty, having to wind his way around valises and the ironing board. There was already a low fire going on the stove, giving heat to both a kettle and the iron as Thomas folded his last shirtsleeve to add it to a stack of papered suits. 

“I’ve packed all your best suits and shoes.” Thomas said, buckling down down each layer of clothing underneath thin straps of leather. Rob was to take two valises, one which stored his clothes and shoes, the other which stored his toiletries, books, and miscellaneous items. Rob noticed a wrapped parcel sitting ajar of a few of his favorite books, though he did not mention it to Thomas who was intent on finishing his task. 

“I’ve polished and preened, so they should last you till you get through Vienna. I want you to find a local valet that you can loan from. Someone who will iron for you. I bet Freud’s got a butler. Ask him for assistance and he’ll surely give it.” 

But that just seemed too much trouble on his host. “I can iron!” 

Thomas gave him a sympathetic look, “No you can’t.” He said, which stood to reason since his wardrobe had been falling into a hole when Thomas had first arrived back in April. To think, they’d once been nothing more than very good friends. 

“Oh-!” Thomas cried out as if suddenly remembering something, twirling on the spot and snatching a leather box off the kitchen table. “I’ve also ordered three new pairs of your glasses, just in case!” He put them in with Rob’s toiletries. 

Three new pairs? For god’s sake- 

 

“But I-“ Rob scoffed at the sight of Thomas polishing little bottle of vanity items with a soft cloth. “For god’s sake Thomas!” 

“I’ve packed all your favorite books and your stationary. I bought you a new box, so you must be sure…” Thomas paused, as if suddenly suffering from a wave of anxiety. 

_Fuck here we go_ , Rob thought worriedly. But instead of falling into a pit of despair, Thomas just kept trucking on. He seemed to practically be grinding his words out. 

“You must make sure to write to me. Everyday. Sheets and sheets.” Thomas coughed, carrying on, “And you already know the rest. So there you go.” 

Thomas closed the last valise, locking it down so that it could be stored away by the couch. He folded up the ironing board, setting it against the wall, and began to pick up the kitchen table which had become the centerpiece for his work station. 

So fastidious, so clean… Rob was heavily in love with Thomas. 

And it was the knowledge that he was leaving tomorrow which really spurned Rob into action. Tonight, beyond all, would be the last time he could be intimate with Thomas until he returned from Vienna. Even then, as Thomas’ pregnancy progressed, they would have to be careful in the coming months not to overstrain his body. 

Sex wasn’t what mattered most, not by a long shot… but Rob felt an odd sense of impending doom. He wanted to love Thomas thoroughly tonight, and as he looked down at the plates he’d loaded with dinner he suddenly had a very naughty idea. 

“…I have an idea.” Rob spoke up. Thomas came into the kitchen to wash his hands, casting him a side eye with a shy smile. Rob reached over and laid his hand upon the small of Thomas’ back. He was always delighted by the curve of Thomas’ rump… indeed it was his favorite part of Thomas as a whole. “I heard a theory in Kraus’ class. Shit subject but we had to take it. He said that in the olden times, when an omega was very good and deserved a reward, their alpha would strip them naked… have them sit upon their knee… and feed them by their own hand.” 

Thomas grinned, a blush blossoming upon his high cheekbones as he dried his hands upon a damp dishtowel. “Very unhygienic.” Thomas said, with mild acknowledgement. 

But Rob could see his grin deepening. 

He leaned in, pressing his groin against the jut of Thomas’ hip. He leaned in, scenting Thomas’ lovely neck, and whispered in his ear. “Would you like to be… unhygienic?” 

“Oh.” Thomas chuckled darkly, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I’ve never been wooed so well.” 

 

So that was all there was for it. 

Rob took it upon himself to cut up dinner a bit more, so that the pieces were more manageable, and placed it into a large bowl like one might a stew or a pie instead of a three piece meal. As he worked, Thomas stepped into the bedroom to undress and take a bird bath. Rob kept grinning every so often as he imagined Thomas waltzing down the hallway to the living room. Rob rolled up his shirtsleeves, thoroughly washed his hands, then took his little impromptu feeding bowl to the sofa where he waited for Thomas to join him. 

And of course, Thomas was shy when he did. 

Thomas did not waltz down the hall naked, instead wrapping a towel about his chest so that it ended somewhere mid-thigh. He was incredibly beautiful to Rob in that moment, his hair soft and feathering about his ears and his feet pale and slim. He kept his eyes on the floor, smiling shyly as he slid onto the couch next to Rob while keeping his towel wrapped tight about his chest. 

“… Why don’t we get a bit more comfortable.” Rob murmured, relaxing into the arm of the couch with a pillow to cushion his back. He spread his legs into a large ‘V’, and gingerly patted his thigh so that Thomas knew he could sit whenever he was ready. 

Thomas slid over, perching up on one hand before sidling over onto Rob’s leg. He still held his towel about his chest. Rob let Thomas go at his own pace, not pushing. When he was ready, he would drop the towel. 

After a moment, Thomas let out a little breath and allowed the towel to unfold. 

It fell in a flutter wave, decorating Rob’s groin and opposite leg in a wave of cottony white. 

To say that Thomas was scrumptious was a gross understatement. His creamy skin, supple curves, and rosy undertones all came together to turn Thomas into walking masterpiece. By rights, he ought to have been encapsulated forever in a portrait, something you’d hang over a fireplace and admire forever. 

Certain parts of Thomas stood out in particular, forever to be enshrined in Rob’s memory. His nipples, the color of a rose petal… the bend in waist where his hips began to expand… his cock, slim and petite but absolutely perfect… but above all Rob’s favorite part of Thomas was the black hair that decorated his chest, stomach, arms, and legs. It reminded Rob that Thomas was a man, that all his incredible gifts were made more incredible by the fact that he wasn’t supposed to have them. 

He felt incredibly smug, with his beautiful omega sitting on his lap. Determined to give an adequate reward for such hard work today, Rob moved his little mixed bowl onto his other leg and began to feed Thomas piece by piece. The roasted lamb was succulent, the vegetables well seasoned and grilled, but Thomas didn’t seem to understand the concept of being cared for. He tried to feed himself with his own fingers until Rob stopped him, carefully detaching a piece of carrot from Thomas’ fingers to instead hold it himself. 

“Ah ah…” Rob smiled, “Let me feed you.” 

Thomas chuckled, relaxing into Rob’s side to lay his head on Rob’s shoulder. He accepted the piece of carrot without complaint, followed by another piece of lamb and a potato wedge. 

“Sit up straight.” Rob teased, “We need to set an example for English society.” 

Thomas laughed aloud, happily sitting up straight to even perch his hands upon his knees like a true member of the upper class. Rob rewarded his good behavior with more food, only to pause as Thomas’ warm, wet tongue sucked at his finger. He wasn’t just eating, he was lavishing Rob with love. 

“Good omega.” Rob whispered. There was a dreamy smile upon his face. If his father could see him now, Rob was certain he’d be chastised for letting his emotions getting the better of him. 

He didn’t give a shit. 

Rob fed Thomas piece after piece, pleasantly surprised when Thomas picked up his own pieces and fed Rob in return. Suddenly the pair of them were utterly obsessed with the other, tongues, lips, and fingers to essence of love. When they finished their meal, both were feeling full and content. Thomas set the now empty bowls aside, leaning in to continue kissing Rob on the mouth. There was nothing overly sexual about this encounter, save that Thomas was naked. 

They were simply together, simply reveling in the depth of their feelings. 

But as Thomas’ long lovely fingers scooted over Rob’s jacket to help him shrug it off, Rob was suddenly reminded of the gift in his pocket. He pulled back, careful to fix his glasses better upon his nose before pulling out the wrapped locket which he presented to Thomas with a soft smile. 

“I have a little present for you.” Rob murmured. Thomas took the wrapped box at once, politely perplexed, and tore off the wrapping paper with nimble fingers to reveal the creamy parcel inside. As he lifted the lid away, Thomas found the golden locket sitting on a velvet cushion. He picked it up after a second’s pause, amazed at the weight in his hands. The locket easily fit in the palm of his hand. When Thomas opened it to reveal Rob’s portrait, an emotional mist filled his beautiful blue eyes. 

He chewed on his plump bottom lip, slim fingers stroking the curve of Rob’s captured jaw. 

Rob reached out, and took the thick chain to hang it over Thomas’ neck. When allowed to sit, the locket reached between his breasts, sitting in the slight dip between his pectorals. 

“Until I return… wear this always.” Rob commanded. 

“I’ll wear it all my life.” Thomas corrected. Rob felt a warm sensation flutter in his breast. 

“Smell it.” Rob urged. 

Thomas picked up the locket again, and this time brought it up to his nose, not his eyes. He sniffed, only to start at the shocking sensation of Rob’s scent gland greeting him. He looked at Rob, amazed. 

“How?” He demanded. 

Rob reached up to unbutton the top three clasps of his shirt sleeve, gently pulling the collar aside so that Thomas could see the abrasion covered with a bandage. Just as Rob had predicted days ago, Thomas swooped down to place hot peppering kisses upon his bruised skin. Rob grinned, blissful at the sensation. 

“My poor, poor alpha.” Thomas spoke with a baby voice, but Rob found it oddly endearing. The heavy metal of the locket now slid against his shirt and vest, clinking against his buttons 

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Rob murmured into Thomas’ ear. The smell of peach overwhelmed his senses. “I’d gladly give more if it gave you comfort.” 

For a moment, Thomas just stared at Rob; Rob could see a myriad of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Fear, love, longing, and determination all combined… it resulted in Thomas swinging his legs off Rob’s lap, sliding onto the floor. 

For one second, Rob thought Thomas was about to pleasure him orally, and a spike of arousal shot through his groin making his cock heat up in the confines of his pants. Instead, Thomas reached for the valise by the side of the couch and opened it to pull out the package Rob had spied. It wasn’t much bigger than a book, and Thomas gave it to him. Now it was Rob’s turn to open a present, and he did so carefully as Thomas retook his seat on Rob’s lap. Rob spread his legs a little wider so that Thomas could sit on the cushion between Rob’s legs. 

As he pulled away the wrapper, Rob was greatly pleased to see Thomas had had a picture taken for his journey. He was just as beautiful on film as he was in real life, perched in a 3/4th profile and wearing one of his best suits. He was smiling lovingly, just as if he were staring at Rob face to face. 

“I was going to have this be a surprise for when you unpacked but…” Thomas broke off, a little pensive. “I want you to have it now.” 

Rob kissed the picture, his lips moistening the waxen fabric, and set it back down so that it could fall to the valise. 

It was like a trigger. 

Rob suddenly realized, in that moment, that he was leaving Thomas for two months. That for better or for worse, he would not be able to return home until his mission with the school was completed. He realized that he didn’t want to go, and that what was worse, Thomas couldn’t go with him. They were trapped in an awful system, forced to part, and Rob was determined to make this night last until the golden morning when they could be together again. 

Rob surged forward, and kissed Thomas passionately on the lips. It was a clash of tongue, lips, and teeth, only emboldened as Thomas climbed back onto Rob’s lap to straddle him. Naked, Thomas’ hot writhing flesh inspired wave after wave of arousal in Rob, until he simply couldn’t stand it anymore. 

He ripped at his shirtsleeves, a few buttons popping loose. He wanted to be naked. He wanted to be with Thomas. He stood up, Thomas sliding from his lap to pool at his feet. 

Rob fumbled with his belt, his fingers slipping upon the clasp. Thomas joined his efforts, helping him to pull the belt free so that his trousers could slip down to mid-thigh. Rob didn’t even wait, yanking out the knot on the string of his pants so that they could join the rest of his clothes. His cock sprang free, hardened and colored with blood, and was immediately besieged upon by Thomas would took Rob into his mouth. 

Rob let out a long, exuberant string of moans. Thomas’ mouth was hot and slick, his tongue lapping at the underside of his engorged cock. Rob buried his fingers in Thomas’ hair, allowing Thomas to move at his own pace. 

Fucking hell, if this wasn’t heaven on earth! 

“Uh- Huh-“ Rob couldn’t even find it within him to get a word out, too taken aback by the scorching pleasure now rippling through his flesh. 

He let his head fall back onto his shoulders, whisked away to a golden world of euphoria by Thomas fucking Barrow and his incredible fucking tongue. 

But a few things had slipped past Rob’s attention that would not do. 

For starters, when Rob had walked in, he’d been so amazed by the sight of Thomas slaving away that he’d forgotten to lock door. Really, it had been a work of daring good luck that no one had knocked earlier when Thomas had been naked on Rob’s lap. Unfortunately, their luck had officially run out in the form of George, who for whatever reason had decided to stop by unannounced. 

Well, not really. To be fair he did knock on the door.   
It was just that the door was unlocked. 

“Hallo-“ George called out, only to get the horrific sight of his older brother receiving sexually promiscuous fellatio from his naked omega on all fours. “DEAR GOD-!!” 

~*~

The sexual environment pretty much evaporated after that. 

Thomas had run, scrambling for cover to hide in the kitchen while Rob had screamed himself hoarse at George. The two brothers had gotten into an argument, which was incredible since Rob had been half naked with his cock out. It was one thing to argue clothed, but it took a special kind of man to make a point when his penis was jiggling about like an epileptic holding a hose. This show of dominance had ended in George deciding it would be better if he left well enough alone. When George had left, Thomas had then departed to the bedroom, far too embarrassed to continue on with their prior engagement. 

Rob was dejected by the lack of a fulfilled fellatio, but hadn’t made to force Thomas to continue. Instead Rob had done the English thing, by buttoning up his pants, fixing his glasses, and making a pot of tea. 

Thomas had put back on his clothes at once, but had stuck with pajamas instead of redressing fully. He’d taken tea in bed, embarrassed and exhausted, only to be joined by Rob who had put his arm around Thomas and read a book until well after ten. The pair of them had fallen asleep, side by side, entangled tightly with only Thomas’ locket separating their skin. 

Of course, the morning came… like a snake it slithered through the sky, coating the dawn in pink and waking Thomas before Rob to see their bedroom bathed in a soft light. 

He’d risen from bed at the beck and call of a fetus no bigger than a pea, having to be sick before rising his mouth out with stale tea from last night. He’d ventured to the bedroom window, then, drawing back the lace curtains to reveal the city of London slowly stirring to life. The newly purchased padlock was dusted with tiny beads of dew. 

Thomas had beheld the scene, and had found none of it beautiful or poetic. 

“…God damn you.” Thomas had whispered to the sun, merely a shining sliver on the edge of the horizon. “Sink back down, you hound from hell.” 

But the sun had not obeyed. 

 

They’d traveled to the station with both Thomas and Rob carrying a valise. Folkestone was about three and a half hours away, so Rob and Thomas had taken the seven o’clock train. They had been met at the station by Melvina and George, who had come to see Rob off from the ferry to Calais. 

The four of them had traveled in silence that was only broken by Melvina making odd comments about passing landscape or Laura’s newest art project. Apparently Laura was quite the talented painter, and had recently given Melvina a still portrait of a vase of flowers from her mother’s garden. 

George had said nothing for the entire ride. He wouldn’t meet Thomas’ eyes, or Rob’s. On the plus side, though, George mentioned nothing to Melvina about the fellatio he’d witnessed the night before. Now that Thomas thought about it, he doubted that Melvina would even know what fellatio was. If she knew that Thomas had had his mouth wrapped around her oldest son’s penis, he was certain that she’d drag Thomas to church to have him exorcised of his sexual demons. 

Oh, the Victorians. Such a pious lot. 

They’d arrived in Folkestone close to eleven, and as a group they had eaten lunch at a pub on church street called the Pullman. Thomas had found it impossible to eat, instead sipping mildly on a cup of tea and having a few crackers. Honestly, no one in their party had looked entirely hungry. Rob hadn’t so much as touched a crumb. He kept looking to the docks, down at Folkestone Harbor, watching the Saint Helena dock and disembark night passengers from France. 

Thomas refused to look at the boat. He wished it would sink, that the entire thing would blow and drop down into the bellow of the ocean never to be seen again. 

They’d walked to the harbor after that, rejecting the idea of a cab despite how Melvina complained. The weather was good, and a brisk wind swept the clearing as they neared the ocean’s edge. The smell of brine was overpowering, with fishermen selling their wares at a local market while tiny boats loaded with nets slowly coasted their way out to sea. Thomas was taken aback when they neared the port only to see a large billboard that had been painted to greet arrivals from foreign countries. It was a painted likeness of Alden MacNaire, glowering over the head of the crowds and holding the book of Litigo in both his hands so that bold text could be read: 

_"Would to God that all the Supreme’s Alphas were Prophets”_  
_“Speak out if you see Rebellion!”_

 

It made Thomas sick to his stomach. He turned away, refusing to stare at Alden’s face one blessed second longer. 

The Saint Helena was not meant for resting, and therefore did not have cabins. The passage to France only took a day at most, and so there were plenty of tearooms to sit and wait in or once could occupy a deck chair. Rob decided he’d rather be out in the open air to see the sea, so they checked Rob’s luggage before strolling down to the bow of the ship where one could look out and see the long way across the English Channel. 

The last time Thomas had been to France, he’d been bound for Flanders. He doubted that Rob would have the same kind of journey. 

Thomas kept his back to the group, hands clenched tightly upon the railing. Every time he turned around all he could see were unbound alphas or alphas and omegas. A scattering of betas, but every omega on board was with their mate. They looked excited, or content. Maybe they were going on vacation. Maybe they were going home. 

“Now, you must remember to take your vitamins every day, Robbie.” Melvina begged, “You know how peaky you can get. Thomas won’t be there to monitor your diet so you’ll have to do it yourself.” 

“I do know how to eat, mother.” Rob said. Melvina pointedly ignored the lie. 

“…Robert-“ George was trying to do his best at saying goodbye, which was a hair shy better from last night. Thomas doubted he would ever be able to look George in the eye again. 

The brothers shook hands. “Good luck and return safely home to us. Try not to make Freud cry from boredom.” 

Instead of rising to the joke, Rob just pressed on. “George. Sorry about last night but… well… that’s really what you get for bursting into people’s homes.” 

“Lock your door. It’s a novel idea but it should catch on given the right endorsements. I hear they’re even doing it in America.” 

Rob did not answer. George shifted from foot to foot, the sea breeze tossing his golden coif. He finally let it go, clapping his older brother on the elbow. 

“…Just come home to us and we can argue about it then.” George said. Rob gave him a small smile. 

“FIRST CALL TO SEA!” Shouted a sailor near the gangway. “TWO MORE CALLS LEFT!” 

Thomas turned back towards the sea, unwilling to hear the call to land. George, however, knew when enough was enough. 

“I’ll head back to the dock.” George said. “Telephone from the hostel tonight if you can, and let us know that you’re safe.” 

“Of course." Rob said. With that George heading for the gangway, where a group of people were now clustered forming an orderly cue for shore. 

Now it was Melvina’s turn to say goodbye. She turned flustered, as only a mother could, and grabbed Rob close to kiss him several times upon the cheek. 

“You be good- so good-“ Melvina begged, tears obvious in her voice. “You write to me, darling, and keep in good care.” 

“Yes, mother.” Rob said gently. Despite her flitting about all over the place and generally being a nuisance, Rob adored his mother and treated her with respect. 

“Eat well, not just fried foods!” Melvina said, “Vienna is a beautiful place, so see it all. Don’t just coop up inside. And for god’s sake, write Thomas every second that you get the chance. And buy him something nice while you’re abroad. It’s only proper that you dote on your omega. Get something for the baby-?” 

“Yes mother, I’ll get something for everyone.” Rob assured her. 

“SECOND CALL TO SEA! ONE MORE CALL LEFT!” 

“Oh-!” Melvina was close to crying outright. “Oh, I can’t stand it.” She kissed Rob one last time before turning to leave. Now it was just Thomas and Rob alone, and suddenly Thomas was saying the strangest of things. 

“Let your shirts hang, they won’t crease that way.” Thomas mumbled, “Keep everything else packed. When you meet Freud, don’t wear anything but the best. First impressions and all that.” 

Rob reached out, and suddenly his arms were wrapped around Thomas’ waist. 

“FINAL CALL TO SEE! ALL NON-PASSENGERS, DISEMBARK!” 

And suddenly it slammed into Thomas that this was it. That he could not continue on.   
That he’d made a horrible fucking mistake. 

He turned, and threw his arms around Rob’s neck, burrowing his nose deep to scent Rob as best he could. 

“Don’t do this, please!” Thomas begged, and before he could stop it he was suddenly crying. “Please, don’t-!” 

But Rob was beginning to scent him, to calm him as best he could. “I will be back so very soon… I promise you… I swear to you on our child’s life, I will not stay away a minute more than required.” 

But that wasn’t good enough. They couldn’t be parted. They simply couldn’t! 

A sailor was walking up, trying to catch Rob’s attention: “Sir, I’m terribly sorry but… it’s time to head to land now?” 

“No. No, I can’t-!” Thomas wept, holding onto Rob as tight as he could. “I can’t I have to go with you-!” 

“Does he have his papers?” The sailor asked, hoping for an easy solution. 

“No.” Rob said, stroking Thomas’ hair and neck lovingly. “No he doesn’t.” 

“Please-!” Thomas howled, “Please let me stay-! Please!” 

“Dovey…” Now it was Rob’s turn to be close to tears. Thomas couldn’t bear it. A burning sensation was spreading in his chest. It was like his body was trying to tear him apart. “Dovey, it’ll be alright. I promise you-“ 

But that wasn’t good enough. 

“C’mon now, sir.” The sailor was trying to say, “Onward and upward. It won’t be so far away-“ 

But even an hour was too far away. 

“Rob, please!” Thomas begged, holding on tighter. 

 

People were watching them, shocked at Thomas’ behavior. He thought that there would be scowling, anger at Thomas for holding up the departure. Instead, there seemed to be a murmur of disapproval that Rob was even leaving Thomas at all. For surely, if they were mated, an omega ought to constantly stay at his alpha’s side? 

For the first time in his life, Thomas found himself agreeing with the conservative masses. 

“Thomas, you have to remember,” Rob begged, forcing Thomas to look up from his chest. Thomas’ face was covered with tears and snot, moist to the touch. He knew he looked a wreck. “Remember your goals! I know it seems gloomy right now, but you have to think of our plan, and how many omegas need you-“ 

“But I’m your omega!” Thomas begged. “I need you, Rob! You! So please don’t leave me for Vienna!” 

A gaggle of men were watching from the second deck, silent and grave. Thomas realized they were the other members of the party, unsure if Rob had made the correct decision. Three of them had their omegas with them, all women who seemed scandalized that Rob would dare to leave Thomas behind. 

“Sir-!” A gentleman with a top hat approached Rob, “You’re traveling abroad without your omega? That’s unthinkable!” 

“I’ll ask you sir, to remember that this is my affair and not yours.” Rob was quickly running out of patience for the gaggle of onlookers cloistering around them. 

“Come on now, sir.” The sailor took Thomas by the elbows, carefully detracting Thomas from Rob’s grip so that he could slowly back up towards the gangway. It was clear of people now. Thomas was the last non-passenger on the ship. 

“I’ll be home very soon, Dovey.” Rob urged. “Hold to your locket. I’ll call you when I land. You’ll see, this’ll all be over soon. I love you so very much.” 

Someone was hustling up the gangway. It was George and Melvina, both of whom had realized they were needed to get Thomas back to land. Each took him by an arm, Melvina patting him sweetly on the back while George lead their party towards the gangway. Thomas tried to pull away twice, but George just kept him straight. 

As they hit the bottom of the gangway and stepped back onto dry land, Thomas watched heartbroken as the sailors pulled away so that they could start casting off tyes. 

The men were shouting at one another, calling to speed up the process. The Saint Helena’s stacks let out a belching horn, her engines roaring back to life. 

Thomas felt like he might be sick. 

Melvina rubbed his back, offering him continuous silent support, but it just wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t bloody enough. 

Thomas bowed his head, hands burying his face as more tears slipped down his long nose to plop onto the dock. 

 

In Thomas’ horrid ennui, he did not notice a familiar figure slipping out the back of the crowd… a hulking man with a golden beard, bearing a bizarre likeness to a billboard looming overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapters are about to get wild. There's going to be a whole array of shit going down. Be prepared for nuttiness. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to let me know. I am always reading the comments, am eager to know what you think.


	25. Blaze of Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Robert gone, Thomas and Amos attempt to make headway with the sanctuary.  
> Alden is less than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. My birthday was this past Friday and I've been very busy interviewing for jobs as well as starting a website for fanfiction writers called the SubRosa Writer. I'll add more about it later, but for now just know that there's something the works. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has wished me well on job hunting and graduate school. Hopefully we'll see some turn outs soon. As for this chapter, the only trigger warning is **fire**. If that upsets you in any way at all, please jump to the end section so that you can be prepared for what happens. Otherwise just keep reading.

_Litigo 3:16: “So also the tongue is a small part of the body, and yet it boasts of great things. See_   
_how great a forest is set aflame by such a small fire!”_

 

The days began to merge and muddle, so that August slid by in an ugly sluggish haze.

Thomas did not mingle. He did not go out. He did not socialize with Robert’s family or make local trips to the markets. Upon returning home and realizing that Robert was truly gone from the apartment and would not be coming back for a while, Thomas had felt the sudden ugly sensation of mourning take over him. It was as if Robert were dead.

He’d packed a valise, at first intent on joining Robert in Vienna, but had realized soon after that in some awful way, Robert had left him. That Robert had chosen Vienna over him, and if that was how it was meant to be…?

Well…

There was only one saving grace in his time of sorrow. Only one constant push forward that gave him days meaning. Hour by hour, board by board, the Furnace was being reconstructed and prepared to be a sanctuary. There was so much to be done that Thomas found he could slip inside the comfort of methodical work. He stocked his office with supplies, and even stole a cot from the medical ward to sit in the back corner should he want to work through the night.

He certainly wasn’t lacking for company. Several alphas were staying over at the furnace, and were eager to make Thomas’ acquaintance. Irene and Mr. Belphrey were always working, but they liked for Thomas to examine their progress and make notes on what they could do to further push the furnace toward Thomas’ vision. While this would have thrilled Thomas last week, now it only made him tired. He wanted to be left alone, to hide in his office and forget about the world… Anything to keep from feeling the loss of Rob.

The last time Thomas had felt this empty, he’d nearly killed himself. The loss of Ada was comparable, though not quite the same. When he’d lost Ada, he’d lost part of himself. Losing Rob, however was like losing part of his soul. Like the activities he’d once enjoyed held no meaning anymore.

Like nothing was important but the solid, steady act of breathing… existing from one day to the next.

 

Two weeks after Rob’s departure, Thomas sat slumped at his desk in his office, slowly thumbing through the newspapers for no particular reason. He’d been working on a project at one point, to clean out the cabinets of the former foreman. He’d lost interest though (as he was now prone to do) and was honestly contemplating taking a nap. What was the point of being awake?

A gentle rap at Thomas’ door broke hit out of his ennui. He looked up to see Amos, sans his usual flat cap.

“Look at you…” Amos said, whistling with praise, “All swank in your office. I like it.”

Thomas did not care for conversation.

“Do you need me for something?” He asked, not fully willing to rise out of his seat or put away his newspaper. Amos smiled, seeming to understand the depression he was living under.

“Actually I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk with me.” Amos said.

“No thanks.”

“Mmm, this is the kind of walk you really want to take.” Amos paused, “It involves ghosts and caves and murder.”

While all three were interest peeking, Thomas found that he was still too exhausted to move. He sighed, aggravated when he realized that Amos was going no where, and stood up to push his desk chair in with an irritable scrape. Amos was never fazed, despite Thomas’ attitude, and instead swept his hand out towards the door and the furnace beyond.

As they descended the stairs, newly renovated and now firmly mounted with metal planks to the wall, Thomas shrugged on a jacket. Despite it being summer, he was still feeling an odd chill every now and then. He wondered if it had something to do with the baby, but didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm to go to a doctor. When they made it to the bottom, Thomas found that Amos’ flat cap was resting atop a card table covered in maps for tunnel expansion. Amos snatched it, jamming it onto his head, and took a flashlight from a cluster sitting in a canvas bag by the legs. Mr. Belphrey was there, perched over the table

“Good evenin’ Mr. Barrow!” Mr. Belphrey said. His smile was wide, but it’s warmth didn’t reach Thomas’ aching bones.

“Mr. Belphrey.” Thomas straightened his jacket a little bit better, “How is our blast furnace?”

“Coming away one chunk at a time.” He said. “This’ll take a bit of time, but if done correctly she’ll be glorious in the end.”

As they spoke, several carts full of broken, crumbling pig iron were carted through the main hall, clearly to be melted again in the attempts at making salvageable metal. Thomas wondered if they would be successful.

“Is the metal salvageable?” Thomas asked.

“Of course.” Belphrey assured him, “And I intend to make good use of it.”

“Let me know if any new recruits show up. I want our upcoming raid kept to the old crowd.” Amos said, “I’m taking Thomas for a walk. Fucker needs some fresh air.”

Thomas deeply objected to being called a ‘fucker’, but it seemed Amos did it to everyone. Belphrey tipped his head to Amos, then continued on with his work. A few alphas waved to Thomas, one or two clearly looking like they wanted to talk, but Thomas just pushed his way out the front door of the furnace and into a heavy pile of weeds. The sun temporarily blinded him.

Despite the work being done on the inside, the outside looked just as remote and dank as ever. This was exactly to plan, because the last thing Thomas wanted to draw was attention to himself. Amos took the lead, pushing the pair of them up a slope that progressively grew steeper. Already low in energy, Thomas found himself quickly falling behind as he waded through waist high chickweed and yarrow.

Amos paused, careful not to lose Thomas in the walk.

“So how do you even handle new recruits?” Thomas asked. “Where are they coming from?”

“All over.” Amos said, now elbow to elbow with Thomas so that he could not be lost, “Brigade’s losing popularity by the year, and true Brits know the war is at home. Many are alphas wanting to protect their omegas. Many more are omegas and betas, just wanting to make a difference.”

It brought to mind a question Thomas had always had, “Do you have an omega?”

Amos did not respond to his question. Instead, he helped Thomas though a thicket of yarrow to point at along a thin trail that vanished up the mountain side. It seemed to have at one point been beaten down, wide and meant to be followed.

“See, I saw this trail when I was walking and I followed it.” Amos said. It was much easier to walk along a trail than wade through weeds, so they made much better time as they headed up the mountain. Large rocks had been revealed to the sun, dirt and pebbles brushed away by wind and root so that boulders loomed overhead and cast them into a gloom. The trees were thick here, with trunks as wide as the body of two men. The sun almost vanished from overhead. The sound of animal life was muted; at this hot hour only the serenading of cicadas could be heard. Every thing else was surely sleeping during the intense heat.

Thomas started to feel warm and took off his jacket. “So what is it?” He asked, “A trail to another part of the village?”

“At first, I thought it was just a path to a shed. More storage for us, and maybe an outsource for our men. But then I noticed the ground.” Amos paused, and so did Thomas. The pair of them were now staring at the dirt beneath their feet.

Thomas could see nothing unusual with it until Amos crouched down and brushed aside the top layer. Sure enough, when the dirt was removed, a thin glint of metal appeared.

Curious, Thomas got down alongside Amos, and began to rub methodically at the metal till it revealed rails. Had this been a path for carts?

“Look at the grooves.” Amos said, “Carts went along this path.”

“So where does it lead?” Thomas asked. The pair of them straightened up, and continued along their way. The path wound around the mountainside, and they followed it for a good thousand yards or so until a crack in the mountain-face was revealed.

It was a cave, barred by heavy wooden slats with a large ‘keep out’ sign painted in red on the front.

The tracks slid underneath the wooden barrier, clearly going deep into the mine.

“A cave.” Thomas said in wonder. “Can we go in? We need to fetch a hammer.”

“Two things-“ Amos paused, handing Thomas the flashlight before stepping up to the wooden boards. He seemed to be testing them for pliancy, though they were clearly quite old and dried out.

“First of all, it’s a mine, not a cave.” Amos corrected, rapping his knuckles upon the wood for sore spots. “Second of all-“ Yet at this Amos reared back and slammed his entire left shoulder into the wood. It cracked and crashed to the ground in heavy pieces, shocking Thomas in a show of Amos’ brute strength.

Amos grinned over his shoulder, “I don’t need no hammer, love.”

“…Well alright then.” Thomas mumbled. There wasn’t much else to say.

“Shall we?” Amos extended his hand. Thomas gave him the flashlight at once, and Amos had to smack it several times before the lightbulb came on. The gloom was cut to reveal a dank, murky path that extended god only knows how deeply.

“…Is this safe?” Thomas murmured.

“Is anything safe?” Amos shrugged.

The light revealed a world crafted from brute strength and hard work. The walls of the cave had been chopped back by hand to reveal a deep path into the beyond where it forked into two different directions. Beneath their feet, water had collected into shallow murky pools, and red rust coated iron railings that had once been used as tracks. Thomas stayed in the light as he walked, careful not to stray lest he get lost or trip, and was delighted to find an actual cart as they round the corner of the right fork.

“Ah-!” Thomas peeked inside, and was shocked to even find a carbide lamp and a pickaxe. He picked the axe up, amazed at how heavy it was.

“Jesus I can’t even lift it.” Thomas complained. Just to piss him off, Amos took it from him and twirled it about in one hand.

“Look at me! I’m a miner!” Amos chirped, and slammed the pickaxe into the wall.

It broke at the head, and the axe fell into the dirt with a heavy ‘twang’. The pair of them stared at it with mute cynicism.

“Good for you.” Thomas grumbled, “Now what do we do with this mine?”

Amos tossed the wooden handle aside. It clattered down the left wing of the split path and rolled to a stop in a puddle of red water.

“See this is what I’m thinking.” Amos said, running his hand over the walls. “We need more than tunnels. More than escape. We need offense.”

“But how is a cave offense?” Thomas asked. “What are we gonna do? Launch an attack with a shitty pickaxe?”

“Oh no.” Amos stretched out a hand, pointing back to the interest, “See here’s what I’m thinking. We use that mine entrance as a bottleneck, draw the bastards in… and blow them up to kingdom come. One way in, no way out”

Thomas could see the value in the idea, but how on earth were they going to lure Brigade members into this ugly dank mine? The whole place reeked of mold and death.

“But how on earth could we lure them back here?” Thomas asked, “And once we got them back here, how do we keep them? Should we build a pit for them to fall into?”

“Oh don’t worry, they’re already going to be falling into another sort of pit.” Amos’ tone turned menacing for a few seconds, with images of hellfire and brimstone coming to both their minds.

Thomas thought of Alden, and how intense he’d become when his ‘omegas’ had supposedly been threatened. It had been the only time during their limited interactions where Alden had ever shown true emotion that could in some way be linked back to fear. Even Rob had turned wild when threatened with Thomas-

But Thomas couldn’t think on that. It would only lead him down a spiral of despair, which was something he desperately had to avoid if he wanted

“The only thing that could ever bring in Alden would be his omegas.” Thomas mused. Amos bristled, his words clearly striking a personal tone. “It’s the only thing that scares an alpha like them… the loss of their ‘brood’.”

Thomas looked down at the cart, wondering. The smell of rotting wood and still water was quite rank-  
Then… an awful idea came to him. A wonderful, awful idea.

“..Smell.” Thomas spoke up.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Amos quipped.

“No, you idiot.” Thomas grumbled affectionately, “Smell! That’s how we’ll do it!” He looked about, a gleam in his eyes, “Let’s get the omegas we save to donate their clothes. Things like undergarments that really stink of their personal scent. We’ll pile it all in here, and make the whole cave reek of omega pheromones.”

Amos was catching on, a grin spreading across his scarred face. “They’ll smell the cave from a mile away and head straight here- Thomas you’re a genius!”

“That’s a word for it.” Thomas scoffed. Should charges go off in this mine, there would be no way out. Every man caught inside would either be killed by the blast or by the collapse of the tunnel, “Murderer would suffice as well.”

“No mercy.” Amos assured him, heading back for the mouth of the cave. Thomas followed, eager to leave. There was an uneasy gloom about the place that he did not enjoy. Maybe Amos was right, and this place was haunted.

A feeling of relief washed over Thomas as he stepped back out into the sunlight. The great canopy overhead muted most of the rays, but it was distinctly warmer and the air was sweet compared to the dank mold of the mine. The pair of them started out back down the hill, following the winding path towards the base of the forest where tall weed would engulf them once again.

“You slaughter those bastards.” Amos said as they continued on, “If you’re carryin’ an omega, your baby will be in as much danger as anyone-“

It was as if the fetus could hear Amos’ ominous words. A sudden twinge in his lower back made Thomas halt; he found refuge on an protruding boulder and sat down for a moments pause. Concerned, Amos came to join him.

“… You alright?” Amos asked.

“Mmm.” Thomas nodded. These sorts of pains were common, and feeble compared to other horrors Thomas had known. It was hard for his body to carry a baby; at times it felt like his womb was repositioning itself in his half-formed uterus, desperately trying to make itself more comfortable for the long haul. “Just need a moment.”

Amos sat next to him on the boulder and struck up a cigarette. “D’you mind-?” He asked half-heartedly, as if realizing smoking might be offensive to Thomas’ faint sensibilities.

“S’fine.” Thomas said, looking away back up towards the mine entrance, “Just food n’tea that gets me.”

“And sunshine, and air.” Amos teased. It was a long standing joke to members of their motley crew that anything could make Thomas vomit from ‘good morning’ to ‘good night’.

“Bugger off.” Thomas muttered.

Amos chuckled, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. Thomas found himself looking at Amos closely… truly inspecting the man.

There were scars on Amos’ neck, that looked as if someone savage had bit him. Perhaps he’d been attacked by a rabid dog. His wrists were bony, his fingers long, but everywhere that Thomas looked Amos’ skin seemed to be marred. Why? What had happened to him?

“…What happened to you?” Thomas whispered. Amos caught his gaze, and held it for a moment before growing shy and looking away.

“… Gambled big and lost.” Amos said. “Started a revolution from within the Brigade, and was found out. They wanted to make an example of me… they ruined my life in the span of forty eight hours, but I made them pay.”

Thomas said nothing, resolved to let Amos speak at his own pace.

Amos stubbed out his cigarette, flicking the dead bud into the woods before continuing on. “Used to be a Dover Castle in London. I burned the fucker to the ground. Killed about a hundred of their men.”

“…And the trapped omegas?” Thomas asked.

“The Thames.” Amos said by way of explanation, “Got away clean, along with me. And that was that.” He gave Thomas a tiny smile, “Y’know, I used to right chums with Alden.”

Now _that_ was interesting.

Thomas had to wonder, out of morbid curiosity if nothing else, what on earth was Alden like when he wasn’t…well… being Alden.

“What’s he like?” Thomas asked. “When he’s not being-“ He waved a hand about for a silent explanation.

“A dick?” Amos supplied. Thomas nodded, and Amos carried on, “That’s the thing, Thomas. He’s always like that. But if you think he’s bad, trust me… his sons are worse. Much worse.”

“Will you tell me about them?” Thomas asked.

“They’re from Francine.” Amos said, “Who is the biggest bitch to ever walk the earth if you ask me…. Ambrose and Averill are their names.”

Thomas crinkled his nose. What kind of bizarre names were those?

“They’re god damn important to the Brigade. They do spy missions, all the dirty work. See, Averill is the oldest. He’s a brute, massive and idiotic. Does a lot of work undercover with laborers. I’ve been watching my ranks closely. I wanna make sure he doesn’t slip in.” Amos paused to light up another cigarette.

He took a deep drag, and carrie don.

“Now, Ambrose, he’s a weedy little thing but he talks smooth and he knows how to get what he wants from just about anybody. You remember those cute little phone calls you got?” Amos tilted his head. “That was Ambrose.”

A mystery solved, then! Thomas rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“What a prick.” Thomas whispered.

“Ambrose is a piece of shit.” Amos agreed, “But Averill is much worse.”

“How come?”

“Ambrose will give you a reason… Averill will kill you because he likes it.”

All things considered, Thomas supposed he was lucky not to have had Averill on the phone.

“I’m sure he’s got a million other children.” Thomas muttered. “I know the third omega was pregnant.”

“Nah. Just three.” Amos said. “The two boys and the babe Daphne bore… damn shame that.” Amos paused to take a drag.

“Fifteen years old.”

“No one deserves to die that young.”

Thomas was taken aback. Daphne had died? Why? What on earth had happened?  
Then again, when Thomas had last seen her she’d look horribly sick. Maybe she’d deteriorated and the birth had killed her.

“What happened?” Thomas asked, sad.

“Childbirth.” Amos said, which wasn’t that much of a surprise, “Body couldn’t handle it. She was too young. Sick. Anemic.”

That explained her poor condition. “And the baby?”

“An omega girl. Kept in a cage.” Amos put out his second cigarette. Thomas felt sick to his stomach in that moment.

“God…” Thomas thought he might vomit. “That poor creature.” A baby, and already in a cage. How on earth would it survive behind the walls of the Brigade?

“Don’t worry.” Amos said. “I’m plannin’ on saving her. I’m getting ready to do an underground mission. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of skill but if we’re lucky we’ll fee a shit ton of omegas including the babe.”

God, it sure was nice to know there were men like Amos in the world. Alphas that stood against the Brigade regardless the consequences. The compliancy that so many Englishmen showed lead to omegas suffering and dying. It was only through rebelling, only through fighting, that innocence could be saved.

“…You’re a good man, Amos Dorsette.” Thomas praised. Amos grinned, shy and ducking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d still kick ass just like you’re doing now.” Amos shrugged, “Course, you might have less style.”

Thomas scoffed.  
The pair of them eventually made their way back down the path, but neither were in a hurry anymore.

~*~

The first time that Thomas returned to the apartment was four weeks after Rob had left.

 

It felt like stepping into an alien world, returning to the house with Rob not in it. There was an aching quiet to the flat, unbroken save for when Thomas turned on the sink or lifted a window to hear pedestrians on the street below. It was by pure paranoia alone that Thomas resolved to keep the door locked at all times, and set about cleaning the flat in a manner that strayed close to an OCD tendency.

He swept. He mopped. He dusted. He polished. He tried to ignore the fact that he was dying inside.

Thomas washed his clothes, taking his time to scrub out the stains from living in the furnace. A few of his shirtsleeves were growing dark in an undertone; they wouldn’t be wearable in public places. Thomas decided to use them as night shirts, and as work shirts for staining activities.

As night began to fall, Thomas briefly ventured downstairs to the bakery at the base of the apartment complex where he bought a sandwich, crisps, and a couple bottle of lemonade. The flat was unnervingly quiet and empty, with Thomas finally resolving to sit on the couch in one of Rob’s threadbare night shirts while he ate dinner and read the evening newspaper.

_“Notorious Alpha Richard Reese Whittemore was hanged today in Baltimore, Maryland, for the murder of beta prison guard Robert Holtman. It was the ending of a long suffering trial and error court dance, in which Whittemore was first tried in April for an armored car jacking only to end with a hung jury and a mistrial. The dropped charges were followed by the charges for first degree murder, which ended in conviction on May 21st, condemnation to death on June 10th, and finally his execution today-“_

A sudden knock at the door caught Thomas off guard. He paused, dropping the paper into his lap as he checked his wrist watch. It was close to ten at night. Who had come calling so late in the evening? The knock didn’t sound hurried or angry. Was it a neighbor…? Or was it someone more insidious?

Wary, Thomas rose from the couch to slink to the door, making sure that all the locks were caught before speaking out.

“Who is it?”

 _“Thomas!”_ A friendly voice called from the other side, _“It’s Dr. Reyes. I’m a friend of Rob’s! I heard that you were feeling a bit low, I thought I might come by and visit. I hope it’s not too late in the evening, I confess I’ve had a very long day. I was wondering if you needed some company over dinner-? Or have you already eaten?”_

Thomas narrowed his eyes. Reyes? Nathan Reyes? Admittedly Thomas was familiar with the man but to come over so late in the evening was just weird. Then again, Reyes was a queer bird an’ no mistake.

But Thomas wasn’t taking any chances.

 _“I’m sorry, I’m being terribly rude.”_ Reyes spoke up again, _“I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we? But I’m an old friend of your alphas. We work together. Can I come in?”_

But this was incorrect. Thomas had met Reyes before. Twice.

He’d met Reyes the first time when he’d brought Rob’s courting gift to his office. Reyes had been the one to let him in, and had been very cheeky as Thomas had tidied up Rob’s desk before leaving the present behind. Admittedly Thomas hadn’t said much back but he’d still been wary of alphas and healing from the break with Downton.

Thomas had likewise seen Reyes the night of the party. Once again, that hadn’t left them much time for conversation, but the pair of them knew about one another… and Thomas was certain that Reyes wouldn’t be calling at 10 in the evening without first ringing to check. Reyes just wasn’t that sort of man; he was rotund, worked an exhausting job, and seemed the sort to head straight home to crash on the couch if only to get some relief.

 

Thomas pursed his lips, anger and fear flaring up in his chest. Whoever this person was, they were not Nathan Reyes. That meant they could not be trusted, and were probably in contact with the Brigade. Thomas ran down the hall to the bedroom, fumbling with his nightstand before he pulled out his newly purchased handgun. The weight of the revolver was clumsy in his hands, but he pulled back the safety latch and returned to the door with a gun up. He would shoot if threatened, by god!

“You’re a fucking liar!” Thomas snarled, furious at whoever was on the other side, “I’ve met with Nathan Reyes twice, we’re well known to each other. You’re not getting in this apartment, you hear me?! I’ve got a gun pointed at your head, and I’ll pull the trigger if you don’t fuck off! So piss it, or I’ll call the police!”

 _“What are you talking about?!”_ the man on the other side tried for hurt instead of anger, _“Thomas, it’s me-!”_

“I’m giving you to the count of three, and then I’m firing this gun!” Thomas snarled. “I’m not scared of you!”

But before he could even start his count, the voice of the man changed to something nastier, _“Then why don’t you open the door?”_

“One-!” Thomas cried out.

 _“Hide in there all you like!”_ The man snapped, furious, _“We know you’re in there! We’ll get you one day! You can’t hide forever! You’re alpha’s gone now, you’re all alone, and you’re ours!”_

“TWO-!” Thomas braced the gun with both hands, fingers locking around the handle as he braced himself for the kick back of the gun.

 _“Excuse me!”_ Thomas suddenly heard the irate voice of Mr. Burns, his next door neighbor who was always on the grumpy side. _“What in the hell are you doing? It’s ten at night! Some of us have to work in the…”_ but Burns seemed to realize this was no normal squabble, _“You! I know who you lot are! You’re not welcome here, get out! Get out now-!”_

Thomas heard a scuffle. He panicked, reaching out instinctively to touch the locks on his door. Burns was feeble, an older alpha close to his sixties, but at the same time Thomas knew that to step into the hall would be suicide. He didn’t know how many members of the Brigade were there, or what kind of weapons they had. A gun could easily be turned on him if it was wrestled out of his hands, and he had to think of the life of his child first.

Thomas could hear Burns cursing, _“Get out, you bastards! Out I say!”_

There was a muted, angry sound of a man shouting, but it faded into silence soon after that.

Pressing his lips to the crack of the door, Thomas called out “Are they gone?”

Burns responded in an abnormally gentle voice, _“They’re gone.”_

At once, Thomas slid back all the locks, releasing the safety latch on his gun to set it on the side table. He opened the door, and found the hallway quite deserted save for Mr. Burns, who was in a nightgown and slippers. He looked livid, with a cherry red welt rising on his cheek, both otherwise unharmed. His jowls were clenched, his puffy aging eyes narrowed in disdain.

Thomas saw something out of the corner of his vision, and turned to see a large hunting knife slammed into the wood of his door frame. It was ominously sharp, and holding up a note that read: **“BRIGADE SUMMONS”** In ugly red letters.

It made Thomas feel sick to his stomach. He detached the note, having to turn the note almost sideways in order to best read the scrawl that followed:

_“You are hereby ordered to submit yourself to the authority of the Brigade as soon as possible for the pending investigation of improper actions and insubordinance to alpha superiors. You have until the morning of August 25th to appear either at Dover House or Dover Castle. Should you not appear before that time, you will be arrested for impeding your investigation and resisting authority.”_

He let the note fall to his side, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Burns, who was still watching him from his own doorway.

“Summons?” mr. Burns asked. Thomas nodded, not trusting his own voice.

“…Best get out tomorrow. They’ll be back.” Mr. Burns said. “Get whatever sleep you can, but I wouldn’t leave until dawn.”

“Why?” Thomas croaked.

“Look out your window.” Mr. Burns said. With that, he turned and shut his door to seclude himself once again.

Nervous, Thomas returned inside, immediately locking his apartment door just to be safe. He took his handgun and crept to the kitchen window, hardly daring to breath lest the movement disturb his lace curtains.

Sure enough, outside on the pavement right below the apartment block, a group of men were waiting lack a pack of wolves. They were members of the Brigade, with massive tattoos sprawling over their arms. One of them was carrying chains, manacles swinging in the hot summer breeze.

One young man in particular seemed to notice Thomas despite the curtains hiding him. He was pale, with curly black hair, and reminded Thomas strikingly of Alden’s omega Francine. he seemed to posses the woman’s glare, an ugly and hateful thing

Thomas knew instinctively he was one of Alden’s sons. The question was… which one? Ambrose or Averill?

Thomas felt a trickle of sweat drip down his brow. He swallowed around the acid in his throat, and slunk away so that he could hide in the deep confines of the apartment.

He spent that night in the bathtub, a blanket and a pillow his only comfort as he clutched his gun to his chest.

~*~

Thomas had woken up close to four the next morning, and had used the toilet before checking the kitchen window again to see if the Brigade men were gone. When he found the pavement abandoned, Thomas had quickly packed his valise again, shoving everything salvageable inside before escaping the apartment and walking to the train station.

Thomas had taken the morning train to Hugglescote, before walking on foot to Moira lest anyone follow him and try to track him down. The others were slightly confused to see him back so early, particularly when Thomas had said he’d planned to be gone for a couple of days in order to clean the apartment.

When Thomas had shown Amos the note, however, all had been revealed.

Currently, Thomas sat upon his cot, wrapped up in blankets nursing a mug of peppermint tea. Amos was propped against the edge of Thomas’ desk, reading the note and making an odd suction noise as he ran his tongue across the front of his teeth.

“Huh.” Amos finally said, dropping the note and before crumpling it up and tossing it in the waste basket.

“What do I do?” Thomas asked.

“Don’t give it another thought.” Amos said, “This is without a doubt Ambrose’ work, but what’s weird is that it isn’t his handwriting.” He paused, shrugging. “Maybe he didn’t come up with the idea but went along anyways.”

“What does Ambrose look like?” Thomas asked. “Is he pale with curly black hair?”

“Aye, that’s him.” Amos gave him a terse smile. “Did you see him?”

“Ugliest stare in the world.” Thomas muttered. He could still feel Ambrose’ gaze on him. To know that Ambrose had been the one of the phone just made it worse. “He’s like a demon.”

“Oh he’s awful, for certain.” He agreed. “But he’s also full of shit. He’s weak, and he can’t do much if you don’t play into his hands.” Amos nudged the wastebasket with his big toe. “Rest up, you look like shit. You don’t need me reminding you that you’re pregnant. Just relax today, and I’ll come get you later. There’s gonna be a party tonight for the Furnace opening as a sanctuary. Just the boys and a bit of bubbly… but you still need to sleep.”

Amos even reached out to turn off Thomas’ desk light. It plunged the room into a semi-gloom, broken only by light outside in the wrap around hallway; he was at the top of the Furnace, slightly detached from the rest of the noise.

“Are you certain I’ll be alright?” Thomas asked. “They can’t… find me can they?”

“Nah.” Amos said, stepping outside into the hall. “Get some sleep.”

When he closed the door, Thomas sat his cup of tea on the ground by his bed, and relaxed back onto the pillows. There wasn’t near as much room as when he’d been in the flat…

But he supposed Moira Furnace would have to be home for now.

 

 

Thomas slept for several hours, waking up only to use the lavatory and finish his peppermint tea. He slept until about five that afternoon, when he was roused by Amos who brought him a plate full of shepherd’s pie and a fresh cup of tea. The party was set to start at six, so Thomas decided that he would eat, wash, and re-dress in order to join in the festivities.

 

Of course, what really happened was that Thomas ate, went to take a bath, and ended up vomiting in the communal lavatory until he felt weak at the knees. Clearly peppermint tea didn’t do shit, or the baby just really hated shepherd’s pie.

Unable to get his mood up, Thomas returned to his office to sip on a cup of mild tea, ignoring the party even as it escalated below.

Champagne was passed around, but Thomas did not partake even when Irene ventured upstairs to offer him a flute. If something as meagre as tea was holding him back, Thomas doubted he’d be able to stomach anything with alcohol.

He watched from the railing of the top floor, leaning heavily on the welded iron with his elbows as he observed alphas and betas mingling below. There were no omegas present, though Thomas had heard that one or two were involved with Amos’ group. They were mostly kept behind the scenes for their own protection, involved with underground communications and such.

Thomas spotted a few familiar faces… Mr. Belphrey seemed to be in the middle of a raucous discussion with a group of alphas about half his size. Irene was in a back grotto near a table stacked with stolen champagne, speaking with a beta woman who seemed to be hanging on her every word. Amos was on the outskirts of the crowd, mingling near a stack of wooden crates in a bizarre leather get up. It reminded Thomas intensely of what the Brigade usually wore. Perhaps Amos had once worn it when he’d been a part of Alden’s lot.

In fact, quite a lot of men and women were wearing leather. Had they all been a part of the Brigade at one point?

Of course, like all parties, at some point they had to reach a climax. Amos climbed atop the wooden crates, as if to make himself king of the hill, and whistled several times to gain the attention of everyone in the room. Chatter was slow to die down; alphas were too busy enjoying laughs.

“Alright, alright, alright! Quiet down you lot, the juice isn’t that good.” Amos joked. Laughs scattered, finally thinning out so that silence took over the room.

“First of all, I wanted to thank every man and woman who put their blood, sweat, and tears into this place.” Applause broke out, momentarily stalling Amos’ speech. “And I wanted to extend a personal thanks to a few people that really helped pull this place together. Dr. Irene Whitney who completed our tunnel project!”

Irene waved to the crowd; Thomas smiled, toasting her silently from above with his teacup.

“John Hartford, who helped me to recruit our team of defenders!” A man Thomas had not yet met raised his hand; he was a beta, clearly smaller than the rest of the men and not wearing leather. Everyone applauded for him; a few men thumped him on the back.

“And Tom Belphrey, who got the blast furnace back into working order and completely renovated this entire damn furnace!”

Of course, that got the crowd really pumping. Mr. Belphrey put his fists together, shaking them back and forth in a clear salute of ‘Yes! I did it!’. Amos raised his hands, calling for silence, but it took a few minutes to get the crowd back under control.

“Most of all, I want to thank Thomas Barrow, the omega who started this incredible sanctuary. “

Amos threw a hand up to the ceiling; Thomas’ face burned scarlet as the whole group looked up and about to see him leaning on the railing high above. They applauded him, cheering wildly. Amos didn’t clap, instead putting his hands on his hips and grinning smugly up at Thomas.

He’d never been so embarrassed. Thomas flushed, grinning and waving in an attempt to get the crowd to shut up.

When they finally quieted again, it was Amos to grab their attention.

“You may wonder what he’s doing up there, and not down here. Poor chap is almost three months pregnant and sick as a dog. He’s staying up there to try and keep the party light.”

A couple of men and women laughed, but not in cruel jest. Irene gestured for Thomas, cupping her hands over her mouth to carry her voice.

“Come down here!” She cried. From his vantage, her voice was still faint.

“I can’t stop vomiting!” Thomas shouted back. “It’s awful!”

“A bit of champagne will put you right. The baby wants to play.” Irene said. Thomas toasted her with his tea cup, enjoying the humor but knowing she was wrong.

Amos caught the group’s attention again, waving his hands in a wide arc until the crowd was silent once more.

“Now boys and girl, the hard part is upon us.” Amos declared. “I’m talking, of course, about the upcoming raid.”

That caught everyone’s attention. The party atmosphere vanished as if wiped away by a heavy cleaning rag, and left the bones of the group feeling bare and exposed.

Amos wasn’t daunted.

“Now, if you’re here today, and you’ve been tapped for the mission, we’ll be speaking in detail later tonight. For now though, you are all the support team. You’re doctors, guard members, and visionaries. So I want you to remember this moment when things get tough later on. I want you to remember how proud we felt here. How accomplished we were. The Brigade thinks they own the world… Alden MacNaire thinks he’s free from any consequence. But he’s wrong, and we know it.”

A soft murmur of agreement was going through the crowd. Many people were nodding, listening intently to the wisdom of their appointed leader.

“That’s all there is, boys.” Amos shrugged. “Those that have been tapped, head downstairs and saddle up… those that are support staff, man your stations. The mission starts at 0100 hours.”

Amos stepped off the crates.  
The group split apart.

 

 

Since Thomas had slept a good deal of the afternoon away, Thomas was able to stay up late into the night without much consequence. The baby seemed to be exhausting him, and so Thomas found himself going down for a second nap around ten at night. When he woke for the second time, it was from Amos shaking him gently on the shoulder.

Thomas felt decidedly woozy as he sat up. Amos stretched out a hand, helping Thomas to stay up straight as he adjusted to being awake. For a moment he thought he might vomit and held out his hand as if to silently ask for a waste basket.

But the moment passed, and Thomas remained in one piece.

“Y’good?” Amos asked. Thomas nodded. “It’s time.”

 

Thomas splashed his face with cold water first, before putting on a tie and heading downstairs with Amos. Just as promised, men were in their impromptu stations… doctors were in the ward, doing a final check of supplies. Guards were on the roof or patrolling the front door, swapping notes when they met at halfway points. Hartford was among them, keeping tally of who was on patrol.

Thomas and Amos went downstairs, passing by Irene and Belphrey. The pair of them were speaking to each other in hushed voices, occupied by maps in their hands that showed the expanse of tunnels.

“—And then we’ll have them come through the eastern wing-“ Belphrey was muttering, stepping aside so that Amos and Thomas would have enough room to pass. Thomas wanted to stop and make conversation, but Amos was clear to press on.

They went, as usual, to the bunker that was located in the same wing as the base of the blast furnace which was currently dark and empty. It was guarded outside by two men who stood elbow to elbow in an effort of privacy. When Amos approached, they immediately stepped apart.

One was even gracious enough to take the door in hand, opening it so that Amos and Thomas could pass though unimpeded. Inside, they found the bunker packed with men. All were in black leather. Many had black paint upon their faces. There was even a tin of black creme sitting open upon the table, clearly having been used as a sort of camouflage paste. The chalkboard was taken up with images of Dover Castle (or rather its interior). A floor plan was laid out in red; clearly they were going to go through the western side (if the compass was to be believed).

Unlike before, where a joking atmosphere had coated the group in a warm feeling, there was a horribly stiff feeling now. It was the moment where boys turned into men…. where the true risk of what they were attempting could turn into terribly violence. Even death.

The door shut, and Amos took his place by the chalk board so that all the men turned to face him. At Amos’ silent beckoning, Thomas stood by his side. He’d resolved to say nothing, unless it was absolutely necessary. He knew nothing about how to attack the Brigade. He didn’t even know the layouts of the grounds, having been drugged every time he’d entered or left. Now, more than ever, Amos Dorsette’s talents would have to save the day.

“Alright, boys. Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once.” Amos said. “Tonight at 0100 hours, we’re going to launch an attack on Dover Castle. We’re going to take forty omegas. Look about you, gentlemen. That’ll be two for each man in this room.”

Everyone was silent; a few were nodding in agreement.

A man stepped forward, holding a manilla envelope. He passed it to Amos, who took it only to open the seal and rifle through for a set of photographs. He passed them out to the room. “Take two and pass the stack. Memorize the names and the faces of your girls. They’ll be your assigned targets.”

This was done in absolute silence, and when the envelope was clean Thomas took it away so that the men wouldn’t be encumbered with rubbish. Thomas noted that Amos was the only man not holding two photographs.

“These omegas are prisoners. They’ve been stolen by the Brigade, and tortured into submission. A few are starting to cave. Their families are desperate to have them back, and that’s where we come in. We’re going to get them, bring them back here, and nurse them back to health until it’s safe to deliver them in secret to their families.”

Amos paused, allowing the men a moment to simply study their subjects. “Now, I won’t pretend that any of this will be easy. We’ve never launched an attack this big before. We’ve got a mountain of shit to wade through, but the good news is that the festering dump truck isn’t home. MacNaire’s in London, along with Thane. Funnily enough, they’re scouring the city for Thomas.” Amos paused to give Thomas a sarcastic grin, “Something tells me they’ll be at it for a long time, won’t they love?”

Thomas shrugged with a tiny smile. Amos continued on.

“We’ve got to act fast before the pair of them realize Thomas isn’t in the city and head back home. Our main opposition will be Calhoun doing his rounds, because all of these omegas are from the hospital ward. But I’ve got a plan for that.”

Amos reached into the inner folds of his leather jacket to pull out a syringe. It was heavy, and loaded with a clear liquid.

“…Six hundred milligrams of inorganic arsenic.” Amos said. Thomas heard a few soft whistles go through the room. “The deadliest poison currently known to man… the inheritor’s powder… and let me tell you something, boys. I’ve been waiting a long time to shove this in Calhoun’s fat arse.”

The men were appreciative, a few bowing their heads to whisper to their neighbors. But Thomas was less convinced.

“But how will you get him down without him raising the alarm?” Thomas asked.

“The fat fuck can’t resist a good sweet.” Amos explained. “I’ve got an inside link to the kitchens.”

“Plan B?” A man spoke up near the front. Thomas thought it wise, to have a backup.

Amos pulled out a knife from his waist, which had been sheathed in a leather casing. Its handle was made of deer horn, and the blade looked sharp enough to slice through air. Thomas winced at the mere sight of it. Clearly it had been freshly run through a wet stone.

“What do you think?” Amos teased his men, “Shall I scalp him?”

“Cut off his balls.” A man sneered.

“Don’t be silly, Frederick.” Amos said, lightheartedly, “He doesn’t have balls.”

When the chuckles had died down, Amos re-sheathed his knife, put up his syringe, and turned to Thomas.

“Thomas if you’d like to say something now would be the time. You’ll have to leave; I don’t want you to come into anymore danger for knowing sensitive information.” Amos said.

Thomas nodded, aware that he was already in hot enough water where the Brigade was concerned.

He looked to the group of men before him, so stalwartly and brave. These were incredible man, each unassuming as the next. Their only true distinction was their courage, and for that Thomas treasured them like kings. On their backs the future would ride into a golden age, he was certain. They were the martyrs. The fighters. The bearers of the burden who would save the omega sex from slavery and persecution.

He wondered if they knew how valued they were.

“I want to say to you all, that you are incredibly valued to me.” Thomas said, a bit misty eyed from the emotion of it all. “You are within my heart, each and every one of you, for the courage you are showing tonight. You may not realize it, but you are incredible. Kings among men. You are saving my sex from a lifetime of slavery and persecution. You are giving my brethren a fighting chance for equality. I’d like to think that you gentlemen have omegas. That somewhere out there is someone that loves you. If there isn’t someone… just know that I love. That we love you. That if tonight is the night that something awful happens… you have not died in vain. And you will never be forgotten.” Thomas paused. “I will wait up tonight for your safe return. I’ll count each of your heads as I walk out this door. I fully expect to see every man walk back. No casualties, gentlemen. You’re far too valuable to me. Stay safe. Stay alive. Come home.”

Thomas nodded, content.  
Amos clapped him warmly upon the shoulder.

“Leave it to an omega to put a tear in my eye.” Amos muttered. “Be off with you then, so we can get on.”

Thomas passed through the group, and was oddly pleased when each man stepped back in a show of respect and gratitude. Just as before, Thomas counted each of their heads… there were twenty men, ten to each side of the room. When he reached the door, he looked back one last time to see Amos still smiling at him.

“Amos,” Thomas instructed, “Get the baby, I beg of you.”

“Top of my t’do list.” Amos said. Thomas was content with his answer.

Thomas stepped out so that the guards could reposition themselves at the entrance. The shut the door after him, leaving Thomas to head back to his office alone.

~*~

True to his word, Thomas stayed up and watched as the clock slowly ticked by. When it became one in the morning, Thomas peeked out his office window to see dark shadows slipping through the glass. His window was grimey, unable to be cleaned lest their cover be blown, but he could still see through it slightly. When the black blobs thinned out into the night, Thomas returned to his desk and started to work on a doodle of Robert. Clarkson had once told him during his first pregnancy that it was best he take up a hobby. Thomas had found that, for whatever reason, it soothed him to draw.. to imagine certain worlds where all his fantasies could unwind.

In a way, it was like Thomas was inventing Robert back into his own reality. Like if he drew him well enough, Rob would come to life on the page.

 

The hours ticked by. Thomas’ pencil needed to be resharpened several times.

He drew Mrs. Hughes with her keys bouncing at her hip.  
He drew Anna dressing Lady Mary.

He drew Baxter reading his letters.

 

And then, though he knew it was unwise, Thomas felt his hand drawing another face… with long black hair tied back in a ribbon and a sharp nose.

It was disturbing to see Lawrence again. Thomas scribbled his face out of existence and stopped drawing for a moment to wipe his hands clean of pencil lead.

 

He looked down at his stomach, allowing his fingers to slowly spread across the bump that was only just visible. He was certain that in a couple of months, his stomach would swell rapidly. By the time that Robert was home, Thomas would be showing.

He returned his hand to the page, and gently sketched out the form of a child.  
He traced firm lips with a cupid’s bow… curly hair, as dark as night. A plump chin…. round eyes that were wide and innocent.

Thomas paused to regard his newest creation, allowing himself to momentarily imagine that he was staring into the face of his child.

 

 

Before, with Ada, Thomas had felt nothing but fear and regret right up until the very end when the sorrow of losing Ada had slammed him into the dirt. But the situation had been entirely different, and now Thomas actually stood a chance to have a happy, healthy baby.

He told himself that this baby would be different. That this baby would live, and that the future would be bright.

He imagined how vivid and wonderful it would be… to hold his child in his arms. To look down on a sweet, cherubic face that was fully formed and wonder at how beautiful they were. To kiss their brow and hum them to sleep. How magnificent would it be?

Thomas rubbed his stomach, hoping to impart some kind of love and comfort to the child growing within him.

“…Your papa will be home soon.” Thomas told the baby, “And then we’ll all be together again. You’ll see.”

To settle himself, Thomas reached down for the locket that hung around his neck constantly. He opened the hinge, staring at Rob’s beautiful face before burying his nose into the hinge and smelling deeply.

The scent was still there, though not as strong as before. It comforted Thomas intensely, so much so that he felt tears welling up in his eyes and falling down his cheeks.

In that moment he said a silent prayer to God, to the Supreme Alpha… to whatever the fuck lay out there.

He prayed for the pain to end. For Robert to return to him.  
But God did not answer, save for a sharp rapping knock that came upon his office dare.

Bitter at being interrupted and caught out, Thomas looked away to wipe his cheeks and stow his locket beneath his shirt.

He looked back around to find Irene at his door. She looked as exhausted as Thomas felt, and why not? It was almost dawn, with pink tinging the horizon.

She seemed in shock. For a moment Thomas feared the absolute worst until Irene nodded. “They’re here.” She said in a rush.

Thomas leapt into action at once, almost electrocuted with the eagerness to talk with Amos and hear how the mission had gone. He followed Irene back downstairs, only to see hoards of people pouring out of the basement.

And suddenly Thomas realized why Irene was in shock.

They were ragged, thin, abused, and broken. Many could not walk, and were being carried by alphas. One alpha had had to carry both his charges, the two women in his arms so thin and folded that they seemed to be emaciated skeletons instead of living, breathing people.

One was covered in blood; Thomas feared that she would not make it through the nice. One was pregnant, close to giving birth. She was so pale and sickly that you could see all the veins running through her muscles and tendons. Both her eyes were blackened.

It was chaos. It was hell.  
It was the Brigade’s vow to the omega race, that they would never know a day without bouncing on cock.

The alphas that had waited to receive the omegas seemed to be overwhelmed. They were shouting orders, only to forget them five seconds later. They didn’t know what to do.

But Thomas knew.

“Alright, this isn’t a drill!” Thomas roared over the crowd, whistling with two fingers in his mouth to get the attention of his crew. They snapped out of their reveries at the sound of his voice, each looking to see where he stood at the head of the crowd.

“I want every single omega checked over!” Thomas pointed to the team of doctors and nurses. “I already see several that need immediate medical attention! Get them up to the ward at once!”

He saw a baby being passed about. It was crying, thrashing in the hold of the alpha that kept it close to his chest.

“How many infants do we have?” Thomas shouted to the man.

“Three!” The man cried.

“Get them to the nursery, they need to be put down to bed!” Thomas pointed up the stairs, where a steady trail of nurses and doctors were now taking up broken omegas. A few were being carried in stretchers, too damaged to walk.

“Do we have any injuries to our men?” Thomas demanded of an alpha passing by.

“One!” The man said, “Amos got bit by that dog, Athena!”

Oh goody. Thomas cursed under his breathe, pushing through the crowd of alphas to try and find Amos. He found the man at the very back of the crowd, perhaps the last one to have stepped inside the sanctuary of the furnace. His right arm was dripping in blood, ribbons of skin dangling off like macabre scraps of fabric. Tucked against his chest, hiding in a sling made from torn clothe, was a baby that seemed to be fast asleep despite the chaos around her. Amos might have been wounded but he was gleaming, triumphant. King of the hill, unshakable on his throne, Amos surveyed the bloodied omegas and returned alphas like one might observe the lands of providence.

He had saved his charges. He had brought home his men.  
Thomas couldn’t be more proud of the man.

“Amos-!” Thomas threw his arms around the man, so that the baby was squashed between them. Amos even laughed, patting Thomas comfortably upon the back with his one good hand.

“Here-“ Amos gestured to the baby on his chest. Thomas fished her out of her sling, carefully laying her across his own chest. She was probably less than a year old, in a pink nighty with wisps of curly blonde gold hair crowning her pale brow. Thomas was absolutely horrified to discover that baby had a tattoo upon her inner arm of the letter ‘O’.

The fact that someone had taken a needle to this child made him want to be sick. He pressed a chaste kiss to the baby’s forehead, wrapping her up tight in his arms so that the world could not hurt her anymore.

“Did the dog get your artery?” Thomas asked, fearful of Amos’ injuries.

“Nah, don’t fuss.” Amos said, taking off the sling around his neck and tearing it with his teeth to begin wrapping his arm in a tourniquet. “Hurt like a bitch but that’s about it. I’ll stitch it up m’self later.”

“You will not!” Thomas said, irritably. “You will get it seen to by someone with a medical degree!”

But Amos couldn’t stop smiling. With his arm now wrapped, Amos reached into his leather jacket and pulled out an empty syringe for Thomas to see. The plunger was depressed entirely… the contents were gone.

Thomas sucked in a breath, hope fluttering through his chest. Had he done it? Had he truly killed Calhoun?

“Did you do it?” Thomas asked in a rush. Amos just grinned.

“Did you kill him?!” Thomas pressed.

“…Aye.” Amos nodded. “I killed him.”

“Oh god!” Thomas hugged Amos with one hand again in spite of it all; he could hardly believe it to be true! The false doctor dead… no longer to terrify omegas again. No more omegas would be injected with false drugs. No more omegas would be raped by his cold instruments. The tyranny was over, even if only in a third piece. “God I’m so proud of you!”

“It was a good raid.” Amos said, “You should have seen them lad! I had the servants spreading around word of the sanctuary. We were planning on forty, we ended up taking sixty! They begged to come with, anyone that could walk ran for their lives. We’re starting something incredible here.”

“And the baby?” Thomas asked. “Did you get Alden’s baby?”

Amos gestured to the infant against Thomas’ chest. Thomas gasped, looking down at the sleeping babe at once.

But of course… the beautiful blonde hair, exactly like her mothers… the tattoo could only be Alden’s sadistic work.

“Oh…” Thomas whispered, stroking the baby’s hair. “Oh you little thing.”

“Got a confession.” Amos carried on, “I also killed the damn dog.”

“I wish you hadn’t.” Thomas felt oddly guilty in that moment; Athena had only been animal, innocently following her master. “It wasn’t the dog’s fault-“

“I know but she wouldn’t let me go!” Amos protested, “She was going to tear my fuckin’ throat out for takin’ the baby. The bastards had her in a cage, and Athena was guardin’ it.”

“A cage?” Thomas was affronted by the thought. Who the hell but an infant in a cage? She wasn’t a rooster for sale!

“It’s alright!” Amos said toothily, showing Thomas his inner palms. They were blackened and bruised as if Amos had closed them in a door, “I busted the lock with my bare hands-“

“Oh for god’s sake!” Thomas didn’t know where to hug the man again or smack him over the head. “Get up to the medical ward and stay there! You hear me?”

Amos just laughed and laughed, though he headed for the stairs at Thomas’ insistence.

At the back of the crowd, Thomas looked over all the men and women. All the alphas caring for omegas. The ones that could walk, the ones that weren’t wounded to the point of emergency, were begging for food and water, for shoes, for anything to try and amend their sufferings. A few were hastily telling their stories, all but in tears as they asked to go home.

Their families would have to be contacted.  
Thomas decided he would go around gathering names. He would make the calls tonight, and tell the families that their daughters had been found.

After all, if it was his own daughter, Thomas would want to know immediately.

 

 

Thomas ventured upstairs first, if only to put Alden’s baby down. The nursery ward was now occupied by two other sleeping babies. One was still slightly fitful, being tended to by Irene who rubbed the baby’s back and whispered softly to it in it’s sleep. Thomas picked a crib at random, carefully laying Alden’s baby down so that she could be cradled upon pillows and blankets. Through it all the baby was content not to move, her little mouth open in a tiny perfect ‘o’ as her chest rose and fell at a steady rate.

Thomas pulled a thin blanket up to her chest, allowing her some room to breath lest she grow too hot. For a moment he fantasized about the day when he would do the same with his own infant, but did not allow himself to dally in the delusion long.

Other people’s children needed help. He could think on his own later.

Heading to his office if only to collect pen and paper, Thomas spent the next several hours going around the furnace and collecting every single omegas name and residence of kin. It was an exhaustive task, with Thomas being swarmed multiple times by women desperate for him to call their mothers, their fathers, their mates, anyone that might come and collect them. By the end of it, it was ten in the morning and Thomas was absolutely exhausted.

Still, he had sixty four families to call.

He returned to his office, thrilled with the life that was pumping through the furnace. Two omegas were undergoing emergency surgery to save their lives. Thomas had put stars next to their names, along with lists of their injuries and treatment methods. One of the babies had reportedly lost its mother while under the Brigade’s authority. The family would lose it’s daughter but gain a grandson. Several others omegas were pregnant with children of the Brigade, forced into harmful unions by rape and torture.

Thomas would have to be the bearer of horrific news, but prayed he would be able to do so with an undertone of joy.

They were found. Even if they were maimed, even if they were broken… they were found.

Taking a cup of coffee to try and pep himself up, Thomas spent the next four hours calling families.

 

 

It was by far the most intensive and grueling job he’d ever been tasked with.

The phone conversations all started out the same. Confusion, denial, only to be swept aside with relief and tears when Thomas explained that their daughter was alive. The families wept, begged him for closure, for a location, for a moment to speak with their beloved… for anything. Thomas was forced to tell them all the same: that the omegas needed to rest, and would be allowed to make phone calls as soon as they were well. That they were safe, loved, and above all free.

It was emotionally taxing, far worse a strain than manual labor or mental stimulation. After rounds of phone calls, Thomas wanted nothing more than to fold in on himself and weep. Anything to rid himself of the great weight which had fallen onto his shoulders. Now more than ever, he needed Robert. Thomas pressed his nose into the crook of his locket, inhaling like a fragile woman might her smelling salts.

His fingers shook as he kept in his tears.  
He wished that this task were easier. That his heart were cold and dark like so many years before when nothing could hurt him and everything was a game.

He almost fell asleep with his head in his hands when a soft rapping woke him up from his horrid stupor. Thomas slowly raised his exhausted eyes to find Amos in the doorway, yawning and wrapped up in proper bandages.

“…I came to let you know of the girls just got out of surgery.” Amos said. “The girl with the skull fracture? She’ll live.”

Thomas nodded, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ve been calling the families.” He croaked.

“…Look, it’s not my place to tell you what to do.” Amos said, “And god knows I’m not trying to add any more responsibility to my own shoulders… but you need to sleep. The world will keep.”

Thomas gave a long drawn sniff, lacing his fingers together to prop his chin upon his thumbs. He looked away, momentarily distracted by the macabre thought of Alden’s infant being tattooed.

“…He tattooed his own infant daughter.” Thomas whispered. “Why would he do that?”

“T’mark her.” Amos said. As unsurprising as his answer was, it still made Thomas want to be sick. “You alright?”

“…I’m pregnant and alone, Amos. I held a caged and tattooed infant in my arms and realized I’d saved her from a lifetime of misery at the hands of her father. I have just called over sixty different people, all of whom begged and cried for me to give them salvation… and I could only give them maybe’s. All because of one man. Just one.” Thomas said, giving the man a frank look as he held up a single finger to make his point. “I’m not going to be alright, for a very long time.”

Amos nodded, and let him be.

~*~

It was several weeks before Thomas felt safe enough to return to the apartment again.

The papers, of course, had a field day with sixty omegas vanishing underneath the Brigade’s nose. Conservative papers marked it as an act of terrorism, expressly taking Alden’s position when he said that the ‘captured’ omegas had been ‘sold into sexual slavery’. The Brigade was officially listing a 10,000 pound reward for anyone who could offer tips leading to an arrest. Alden’s public warning was a violent and vicious threat: that he would leaven no stone unturned, no man unquestioned. That until they had a culprit, everyone was a suspect. That if captured, the ‘criminal’ in question would face public execution regardless their sexual gender. Despite this blanket statement, it seemed that no one imagined an omega was responsible.

Thomas wondered what the Brigade would consider an adequate punishment for him, should he be captured.

 

Thomas took the train back to London, having already decided that it would be best for him to pay a blanket rent on the apartment for the next couple of months and hide at the furnace until Robert was home. It would mean giving up several amenities, not to mention his privacy, but at this point Thomas’ safety was under fire. There would be no point in having either if it meant he would be a dead man. Thomas decided he would briefly return home, collect his mail and belongings, pay the landlord, and then leave for Moira. He would do all of this as quietly as possible, with the intent of slipping in and out of London unnoticed.

The walk from the station to the apartment went without incident. Thomas felt an odd sensation of muted warmth to see his old house again. Even the faded curtains from street level were heartwarming to him.

He found the mailbox crammed with letters, mostly for Robert though a few were addressed to him. Two came from Rob and Thomas decided to open them at once. Thomas had been collecting Robert’s mail and organizing it in an unused shoe box. His own letters were mostly from Downton, addressed from Baxter who was desperate to know how Thomas was fairing. She had yet to know that Thomas was pregnant or mated to Rob… and wondered how she would take it. To be fair, he was still feeling a little shocked about it himself. There were several things at Downton which Thomas wanted retrieved, such as his trunk which held Ada’s things. He didn’t know at present if he would feel comfortable using the same jumpers and booties for the baby now thriving within him, but it seemed tasteless to let such sweet gifts rot forever beneath a layer of molding tissue paper.

Thomas resolved to call Downton and speak to Baxter as soon as possible… for now though? Tea. A nice, hot pot of tea, and a lovely letter from his alpha.

 

Thomas blew carefully on the rim of his scalding teapot, opening his letter to pull out a heavy document full of cramped script:

 

_“Thursday, August 10th, 1927_   
_Vienna, Austria_

_My Little Dovey,_

_I’ve finally arrived in Vienna, and am staying at a guest house for Dr. Freud’s company. It’s spacious and warm, but I find it a cold reminder that we are parted. I am kept in good faith by four of my companions. Three of them have brought their omegas, who are eager to make this place as good a home as England ever was. We have little time for socializing though, and I beg your forgiveness my darling, for I will not be able to call you as often as I want. I have tried to reach you several times at our residence, but have not been able to get you on the phone. The connection drops, or you’re simply not there. I assume you must be at MF, working to help our brethren. Please give my warm regards to AD, who has done so much to aid us in our time of need. I confess, each time I call and you are not there, I feel heartbroken. This will be an easier way for us to talk. You can write to me from anywhere, not just at home, and I can have letters sent straight to MF if you wish._

_Dr. Freud is not at all what I thought he would be. For the most part, he keeps a particular air of calm, but sometimes he can issue the most bizarre thoughts. I have tried to urge him to keep an open mind, particularly about omegan psychological health. Freud is curious about my work, and enjoyed my paper immensely. We are now discussing his thoughts of mating principles. I have shown him your picture, and have told him that you are the love of my life. He approved of you, calling you a ‘beauty’ and wondering why I left you behind. I can tell no one the truth. I have already been marked for a cad by two of my fellow’s omegas. They are angry at me for denying you so. Sweetest little turtle dove, know that you are nothing short of an angel to me. The only reason why I forced myself to part from you was because I knew how much you were needed._

_Tell me of MF, as much as you can. Have you made much headway? I know that you will if you haven’t yet. Tell me of all your news, and of AD’s as well. How is my mother and brother? Is Laura well? Hopefully the neighbors are being polite. Let me know if the B has been unreasonable. Remember sweetheart, you are stronger than them by far. Bullies are only bullies because we give them power. Give them nothing._

_Tell me of our baby. At night I lay awake, imagining our future. Soon, I will be home again... and there is nothing I want to do more than lay beside you and rub your tummy. Tell our baby that I love it. That I am thinking of it always. My mother gave me fifty pounds when I left port, and asked me to fetch several things from the antique markets here. I have already put in an order for an oak crib made by a local artisan. It sits upon a cradle, and is about waist height. I have asked for the artist to put a small canopy above the head to shade our baby’s face. I thought maybe we could use it in future, should we have more children. My mother wants me to use the Kinsey cradle, but the damn thing is a death trap. I shant put our child in danger just to appease my mother._

_Please don’t tell her I said that._

_I love you more than life itself. More than could be frankly advisable or sane. I will be home in about a month. Count the days, dovey. Remember, you are mine, and I am yours. Nothing but death could keep me from you._

_Your alpha,_   
_Robbie_

_p.s. I sound a fool but I beg of you to send me your scent. Maybe you could have a locket made, like I did? Anything, darling… I just miss you so very much. Kiss my signature, and touch your lips where mine have been.”_

 

Thomas bent forward, and slowly ghosted his lips over Rob’s signature. He closed his eyes, pretending he was kissing Rob instead… but it was a poor imitation.

So Rob was having trouble in Vienna, it seemed... or rather Freud was not what Rob had thought he would be. Thomas was downcast, hoping that the rest of Rob's visit would soon perk up. He’d worked so hard, after all, it wouldn’t do to be disappointed. Still, Thomas was delighted to know that Rob had put in an order for a crib. How lovely would it be, for their brood to grow up in a beautiful oak crib that their father had commissioned for their comfort.

Thomas rubbed his tummy, tracing patterns over his belly button with his fingers.

“Your daddy loves you." Thomas whispered. “And you’re going to have a beautiful crib.”

 

Thomas kept his gun out at all times for the rest of the evening, sitting on the kitchen counter as he made a cup of tea while stocking his larder with fresh groceries. He hadn’t bought much at the store, just enough to enjoy for a few days. He was going to make a loaf cake, something to enjoy with tea, but even as Thomas set out a series of bowls to start mixing flour and such, he heard the telephone ring and bristled.

He quickly looked out the kitchen window, only to find the streets clear. Wary, Thomas eyed his front door before picking up the phone. He already knew it would be the Brigade… the only question was, who would it be? Alden or Ambrose?

“Kinsey residence.” Thomas sat at the kitchen table, carefully stroking the barrel of his gun with a long finger. He kept his voice as light as possible, but it was difficult when he had images of wounded omegas and a tattooed baby in his head.

 _“…You think you’re clever.”_ Alden was drunk.

Thomas pursed his lips, wondering if it would be feasible to maintain innocence. He decided to act naive, if only to hold off the Brigade for that much longer.

“What do you want, Alden?” Thomas asked, terse.

_“I know you had somethin’ to do with it. I got men watchin’ your every move… little boy. I see you all the time. I see your pretty blue suit. You know good your arse looks in it?”_

Thomas was wearing his blue pinstripe suit. He paused, looking down at his vest.

“You’re drunk and I’m hanging up.” Thomas snapped. He refused to be bullied by Alden anymore.

 _“I know you got her.”_ Alden spat. Thomas pursed his lips, knowing full well who Alden was referring to… his daughter. _“If you harm a single hair on her head-“_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thomas snapped. “If you want to have a conversation to me, do it when you’re sober.”

_“You think I’ll just let her go? Huh? You think I don’t have friends too?”_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Thomas cried out, furious. “Leave me alone! I’m sick of you and your sons calling me and threatening me! Why don’t you find someone else to bully, you bastard-!”

 _“I’m gonna kill you, and your fuckin’ alpha!”_ Alden spat. _“I know where he is, and I’m gonna see him dead, you hear me?! I know where he is!! I got one of my boys over there right now! Averill’s gonna let him have it, you’ll see! I’m in charge!”_ Alden screamed the words as if he thought no one believed him.

Thomas felt a cold sweat dripping down his neck. He suddenly realized just how dangerous Alden could be. What if Averill was close to Rob? What if he was already abroad, in Europe, tailing Rob’s every move?

Thomas was stunned.

“We've done nothing to you.” Thomas stuttered. “Why are you doing this? We've done absolutely nothing to you! We want nothing to do with you! Leave us alone!”

 _“I know what you did.”_ Alden was emotional. He almost sounded close to tears. _“And you’ll pay. You’ll both fucking pay. “_

The phone was hung up, practically slammed by the sound of it.  
Thomas stared at the receiver for a moment, terrified. Then, in a blind panic, Thomas called the only person he could think of in that moment.

He didn’t know what good George Kinsey could do him, but Thomas had no idea who else to call. He didn't know how to reach Rob on the phone. He didn't know the number, the name of the house-

_“Kinsey Residence-"_

“George, it’s Thomas." He knew he was babbling but couldn’t slow down, “I think Alden’s going to kill Robert."

 _“What?”_ George was taken aback, _“Why? What are you talking about-?”_

“He just called me- Alden just called me- he’s drunk and- and- he said that his son Averill is overseas following Robert. That he's going to kill Robert-! I have to get into contact with Robert but I don’t know how! Do you know how-?!”

 _“He's been writing to me!”_ George protested, _“That's all I have- Thomas listen to me. Alden won’t be able to get to Freud’s house! He’s an internationally renowned psychiatrist, he has so much protection surrounding his house it isn’t funny! Robert is safe-“_

“God-“ Thomas didn’t believe it, and suddenly felt nauseas. He thought he might vomit at any second, his throat clenching up.

 _“Just calm down.”_ George murmured.

Thomas suddenly felt very alone, and realized just how shoddy his protection was, even with barred doors and a gun. He realized he needed to leave, as soon as possible.

“I think- I think Alden’s going to try and attack me.”

 _“Why don’t you come to my house-?”_ George begged. _“Leave! Leave right now!”_

“Right-“ Thomas blubbered, looking out the window. He saw two men on the sidewalk.  
They had tattoos.

“Oh Jesus!” Thomas blurted out, a hand clapped over his mouth. “They're outside, George. They’re gathering!"

_“Alright, let me come over there and try to talk to them-“_

“No!” Thomas barked, for he was certain any type of dispute would end in death or danger. “No you cannot come over here. They’ll kill you, George. They're here for blood, not talk.”

 _“Then what do you want me to do, Thomas?"_ George was almost starting to get angry in his fear and frustration. _“We have to do something! You can’t just stay in there holed up forever!”_

Thomas tried to think, but he just couldn’t get through the blind terror. The police were controlled by Thane. There was no solid way to get into contact with Alden. The phone in the furnace was not registered as a land line, and could not receive calls save from two phones that were negotiated by men undercover.

“Just…” Thomas didn't know what to say “Just be ready George. Lock your doors. I think they may come for you too.”

 _“Thomas answer me flat out.”_ George begged, _"Did you take those omegas? Was that you?”_

Thomas couldn't answer a question over the telephone. It was too dangerous.

 _“Jesus…"_ George whispered. It seemed he’d already guessed the answer.

“Be ready, George.” Thomas said, before hanging up flat.

 

The next call Thomas made was one done out of desperation, and not taken lightly.

He knew it was foolish to call Downton Abbey, particularly when he knew that it would be Carson answering the phone. At the same time, Thomas reasoned that the age for petty squabbles was officially passed. He was pregnant, and he was in danger. He had to think of his child, and of any avenue he might be able to take that would protect the pair of them-

_**BAM BAM BAM!** _

Thomas dropped the phone, so that it rolled and clattered to the floor, the receiver dangling upon its stretched wire.

The front door was locked, every bolt drawn, but it had been obviously slammed against. Christ, it sounded like they were trying to bring down the flat!

 _“OPEN UP!”_ roared a muffled voice from within. _“WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, BARROW!”_

Thomas snatched up the gun, cocking it and pointing it at the door.

“Go away!" Thomas roared. “I've done nothing to you! I’ve broken no law! You have no grounds-"

 _“You’ve been ordered to turn yourself in for a Brigade Summons. You've been given ample time!”_ the voice that responded was officially that of Ambrose. Thomas cursed, furious. _“You are officially breaking religious law-!”_

“You’re not a religion you’re a terrorist organization!” Thomas spat, furious, “You threatened to rape me and kill me! I know it's you, Ambrose! You're as cowardly as your father!”

In response, Thomas heard something heavy and hard slam into the door. He jumped, terrified, as he saw the door knob rattle on its hinge. Two of the tiny locks, originally placed on the door long ago when the apartment complex was built, were knocked off. Only the bolt that Rob had bought remained intact.

Frightened, Thomas dropped his gun if only for a second and made a mad dash across the room to start piling furniture in front of the door. He acted with the strength of a man possessed, shoving the couch, the piano, and a bookshelf all in front of the front door to keep it warded shut. Thomas then scrambled back for the phone, determined to ring George again and tell him that he was under attack.

But the phone line wouldn’t respond.

Thomas jiggle the receiver, wondering if he’d knocked something loose when he dropped the phone. It didn’t seem possible though. It was as if the line was dead.

Thomas realized with a sinking sensation that the Brigade had disconnected his phone-line, and cursed as he launched the phone at the wall. It broke, and fell to the floor in a head of wire and plastic.

“Damnit!" Thomas hissed, looking out the front window. Sure enough, there were several members of the Brigade on the sidewalk, and even a wagonette to take Thomas away in. Ambrose was out front again, arguing with his men and seeming to give them orders. Thomas saw a policemen, looking angry and waving his arms about.

Thomas wondered why they were arguing. Was the policeman angry at Ambrose for disturbing the peace?

Thomas hid behind his curtains, his gun clutched to his breast. His eyes fell upon Rob’s letter, still laying upon the table.

He had to get out of here. Now.

Thomas picked up the letter, stuffing it back in its envelope, and at once began to collect his things from the living room. Only the most important of items would go. Things like mail that would hold government documents and photographs that could not be replaced. Thomas packed his valise, but instead of taking clothes and shoes he instead put in things like Rob’s diploma (which until that moment had hung on the wall) and money that he'd been saving in a coffee tin underneath the kitchen sink.

All these things Thomas did with a single thought in mind: saving his child's life, and protecting their futures.

The only window that offered Thomas any remote chance of escape was the window the bedroom which instead of looking out over the street looked down upon an alleyway and neighboring flats. Children often played here, kicking a football or tracing hopscotch patterns with chalk in the dust and concrete. Lines holding linens out to dry were strung up, connecting the buildings like tight ropes. Thomas looked down to see that it would be impossible to climb down or jump. How on earth would he be able to escape this way? Could he possibly tie his linens together to make a rope and then throw it over the side?

But there were too many eyes watching the front road. He wouldn’t be able to move till the cover of darkness when he could feasibly slip away in the night… but would that be possible? Would his front door hold that long, even with a piano and a bookshelf in front of it?

His attention was suddenly caught by a drifter in the alleyway. He was staring at Thomas transfixed, his gaze burning beneath a soiled woolen cap.

Thomas opened his window, removing Rob’s lock before sticking his head out. The man was clearly not just a casual observer.

It was like he’d been waiting for Thomas to appear.

The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief, waving it erratically in the air as if to fan out wrinkles before wiping his face.

Thomas took a chance, waving to the man. He waved back, slinking to the outer wall of the flat so that no one could see him from the street.

He was staring up at Thomas transfixed.

Quite suddenly, the man reached down to his shoes, unlacing them so that he suddenly stood barefoot in the alley. He tied the laces together, before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a piece of paper which he stuck in the sole of his shoe.

He slunk back from the wall, and then with a show of great finesse threw the shoes high up into the air so that they twirled in a wild ark only to be caught upon the linen line that was strung between Thomas’ window and the neighboring flat across the street. Pegged linens were yanked from their holds, falling in a graceful twirl to the dirty alley floor. Someone’s hard work would all go to waist, soiled by the rubbish in the street, but Thomas didn't care. He began to pull in the line as fast as he could, spinning the service wheel as the man's shoes inched closer and closer. When they finally made it to Thomas face, he reached into the slippery sole and pulled out a note that smelt awfully of foot odor. He held the note out from his face to read it:

_“Amos on his way. Be ready.”_

Thomas nodded to the man, holding up a hand to signal that he should wait a moment. Thomas wanted to write a note back, but for the life of him could not find a pen as he searched the room.

He finally made a mad dash back into the living room, nervous as he eyed the sun slowly beginning to dip in the west. He fumbled with the paper, writing hastily:

_“Ambrose is here. Be careful. Street on lockdown. Door barred. Will not hold long. SOS.”_

He then ran back to the bed room, shoved the note into the sole of the shoe, and hung the leather trainers over the side of the apartment building to where the man below stood waiting with his arms outstretched. He dropped the shoes, and the man caught them to quickly lace them back up on his feet.

He read the note, looked up at Thomas and held up his clenched fist in a symbol of solidarity.

Thomas held his own up in return. The man ducked out of sight, running pellmell for the opposite end of the ally. All of Thomas’ hopes and prayers rested on the man's shoulders. If Amos could get to him in time… Thomas might just stand a chance.

Until then, he would have to wait for darkness, and pray.

 

 

The pounding at the door carried on late into the night. It seemed that no matter how hard the men tried to ram down Thomas' door, the iron locks held. He could hear neighbors shouting, arguing with the Brigade. He could hear Mr. Burns in a fury, having to be lead outside lest he disturb the ‘investigation’. Outside the street only grew packed with more people, many of them angry onlookers furious that Thomas was being harassed. it shocked him how many people were standing with their fists in the air. How many people were obviously on his side but powerless to do anything.

One woman stood with a picket sign across the street: _“Save My Ruth”_

Thomas was deeply touched; Ruth Williams was the name of an omega seized by Amos' men; she'd needed surgery to amend a fractured skull.

She’d been recovering at the furnace... saved by their intervention and emergency surgery. It would be weeks before she would be fully recovered, but she would live. Thomas had spoken with a woman on the phone when he’d called the Williams family. She’d wept openly and begged Thomas to save her Ruth, telling him that Ruth was the victim of a failed marriage and her only child. That she was a 'good girl’ and loved to cook. Thomas had nearly started crying at the woman's clear devotion to her child.

The woman across the street seemed to be crying. There were tear tracks on her face.  
She was lead away by a member of the Brigade after a while. Thomas could hear her crying even from his flat: _"Save her! Save my baby!”_

The pounding on his door ceased soon after. It seemed the men had realized that Thomas was heavily barricaded inside. The lack of noise was just as terrifying as the pounding. Thomas had no way of knowing what was happening outside.

He’d retired to his room after that, hiding and waiting by the bedroom window as he watched the alleyway for signs of Amos. He was so frightened and tired that he’d not even made to take off his clothes or prepare for bed as day had turned into night. Instead, he'd done nothing but sit by the window and wait.

For a sign. For a noise. For anything.

 

He’d slipped into bed sometime close to ten that night, exhausted and unable to keep his eyes open. He’d kept his valise next to him and his shoes on. He’d likewise kept on his bedside lamp, eager for Amos to be able to see the light from his window and know that he was inside.

 

 _Why aren't the men pounding on my door?_ It was the last thought in his head before fading to sleep.

 

 

 

 

It was difficult to say how long he slept, but when Thomas awoke, the first thing that hit him was the awful smell of smoke on the air… like something was on fire.

 

Something was not right.

Thomas slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his burning eyes, and found himself overpowered by the awful stench of smoke. His first thought, as foolish as it was, was that he must have not put out his cigarette before going to bed. This thought was quickly shook away when Thomas realized that he had not smoked a cigarette before bed.

Thomas opened his eyes.  
The room was pitch black and filling up with smoke.  
Thomas knew immediately that the Brigade had set his flat on fire.

“Oh my god!” Thomas screamed out.

He leapt from bed, wrenching the door open and running into the hall. He was immediately engulfed in a flush of heat and burning light!

Everything was on fire: the couch, the curtains, the table, the bookshelves, the door-! The barricades had fallen down under the flames, consumed by the heat and crumpling. The piano wires had snapped and curled, macabre as they glittered upon the floor. The bookshelf was on its side.

Thomas panicked, running for the front door to grab at the crank shaft that could unlock the two bolts keeping him in. At once, he had to let go with a yelp at the searing heat emitting from the iron. Thomas fumbled with his vest, desperately trying to use it like an impromptu oven mit, but it didn’t make a lick of difference. The fire was so intense that the heat had warped the door. The locks wouldn’t budge, and Thomas was effectively sealed inside.

Panicking, Thomas whirled about on the spot and ran for the living room window. Maybe he could somehow climb down the front side of the building?

But as Thomas picked up an ashtray and launched it at the window, the shattering glass suddenly let in a swooping mix of fresh oxygen.

The fire burst into vivid life, drowning Thomas so that he had to collapse to the floor or suffer under the blaze.

Thomas screamed at the top of his lungs, hands over his head as the searing heat began to lap at his delicate skin. He couldn’t see through the smoke; his ears were clogged with the awful sounds of the building churning in the fire and the noise of his neighbors screaming. Thomas could hear children crying, men swearing, women begging for water and blankets. In that moment, Thomas realized the safest place to be was in the bathroom, which was as far away from the blaze as he could make it and surrounded in brick. It would be nothing short of an oven, but it would buy him precious seconds. Anything to save his child.

Anything.

In a blind terror, Thomas stumbled back to his feet, coughing haggardly as he tried to make his way down the narrow hallway. It was impossible to navigate; the smoke was too thick!

Thomas found himself falling in the hallway, desperately crawling upon the dusty floor as he tried to reach his bedroom. Panic had now fully taken over his mind. He didn’t know what to do-!

He suddenly found himself thinking of Robert. Thinking of how horrific it would be for him to find out a million miles away that Thomas had perished in a house fire. He prayed to god that the smoke would take him first. Anything but…

Thomas couldn’t think anymore. He couldn’t stop coughing. He could hear the sound of heavy wood collapsing. Of glass shattering and iron falling.

He wished Robert….  
He wished…

_Robert…._

 

But suddenly, like an angel from heaven, a savior arrived.

The front door came down in an almighty crash, charred wood given way to brute force. A figure stumbled in, drunk and wearing a news cap. He swooped down upon Thomas, lifting him up with incredible strength so that he was cradled away from the blaze.

The man- whoever he was- stormed through Thomas’ bedroom, depositing him hastily upon the bed before punching the window out and clearing away shards of broken glass with his own two hands. There was a coil of rope over his shoulder, barbed with a hook so sharp and large it might have been used to catch a bullshark. He grabbed Thomas’ emergency valise, tossed it out the window to the street below, and then yanked Thomas up so that he was suddenly hanging down the man’s back over his shoulder.

Thomas could barely focus, but the light of the fire had reached the bedroom. The flames were starting to engulf the walls, licking at the bed where Rob and Thomas had once made love.

In the flames, saw Thomas faces of demons. Alphas coming to rape him and burn him alive. They cackled with malicious glee, eating the very life out of his body even as hot flames licked his fingers and feet.

Thomas blacked out, unable to bear the sight and the pain. His oxygen deprived brain couldn't take much more.

 

 

 

 

 

Someone was breathing into his mouth.

Thomas gagged, coughing under the stench of whiskey and sour breath. He gasped, rolling his head away. He sucked in breath after breath, his blood tingling in his veins. His eyes were burning, watering, and he felt oddly hot despite the fact that someone had opened his shirtsleeves to expose his chest to the night. He shivered, without reason, and opened his bleary eyes to see a blackened sky above him lightly tinged in darkest red that flickered in and out across rolling clouds.

Amos Dorsette was staring down at home, clearly worried.

A biting feeling at the back of his head and elbows alerted Thomas to grime underfoot. He slowly sat up, pebbles nipping at the flesh of his blistered palms, and looked about to see that he was in an alleyway he’d never ventured to before. He could hear the sound of fire engines, and the far off screams of pedestrians watching the city burn. It seemed that whole blocks had gone up in flames, and the resulting chaos now had half of London up at the crack of dawn to save their homes from destruction. Thomas weatherbeaten valise was beside him, slightly scorched on its side. Thomas looked down at his body, and found that he was covered in soot. Parts of his calves and feet were swelling up, his flesh singed from being too close to the blaze.

Thomas suddenly realized how close he’d come to a horrific death, and who he had to thank for his survival. He looked on Amos in wonder at that moment, despite the fact that his breath stank and he’d more or less just kissed Thomas on the lips without permission.

By god, what a man he was.

Amos stood up, looking out over the city horizon. Thomas clambered to his feet, careful not to brush any of his sensitive flesh against the rough pavement underfoot. They stood at a pivotal juncture, where two streets opened up on a rolling hill. Flats moved with the earth underfoot, so that you could see the layout of London. The flames were obvious, even from afar, and the smoke from the resulting blaze was coating the sky deep bloody red.

“… Fires all over London.” Amos said. “Ten people are already dead. There’ll be more gone, come morning. Ambrose set your flat on fire, though he could contain it. Fucking idiot.”

Thomas was suddenly overcome with tears at the thought of his things being devoured with flames. Pictures, letters, clothing, precious moments that he could never reclaim if he tried… all of it was gone. Absolutely gone.

The only thing he had to his name was his locket, and what little valuables he’d crammed into his emergency valise. Thank god Robert’s diploma and letters had survived.

“It was all I had.” Thomas whispered, sniffing heartily in his attempt to keep the tears in. Tears would not put out the fires roaming London or give him his house back.

Where would he go? He felt completely out of sorts, suddenly realizing he did not possess even a second pair of pants now. He had nothing what he’d packed, and he hadn’t packed much. He didn’t even have a second pair of shoes, the ones he was wearing now clearly damaged from the blaze and melting at the soles.  
“They take like wolves.” Amos said, wisely. “An arm, a leg… they’re insatiable rapists. We have to get out of London though; can’t let the bastards get us down.” Amos turned to go, making a quick pace. Thomas trotted behind him, but winced as his feet began to throb at the rough concrete underneath.

He was hurt. He knew that he would have to be seen by a doctor. Was his baby injured from the smoke?

Amos did not have to be asked when he noticed that Thomas had fallen behind. He dropped to one knee, and offered his back for Thomas to climb on. It would be the only way to travel until Thomas found his strength again.

Thomas wrapped his arms tight about Amos’ neck, wishing that he was Rob instead. Amos rose up, and headed off in the opposite direction of the fire.

They would no longer be able to take the train home. It was too dangerous. Too public.

The pair of them flagged down passing motorcar, with Alden waving a white handkerchief as a silent signal to anyone aware of their struggle. They were picked up by a trolly headed out of town, laden down with several early commuters.

The drive of the bus had heavily faded tattoos upon his forearms, and surreptitiously passed Amos a note when he and Thomas slipped to the backseat. Thomas wondered if there was a single city in England where Amos was unknown. One thing to be said for the man, he had incredible network connections.

Thomas fell asleep on the bus, snoozing with his head on Amos’ shoulder while the bus took them steadily towards Leicestershire.

 

When they arrived back in Hugglescote, it was close to nightfall again. The bus driver has successfully taken them through eight stops, all the while without asking for a single penny. Passengers were unaware there were two drifters on board. When they disembarked the bus, Thomas saw Amos slip the driver another note back. There was a couple of crisp pounds wrapped in the paper, hidden save for where the stuck out a bit at the end.

They disembarked the bus at Hugglescote, and proceeded to walk on foot to Moira. They arrived in Moira around two in the morning, having to stay off the road lest they attract too much attention. Thomas was so exhausted he almost passed out around midnight… Amos had to carry him on his back again.

 

When Thomas came to, he was being handed over to another alpha: Mr. Belphrey. He took Thomas from Amos’ arms, and without further ado carried Thomas upstairs to the hospital ward where all the other omegas were sound asleep.

For the sake of being left alone, too tired to be asked questions, Thomas kept his eyes closed as he was laid upon a soft hospital cot. He could hear doctors whispering above him as privacy screens were pulled around his bed.

“First degree burns on his ankles and hands. Nothing we can't handle; he’ll be a bit pink come morning though.”

“Baby?” Thomas heard Belphrey murmur.

He felt a cool stethoscope being pressed against this stomach. Whatever the doctor heard, he liked. “Good heart rate. No movement but I suspect the fetus is sleeping. Mother’s heart rate is a little strained... he ought to keep off his feet for a few days.”

“I'll tell Grantham.” Amos muttered. “toff would do his nut if he knew Thomas was in a way. Despondent, he is.”

“Just keep Barrow in bed for a few days.”

Thomas was grateful to feel his shoes being removed. Someone was taking off his vest, and Thomas went along willingly though he kept his eyes closed. Soon enough, he was down to his pants and his undershirt, exhausted and curled up upon his mattress. Someone pulled a blanket up over him, probably a nurse, and Thomas was left in peace.

The door closed to the hospital ward. A hush overtook twenty peaceful sleeping omegas.  
Somewhere in the distant trees, an owl hooted.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Thomas woke up in a bed he did not remember falling into.

He sat up, sore and hot, to find that his body was pink as if he’d been to the beach and suffered sunburn. Irritable, Thomas kicked off his covers to find that he had small welts on his feet and his palms. He was in the medical ward, surrounded by omegas who were recovering from a wide variety of wounds. Across the way, Ruth Williams was recovering from surgery with the privacy curtains draw around her bed. Thomas was in much the same situation, though he was hardly in a fight for his life.

Still, he felt like a bath in ice chips would be most welcome.

Thomas rose with a stiff groan, his back aching, but was pleased to note that he did not suffer from morning sickness. With his clothes off, Thomas could just start to see the forming of a bump in his stomach. It was far from prominent. Indeed, when he’d been six months pregnant with Ada he’d still had some ways to go… Still, Thomas rubbed his lower belly as he unfolded his pants and stepped into them. Someone had washed them, which was very kind. The faint tinge of smoke was still upon the fabric from the fire. It hit Thomas with an awful stab of guilt that Rob’s home was effectively destroyed. How would he be able to break the news?

It was with the world on his shoulders that Thomas left the hospital ward, only to run straight into Amos who was speaking with a doctor that had performed surgery on Ruth.

“Ah-“ Thomas intruded upon the two men, hoping they wouldn’t make a fuss. “Thank you for allowing me to intrude upon the ward, Doctor…?”

“Butler.” the man introduced himself, shaking Thomas' hand carefully, “Eugene Butler, and as a matter of fact, I was just about to come and speak with you. How are you feeling today?”

“Like I’ve had a spot of sunburn." Thomas admitted. My feet are rather uncomfortable in my shoes.”

“You've suffered first degree burns from your exposure to open flame.” Dr. Butler said. He was the no-nonsense sort of man that you might equate to a patriarchy in an old and prestigious family. The sort a mustache looked good on. “I want you to keep an eye on your skin. If you notice any blemishes that won’t go away-“

"Come see you?" Thomas smiled. Dr. Butler bowed his head, smirking.

“I suppose it's no use ordering you about? We’re your men after all." And he said it with pride so that Thomas couldn’t help but feel warm towards the man.

“Perhaps." Thomas teased.

“I should add… you’re coming up on three months.” Dr. Butler had a gleam of hope in his eyes, “You ought to come by me anyways. You need a check up. We can talk shop.”

Thomas grinned, rubbing the bottom end of his stomach. It was hardly even bulging. “We’ll see.”

“Ah-!” Amos spoke up as if suddenly struck with a memory. “I almost forgot. I spoke with Grantham this morning, that toff over in Downton… he wants you to call.”

Thomas felt a knot forming in his stomach from nerves.

 

He headed off upstairs, taking a cup of tea with him as a form of breakfast. He was pleased to no longer be suffering from morning sickness, but now (for whatever reason) his breasts were beginning to itch. He found himself wanting to scratch in obscene places, which never went over well in public. There was no polite way to say ‘Hang on, got to scratch my tits’.

He found his valise waiting by the little cot that he’d squeezed between two filing shelves. It was good to know that his most important documents had been saved even if everything else was gone. Sitting behind his desk, Thomas took a long sip of hot tea before picking up the phone and ringing for Downton Abbey.

It took a moment for the connection to go through. the whole time he waited, Thomas dunked fresh almond biscuits into his tea, allowing the bread to soak before popping them into his mouth. It was the sort of British simplicity that made for stereotypes.

 _“Downton Abbey”_ Thomas almost choked at the familiar sound of Mr. Carson’s voice. Christ it had been an age since he’d heard from the man. _“This is Mr. Carson, the butler.”_

Thomas swallowed, suddenly feeling horribly nervous. He took in a breath, tense, “Mr. Carson… This is Thomas Barrow. I’ve been asked to call after his Lordship. Is he available?”

The cold silence which met Thomas’ ears was utterly deafening. At first, Thomas though that Carson had hung on him.

“…H-hello?” Thomas spoke up.

 _“Well, I hope you’re happy.”_ Mr. Carson snapped. _“Sixty girls taken from their beds, god only knows where they are, and half of London up in flames! Is the world chaotic enough for you now?”_

For a moment, Thomas contemplated hanging up the god damn phone and simply being done with it. When he did not answer after a long moment, Carson seemed to register that he’d struck a personal chord.

 _“Nothing to say?”_ Mr. Carson demanded. _“I'd have thought you delighted.”_

“The sixty omegas were rescued from sexual slavery by my men. They are recovering safely under my care and are set to return to their families next month. The families in question are aware their daughters are in my care. My flat was set on fire last night. I was rescued by an associate but the Brigade failed to control the flames. It resulted in a mass panic.” Thomas kept his voice calm, but there was a sinister edge to his voice that no one could deny, “My alpha is in Europe at the moment, keeping company with Freud. But his lordship is unaware that I am twelve weeks pregnant.… If you will please pass on a message to his Lordship, I’d be most appreciative.” Thomas said cooly.

Carson was stoppered, flat. _“What?”_

Thomas ground his jaw, determined to keep his voice calm.

“Well you seemed content to imagine me the center of chaos-“

 _“You're pregnant again?”_ Carson demanded; in a shocking turn of events, he sounded furious. _“And you've taken another alpha besides his Lordship? How loose are your morals? Do you even have them at all?”_

Thomas thought he might be ill in that moment.  
Hormonal, isolated, strained out of his mind, and finally unable to control his temper any longer.

 

“You are an absolute-“ But before Thomas could finish his scalding insult, he heard the sounds of Mrs. Hughes’ voice echoing over the phone.

 _"Charles, what on earth are you doing?”_ She demanded.

_“I’m righting disorder-“_

_“Oh well I’ll alert the King for your upcoming knighthood, shall I?”_ she replied scathingly. Thomas could not help but smile in spite of himself, his eyes watering with the emotion of hearing Mrs. Hughes’ voice again. God it was good to know she could keep Carson in check.

_"I cannot allow Barrow's loose morals to besmirch his Lordship’s roof-“_

_“It’s not for you to say whose morals are loose if his Lordship finds him accountable.”_ Mrs. Hughes reminded him, _“You are not the judge and jury of this abbey.”_

He could hear a struggle occurring for control of the telephone. It resulted in Mrs. Hughes winning; Thomas could hear Carson thundering in the background. _"I don’t want him back in this abbey, Elsie!”_

 _“Keep your voice down or you’ll upset the maids!”_ she snapped; Thomas heard heavy breathing, as if she was turning her face to the phone. _“Thomas… Are you still there?”_

“I am." Thomas croaked, rubbing at his burning eyes.

_“I'm afraid I missed the first bit of the conversation dear, if you’ll help me to understand-“_

“I just wanted his Lordship to know that I’m alright. An associate of ours spoke with him earlier and relayed a message that his Lordship wished me to call him.”

 _“I’ll fetch him promptly.”_ Mrs. Hughes said at once. _“But before I do… you’ll tell me that you're safe?”_

She was pained, but Thomas could offer her no easy solutions.

“I’m afraid I’m not.” Thomas whispered. “I’m pregnant and alone. I’m on the run for my life. My flat-“ Thomas had to stop for a moment to get his voice back under control. He gave a hearty sniff, “The Brigade set my flat on fire last night. It was the start of the blaze that took up half of London. I survived but... everything I own is gone.”

 _“God in heaven!”_ Mrs. Hughes was horrified _“But you’re alright? Where’s your alpha? Is it the Doctor-“_

“Yes, it’s Robert Kinsey.” Thomas blubbered, “But he’s gone to Vienna to pursue his dreams and left me alone-!”

Damnit, Thomas’ voice cracked. He sniveled, yanking his soiled handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his face. It was gray with soot from the fire.

 _“Oh…”_ Mrs. Hughes sounded heartbroken, _“Oh don’t you cry now. Your alpha will be back in a pip, I'm certain of it. He wouldn’t leave you alone when you’re pregnant. How far along are you?”_

“Th-three months.” Thomas sniveled. “And... and I just want him home-"

 _“Now, calm down dear. You’ll upset the baby.”_ Thomas rubbed at his stomach in response to Mrs. Hughes’ wise words. _“I want you to stay on the phone, I’m going to fetch his Lordship. He just returned from a walk with the dog, so he’s bound to be in a receptive mood. Don’t be worried. Mr. Carson’s just upset because you’ve abandoned your supposed supreme alpha.”_ Thomas could hear the irritation in her voice. Clearly they’d been having this argument for a while now.

“Well he's a piss pot!” Thomas snapped, furious. “Because my alpha-!"

 _“You mustn’t use such language.”_ Mrs. Hughes reprimanded him at once. _“You may not take your orders from me anymore, but you’re going to be someone's mother, Thomas. A mother does not curse.”_

Lord he'd be lucky if his child’s ears weren’t born deformed at this point.

“…Please get his Lordship?” Thomas mumbled.

 _"Right away, dear.”_ She set the phone down with an odd ‘ _thunk_ ’.

Thomas sighed, laying his head down upon his desk in the crook of an elbow and staring glumly at his tea. What to do, what to do? Lord if he didn’t want to bash Carson's fat head in- but now that he got to thinking about it, was it all that surprising? Carson was utterly devoted to Lord Grantham, and Thomas had essentially run away screaming from the man. Carson must have taken the insult personally, and was now acting like a berk which was per the norm.

Mrs. Hughes would iron him out. She always did in the end.

 _“Thomas?”_ Thomas sat up at the voice or Lord Grantham. _“Are you still there-?”_

“I am, M’lord.” Thomas said. It was the first time they’d spoken properly since…well…

A beat of hesitant silence passed between them. Thomas rubbed at his stomach nervously.

_"Amos told me you’d escaped the blaze. I was shocked to read about it in the paper. Are you alright?”_

“A bit pink." Thomas admitted. “But yes. I’m alright. The omegas are safe. That's all that matters.”

_“And Kinsey?”_

“Dr. Kinsey.” Thomas reminded him tersely. “Is in Vienna with Freud. He’ll be returning in a couple of weeks.”

_“I’m glad to hear it.”_

“…I wanted you to know,” Thomas was unsure how to best say it, other than to bulldoze through, “I’m pregnant and engaged.”

 _“…Yes.”_ Lord Grantham replied, his tone soft, _“I already know. I’ve been speaking with Mr. Dorsette. I congratulate you on your happy news.”_

He didn’t sound sarcastic.

“…What you did was wrong.” Thomas whispered.

_“I know.”_

“But you should know that… it was always going to be him.” Thomas paused, “It had nothing to do with you. I simply… I’m meant for him, Robert. I knew it from the start. We’re… bound. In our souls.”

for a moment, Lord Grantham did not speak.

 _“I wish you nothing but happiness.”_ Lord Grantham finally said. _“And I hope one day you can forgive me. I acted in an effort to make you happy, but I see that was never to be.”_

He suppose men had done worse things for flakier reasons. Thomas nodded, though of course Robert couldn't see him doing so.

“I’m going to be residing in a private residence from now on.” Thomas said. “So… I’m afraid I’ll have to initiate most of the conversation. I’ll inform you if there are any changes but, as of now things are operating smoothly. A multitude of women have been saved from sexual slavery and are recuperating nicely. Robert will be home soon, and he’ll find us a new flat. We have money. We’ll survive.”

_“Just know that if you ever need a home in Downton Abbey, you have it. I’m afraid for you Thomas. This is a greatly unsafe quest that you've ventured out on.”_

“Someone had to do it, Robert.” Thomas reminded him gently. “And I’d rather it be me than any of the women I’ve saved.”

 _“Let it be known that omegas are not cowards.”_ Robert said with a small hint of pride. Thomas smiled in spite of himself.

“…I’ll call." Thomas said in a way of goodbye.

 _“I’ll wait.”_ Robert replied.  
It said enough for the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the **fire** trigger.... Thomas' apartment gets set on fire and he nearly goes up with the blaze. He escapes with first degree burns but is fine. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to let me know. I read all the comments!


	26. Death and Other Irritations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sanctuary takes on a wholly unexpected patient with bitter results. Meanwhile, Thomas gets a prime chance to warn Rob of Averill... his advice comes just in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm probably going to find out about grad school this week. I'm an anxious wreck. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I keep having anxiety attacks. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid I won't get in, that even my best won't be enough. 
> 
> Just be kind to me. I'm in a poor way over here. 
> 
> Chapter warnings are spoilers, so I've included them at the end notes. If you have triggers, flash forward to make sure you're in the green.

**London Evening Standard**   
**Friday, September 9th, 1927**

**LONDON ON FIRE! BRIGADE TO BLAME?**

_"If a man were told to cease and desist by London Fire Brigade Commissioner Arthur Reginald Dyer, you would imagine compliance to follow… but no such luck occurred when Dyer faced off with notorious Brigade member Ambrose MacNaire. It was an otherwise calm and unprecedented Monday morning, until chaos overtook a small street in Shadwell. Martineau Street is known mostly for its view of the tobacco docks and Wrapping Wall, but Monday afternoon it was known for a small riot instead. MacNaire illegally approached the home of one Dr. Robert Kinsey of the London School of Medicine to incite terror to one Thomas Barrow, the famed charitable Omega of Lincolnshire who made London headlines by giving away nearly all of his late alpha’s fortune to non-disclosed charities (including over fifty exotic raptors). MacNaire was repeatedly approached by neighbors, landlords, policemen, and even Commissioner Dyer while repeatedly slamming an iron breaker against Kinsey’s feeble door. He demanded that Barrow revealed himself, stating that he had broken ‘religious law’ and was involved with the abduction of the sixty missing omegas. When confronted by the police, MacNaire did not disclose what these charges might be, and continued to ram the door even after being told to desist. This shocking move went against the knowledge of Police Chief Norman Thane, long standing member of the Brigade. Chief Thane demanded that MacNaire relent, but instead of seeing sense, MacNaire decided to go against all common knowledge and decency by illegally cutting the phone line to Kinsey’s apartment and shutting off the water supply. If this were not bad enough, MacNaire likewise decided to ‘smoke the slut out’, in his own words._

_Commissioner Dyer warned MacNaire that should he set a blaze, he would face serious criminal charges. MacNaire’s response was to start a riot of his own and shove Dyer down a flight of stairs. Dyer suffered nonthreatening injuries and is now being seen to at Barts Hospital. The residents of 375 Cable Street were not so lucky, as MacNaire set fire to Kinsey’s flat and effectively started mass chaos. Fires quickly spread along Cable street, quickly taking over Shadwell and moving towards Stepney. True terror came when the fires spread to Limehouse, as the link tunnel was overtaken and the fires began to head towards Canary Wharf. The resulting carnage sent the North Docks up in a fiery blaze, with two ships sinking into the Blackwell Basin. Sixteen people are reported dead, another thirty missing, and all for what?_

_When pressed, the Brigade gave no comment, stating that their actions were based on the breaking of religious laws. Underneath the Brigade’s ancient law of Litigo, an omega must not show insubordination in any way to an alpha superior be they a stranger on the street or their closest friend. Most observe the ways of Litigo as a social structure, and not an actual law by which the world should be upheld. Chief Thane reportedly grew popular underneath the mixing of Litigo and English law, but now a great deal of hesitation is being exemplified by other men in power. Commissioner Dyer is extremely angry with the Brigade, citing that MacNaire’s foolish actions cost the lives of innocent English citizens and were completely unwarranted. In light of the outlandish actions by the brigade, Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Hugh Turnbull has issued an order of investigation into the handlings of the Brigade. He has been met by forceful resistance, as if his rank and accreditations mean nothing, and has warned the Brigade that if they do not greet the Lieutenant-Colonel with compliance they will be met with force._

_Questions still remain, even as Lieutenant-Colonel Turnbull pushes forward. Why did the Brigade believe that Barrow deserved to be seized upon in such a violent manner? What ties, if any, does Barrow have to the sixty missing omegas? Where is Barrow now, and is he truly guilty of the crimes with which he’s been accused? Where are these sixty omegas now, and were they even abducted at all? The more answers we receive, the more questions we form. This reporter is starting to question if the Brigade is really necessary at all, or if it has devolved over the years into an unnecessary stone on England’s laden back.”_

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Thank you and goodnight.” Thomas muttered, closing the London Evening Standard to fold it neatly into fourths and set it aside on his desk.

The past weeks had been highly active for the furnace, if only that Thomas had been completely blind sided by Lieutenant-Colonel Turnbull showing up with Amos and scaring the shit out of everyone.

It had been a shocking turn of events, yet another ally revealed, in which Amos had pulled his highest card out: Sir Hugh Turnbull was the highest ranking law enforcement official in the land, with even Thane residing underneath his pull. As a member of the aristocracy, his title and lineage were wrapped into one, and as such he turned out to be the sort of mild mannered man you might expect from an Eton background. By the same stroke of luck, he detested the Brigade for their lack of self-control, and had made a friend in Amos long ago when Amos had taken up the charge to start an underground revolution inside the Brigade. It had been Turnbull to offer Amos support and money, and Turnbull to give him direction when the Brigade had cast him out.

Thus, it was Amos’ turn to reveal the ‘surprise’ of the sixty hidden omegas inside Moira Furnace.

Sir Turnbull had been disturbingly happy to accept Amos’ story, saying that he’d gathered long ago that Amos had been behind it all. His only request was simple, that Amos’ men obey the law to the fullest extent of their power. An English could ‘do as he pleased so long as he pleased others’. What this meant, in short, was that so long as Amos’ men weren’t a nuisance on the street, Turnbull couldn’t be arsed if they squabbled with the Brigade.

Thomas had been greatly relieved to know there were higher alpha’s on their side. They needed as many allies as they could get.

The days were drawing closer to Robert’s return home, and Thomas had to admit he was getting excited. To him, it didn’t matter that the house was burned down or that the Brigade was searching for him with a bounty of 10,000 pounds. All that mattered was that Rob would soon be home, and that the pair of them would be together once more. They could handle anything, so long as they were side by side.

It was a calm Saturday afternoon, with Thomas working in his office to catalogue newly updated paperwork on their patients. Ruth Williams was recovering well, and would soon be able to return home to her mother. Thomas had promised Ruth the possibility of a telephone call, so long as Ruth could emotionally control herself and not harm her frail condition. Meanwhile, Thomas had to deal with two families that were eager to adopt the babies in their nursery. It just so happened that the family of the murdered omega did not want a baby connected to the Brigade, and the other omega had conceived the baby through rape. She wanted to live a life with a clean slate, and Thomas was more than willing to give that to her. So it was that he’d arranged connections through Amos, seeking out couples in need with pro-omega backgrounds. Two prospective candidates had appeared out of the bunch: A farmer and his barren wife in Wales, and a banker from Scotland who’d recently taken on a barren omega that desperately wanted a baby. Both were pro-omega, and both had contributed to the resistance. The question was, whose baby should go to who?

The babies did not have names, and thus Thomas had christened them the best way he knew how: through old friends. Jimmy was the baby whose mother had passed, and was by far the most difficult to sooth. He clearly needed a loving touch, and someone who could dote on him night and day. Alfred, on the other hand, was the baby conceived in rape whose mother did not want him. He was a quiet, placid thing, whose only desire it seemed was to nap and eat (he wasn’t picky about the order).

Thomas decided, for the sheer fact of income differences and stature, that Jimmy ought to go to the couple in Scotland while Alfred should go to the couple in Wales.

He was in the middle of drafting initial paperwork when he was suddenly intruded upon by Irene. She all but burst through the door, panting with a frantic look on her face.

“Mr. Barrow-!” She stumbled over her words, in a panic. Thomas dropped his pen, his heart picking up from the anxiety of the unknown. What had happened? “I hate to bother you but there’s an urgent matter which requires your immediate attention!”

“What is it?” Thomas demanded, “Is it the Brigade?”

“No, sir. It’s an omega. She found our sanctuary through an old connection but she’s in a horrible way. She’s begging for you, sir. Screaming. You need to come quick.”

Thomas got up at once, heading out at a brisk trot so that Irene had to jog to keep up. The pair of them went downstairs to the second floor, making a bee-line for the medical ward where a commotion was occurring.

“She was living in a convent south of London, but the fires caused a chaos and she was able to slip loose.” Irene spoke in a rush, “She’s pregnant, and I swear I think those damn nuns were torturing her. She looks like a war prisoner!”

“Brigade omega?” Thomas asked as they entered the ward. A great deal of omegas that were bed-bound were curled up with their pillows or covers clutched to their chests. They were afraid of the cacophony, unsure of what was going on.

“Not that we can tell. She just keeps saying your name over and over again. She could pop at any time now; the doctors are trying to examine her but they can’t get her to lay still- here!”

They’d reached the end of the ward where, sure enough, nearly every doctor was clustered around the bed of a thrashing pregnant patient.

She was emaciated, so thin and haggard that she did not seem human. Her cheekbones were sunken in, her brown eyes roving, and her hair was shaved off as if she’d been contaminated with lice. Despite all of this, her stomach was swollen to the point of bursting and low on her petite frame. She would surely give birth any hour now, and seemed to be in great pain. Nurses were trying to keep her still and calm, trying to sooth her, but the woman could not be reached. Her feet were blistered and raw as if she’d been walking for miles. She seemed to have been beaten with some type of whip. What in the name of God had happened to this woman?

“You have to stay still ma’am!” A doctor was ordering, “We need to put an IV in!”

“Th-Thomas-“ the woman croaked out, her voice raspy. “Th-Thomas… please… Thomas-“

Thomas had utterly no idea who the woman was, but was determined to give her aid.

“It’s alright!” Thomas pressed, taking the woman by the shoulders to try and keep her still on the bed, “I’m here now. Calm down, and keep still. You’re in a safe place. You’ve made it to sanctuary. You can’t be harmed anymore-“

“She’s anaemic,” One doctor was saying to another, “We’re going to need to do a blood transfusion-“

“Th-Thomas…” The woman groaned, her eyes fluttering with madness, “I… I’m… sorry…please-“

“But there’s nothing to be sorry for!” Thomas protested. The woman’s head rolled on her pillow. She stared up at him, her mouth gaping and her eyes brimming with tears, “You’ve done….noth-“ Thomas broke off, his voice trailing away.

He’d seen this woman before.

 

Anthea Gray.

Thomas stumbled back in horror, letting go of Anthea. He gasped, hands clapped over his mouth, as he took her in. Her ragged appearance, her swollen stomach, her despondent state and what it all must mean.

Anthea was here, broken beyond repair- but she’d been in a convent? And yet it seemed the convent had been nothing more than a sham for an asylum, where she’d been punished repeatedly for her sin… which now sat prominent and swollen in her belly.

“Oh my god.” Thomas spluttered, realizing just who the baby’s father must be.

“Thomas?” Irene demanded, confused at his sudden change of character.

But Thomas couldn’t process all this information. It was coming too sudden, too hard, and he simply had to turn away. Thomas left the medical ward, heedless to Anthea’s cries for mercy.

 

 

In his office, Thomas sat numb and cold with his back to the door.

He’d tried so hard not to think about Lawrence for months, but he realized now that his past was far from a shut and closed case. He'd known, of course, that there was a possibility for Anthea to become pregnant from her incestuous relations. But he’d caught them sleeping together in March… so how was she ready to give birth in September? There was no one else in Anthea’s life to impregnate her, so the reasoning had to be that Anthea had already been pregnant with Lawrence’s baby in March. She must have conceived sometime around December… which made Thomas want to be horribly sick.

What in the fuck was he supposed to do?

Thomas was absolutely clueless, so numb and distraught that he couldn’t formulate a solution. If Rob had been in England, Thomas would have turned to him for support and advice. Now, Thomas had no one but… well…

He knew that it was a long shot, particularly when Carson would be the one answering the phone, but Lord Grantham was the only man apart from Rob that understood the full implications of Thomas’ position… and Thomas desperately needed someone to talk to.

His lips felt oddly cold and flabby as he spoke to receptionist after receptionist. It seemed like time was stretching on and on… Why wouldn’t anyone pick up the phone?

But then, someone did pick up the phone.

_“Downton Abbey, this is Mr-“_

“It’s me.” Thomas stumbled over the words, cutting Carson off. “I… need to speak with his Lordship. Something has happened.”

Carson did not reply. At first, Thomas thought that Carson had hung up on him. Then?

 _“What has happened?”_ Carson might not have spoken with violent words, but his tone was filled with contempt and apathy. Thomas did not have the energy to deflect the man.

“Anthea… The… Lawrence Gray’s sister. She found us.” Thomas said, “She… she’s ready to… give birth. She’s having her brother’s baby. I-“

 _“So it seems that your fortune is in jeopardy.”_ Mr. Carson concluded, _“And you wish to consult with his Lordship over legal matters?”_

But that wasn’t the reason at all. Thomas shook his head, as if to rid water from his ears.

“I don’t give a good god damn about money!” He said, emotional and angry, “I don’t know what to do! Do you really think me so heartless to be consumed by money at a time like this?! Money means nothing!”

Thomas was choking on his own tongue.  
He hung up the phone in spite of himself, more emotional than ever before. When he started to cry, he could not stop himself. He cradled his face in his hands, his belly aching from the exertion of his wailings.

He stumbled over to his cot, slumping upon it to hide from the world.

~*~

For the rest of the day, Thomas did not come out of his office. Several times, people knocked upon his door, but Thomas had drawn the shades over his windows and turned out the light. He didn’t want to talk about Anthea. He didn’t want to make decisions. He wanted to be left alone, and suddenly realized the value of a pregnant omega being kept to their nest. It was maddeningly ridiculous, save for the one aspect that it allowed an omega to rest and not be bothered.

But Thomas’ apartment was burnt down. He didn’t have a nest anymore.  
The fact that he had lost his bed, the very same bed where he and Rob had consummated their love, made him all the more upset. He drew his locket up to his nose, letting it lay upon his pillow so that he could sniff Rob’s fading scent.

It was the only thing which brought him peace, and it was a meagre peace at that.

When Thomas awoke again, it was to Amos gently shaking him upon the shoulder. The smell of shepherd’s pie filled his nose, and Thomas opened his bleary bloodshot eyes to see Amos holding a serving of pie with peas and mash. He seemed concerned, which might have something to do with the fact that Thomas was puffy and blown up like a balloon.

He sat up, dismal, but accepted the meal Amos offered.

“So…” Amos started, only to trail away when Thomas shook his head. Amos shrugged, staggering up to slump over onto the cot at Thomas’ side. They were thigh to thigh.

Thomas ate slowly, hungry but fearing that he might vomit. He was working on a tight rope, determined to keep his growing baby healthy but wishing he could harm himself. It was in that moment that Thomas realized that he was in serious danger of hurting the baby through his episodes. If only Rob were here, he could be able to talk Thomas through the pain…. but what if Rob were too involved to know when the danger was presented?

Hadn’t that been what everyone was saying? That if you were involved with a patient, you couldn’t treat them?

“…I think I need help.” Thomas mumbled.

“With what?” Amos asked.

“I think I need to talk to someone. To save my baby.” Thomas said. Amos gave him a sudden look of alarm.

“Are you in pain? Like are you bleeding-“

“No.” Thomas mumbled “I just… don’t… feel… anymore.” It was hard to get the words out. He felt like his tongue was battling a wad of drying cement. Like the words themselves had no-

Thomas’ fingers were numb. The plate slipped through his hands to crash onto the floor. His fork jangled and rolled away. The floor was now stained with pie.

And suddenly, Thomas couldn’t breath.  
He panicked, clutching at his throat as he sucked in enormous lungfuls. His head was spinning, and he felt like he was swimming in a fog. He was babbling, saying something, but Thomas couldn’t connect his brain to the words coming out of his mouth.

“I can’t breath- I can’t- I can’t do this-!”

He was crying again. He felt like his whole body was on shut down mode. Like anything that he did would result in absolute catastrophe. The worst thing, by far, was that Thomas knew it was a catastrophe to break down while pregnant… and if he lost his baby for his own anxieties and weaknesses he would never forgive himself.

There were hands on him. Someone was forcing a paper bag over his mouth, making him breath into the sack in an attempt to calm him down. Someone was behind him, rubbing his shoulders. He could hear Amos’ voice, but couldn’t dissect the words.

It took several minutes of breathing slowly through the paper sack to finally get to a handle back on his emotions, and when he did he felt oddly… drained. Like he was dying.

“The baby-“ Thomas slurred. “I’m gonna- it’s gonna- what if I-“

But Dr. Butler was on his knees before Thomas, a stethoscope to his slight belly bump as he listened intently.

“Baby’s heart rate is fine.” Dr. Butler said. “You’re stressed out of your mind. I recommend you taking a break from work until you get back on your feet-‘

“But how? and where?” Thomas demanded. It was impossible. “I- I have to work… I don’t have a home anymore. I can’t leave!”

“You don’t have to leave but you can’t stretch yourself too thin.” A nurse offered. Thomas did not know her name, but he could tell she was a beta. She seemed very worried. “You do everything around here. Why not designate other men with the tasks and just take a few days to relax?”

Thomas shook his head. He couldn’t think anymore. His brain was full of static and he was exhausted. With every ragged breath he took, his mind swam with problems. Robert in Vienna… Carson hating him… Lord Grantham desperately trying to pick up pieces… Anthea. Pregnant.

Pregnant with her brother’s baby. His ex-husband’s baby.

He fell on his side, laying his head back down on the cot. He closed his eyes, panting; he felt a nurse lay a cool clothe upon his forehead.

“I’ll stay with him.” Dr. Butler said.

“Nah, I’ll stay.” Amos said, “You lot are needed downstairs.”  
“Come and get me if anything else occurs. If he starts to have another anxiety attack have him breath in the paper bag again. I think at this point what he needs is sleep.”

Thomas tentatively agreed, but the real answer was much more complicated. He needed many things… at the top of the list was Robert’s return.

The smell of aftershave caught his attention. Thomas opened his bleary eyes to see that Amos was sitting right at the head of his cot, so that if Thomas were to stretch his fingers but a little bit they would be touching. He looked disturbed, his brow furrowed.

“… You want me to scent you?” Amos mumbled. “If it’ll help?”

Thomas doubted it, but reached out to squeeze Amos’ shoulder all the same. Thomas’ nostrils were filled with the brilliant scent of warm wheat. It wasn’t the same as smelling honey and white tea, but it worked. It made Thomas think of wandering through a farmer’s field on a brilliant summer day… like the sort of feeling you’d get when you were free and clear.

He hadn’t been either for a long time.

 _“There’s been a sayin’ goin’ round…”_ Amos was a shit singer. Thomas wondered why he was even trying until he reasoned that Amos might be trying to cheer him up or occupy his mind with something other than anxiety. _“And I’m beginnin’ to think it’s true. It’s awful hard to love someone, when they don’t care about you.”_

Thomas wasn’t really paying attention to the lyrics.  
It was just nice to be still, and be cared for.

 

~*~

 

After Thomas’ minor break down, he was once again back to being treated with kid-gloves. Before, when he’d been at the Abbey and underneath Lord Grantham’s thumb, it had feel horribly oppressing. Now, in the furnace without Robert for comfort, it was a bizarre blessing. It wasn’t that people avoided him or refused to include him in projects… it was that the blame always went to someone else. The burden and responsibility was effectively lifted off his shoulders.

It helped, but only a bit. Thomas was still fully swamped when it came to the burdens swimming about his mind.

Perplexed, but left to his own devices, Thomas found himself often drifting towards the fields of Moira where he could be alone. Most of the villagers let him be; they were busy reaping their harvests for autumn festivals and preparing for winter again. It stunned Thomas to realize that this time last year he’d been courted by Lawrence Gray and freshly back from the Brigade. He’d been a maid in the abbey… shadowing Mrs. Hughes around every day.

Incredible, how a year could change so much.

It was on one such day, as Thomas wandered, that he was approached by Amos and Dr. Butler once again. Wandering about the wheat fields with hands outstretched, Thomas had been mid way through making a crown of intertwined stalks when the two men reached him. Amos looked in his element, always a man for the outdoors, but Dr. Butler was sweating and had to mop at his brow with a handkerchief. Thomas noticed that the linen was embroidered, perhaps a loving gift from the man’s omega.

“Damn, it’s a good day!” Amos drew in an obnoxiously loud sniff, as if hoping to suck the wheat up through his nose. He even plucked up a strand, popping it in his mouth to chew on the succulent end. He looked like a farmer, sans the straw hat and overalls.

“It’s nice to be outside.” Thomas said. “But I don’t think you’re here to play in the wheat.”

“He isn’t. I am.” Amos corrected, dropping down next to Thomas and taking the completed wheat crown from his hands. He perched it atop Thomas’ head. Now without brilliantine to hold down his hair, a natural curl had taken effect at his ends. He looked a bit like a fairy with his sharp facial features and brilliant eyes.

“I wanted to speak with you about the patient Anthea Gray.” Dr. Butler said. “I fear that we may have to make several difficult decisions soon, and she has relayed to me that you are her next of kin. That her brother was your late alpha. Is this true?”

Thomas shrugged, looking out over the sloping fields to a village that lay to the north. He wondered what its name was.

Dr. Butler was weary. He sat down next to Thomas and relaxed, moping his brow once again to patiently re-fold his handkerchief. He was a meticulous man, even in the smallest of his habits.

“She’s dying, isn’t she.” Thomas said. It was hardly an acute observation when the woman barely weighed 100 pounds. He didn’t know what would kill her first, but he doubted she’d withstand the pressure of giving birth.

“The fact of the matter is that her pregnancy is destroying her body.” Dr. Butler said, “And she will not survive the birth. Even a C-section would result in death.”

“If I told you something, could you keep it to yourself?” Thomas asked.

“Of course.”

“The baby she’s carrying was conceived through incest-“

“I know.” Dr. Butler was unafraid of the facts. “She’s told us. Apparently she’s been living in a convent; her mother put her there when she realized Anthea was pregnant. The nuns shaved her head and beat her regularly to atone for her sins. She escaped with the help of a local farmer but the damage was already done. She wants your forgiveness… and in my opinion it would be best just to give it to her. She won’t live much longer. Let her die with some measure of peace.”

Thomas nodded, though he knew deep down he would never be able to view Anthea in a positive light.

“We’re going to operate tomorrow.” Dr. Butler said. “I can tell from experience that her body is giving out. She won’t be able to live through the next three days. We have to act to save the baby. I have to tell her the facts but I think it will be better coming from you. She’s been asking for you regularly. I know that you’re recovering in your own way and time, but would you consent to speak with her?”

Thomas wished he could be selfish and say ‘no’, but he’d run out of options at this point. Anthea’s life was ticking away with each second he delayed their talk, and if he waited too long she might die unfulfilled.

“I’m worried about my baby.” Thomas admitted. “What if the strain is making him weak?”

It was odd to give the gender of ‘him’ to a baby that was roughly the size of a grape, but Thomas had the oddest sensation that the baby was a boy. In a way, he felt it in his core. He doubted that his prediction had any solid science behind it… but it was nice to not keep referring to the baby as an ‘it’.

“Here.” Dr. Butler offered Thomas a stethoscope from his pocket. The plastic earbuds were discolored yellow and the sensitive end was slightly tarnished. “This is my old stethoscope. thanks to your funding, I can afford new equipment. I want you to have it.”

“…Um…” Thomas accepted the gift, perturbed. Why on earth would he want a stethoscope. “Thanks?” Had Dr. Butler even heard what he’d just said? Did no one care that his baby-

But Dr. Butler shook his head, extending the ear prongs and offering them to Thomas. “You misunderstand me. Put the buds in your ears.”

Thomas did so with slight hesitation. It felt odd, to have buds jammed in his ears, and he wasn’t too happy with the pinching sensation. But then, Dr. Butler took the sensitive end of the stethoscope and carefully placed it over Thomas’ belly. The noise was aggressively loud, so that Thomas winced, but soon everything faded away and all Thomas could hear was an odd, dull thump.

It was a fast rhythm. He looked at Dr. Butler, unsure of what he was hearing. Dr. Butler gave him a small smile, then touched his own heart with his free hand.

And suddenly Thomas understood.

Shocked, Thomas took the stethoscope from Dr. Butler, and carefully moved it about his stomach. He could hear bizarre swooshing noises, as if the baby was moving about in a fluid sack, but above all the rapid sound of the heartbeat captivated him.

He was smiling, and didn’t even realize it.

The heartbeat was solid and strong, pumping triumphantly, and gave him a swooping sense of relief. There was no denying his baby’s strength when he could hear it with his own ears.

Dr. Butler waved his hand about, trying to capture Thomas’ attention. Thomas couldn’t hear well with the stethoscope in his ears, but the muted voices of the men around him reminded him that the world would not wait.

Thomas shook his head waving them off. He wanted to listen to his baby a little-

Amos reached forward and took the stethoscope out of his ears.

“Hey!” Thomas squawked as his new toy was taken away.

“You can listen to the bean after you accept Athena’s apology.” Amos said, holding the stethoscope away. “Won’t take you five minutes and it’ll do a world of good-“

“That’s Anthea!” Thomas corrected him, snagging the stethoscope back, “And don’t touch my stethoscope.”

“It’s not even a good one!”

“Well it’s mine, and that’s all that matters.”

He’d never been one to share.

Despite having his stethoscope back, Thomas got to his feet and headed off back towards the furnace in the company of Dr. Butler and Amos. He felt tentative, queazy, but reasoned that he didn’t have to do much. He would sit at Anthea’s bedside, hear her apology, accept it (on the outside) and then return to his office/bedroom where he could draw the blinds and listen to his baby’s heartbeat. It was as much a solid plan as any, and so Thomas ascended the stairs to the infirmary knowing he was making the right decision. Once it was over it wouldn’t have to be done again.

The hospital ward was mostly quiet. A few omegas were napping, still wrapped in bandages and bruised. A few others were up, with two reading and a third knitting what might have been a pair of winter gloves from soft yellow thread. They each smiled when they saw Thomas, waving to him a little in warm affection. Thomas paused at the beside of one of their smaller patients, a five year old girl who had nearly been the child bride of a Brigade member. It was a mercy that her virginity was unshed, that she had not experience the horrors of molestation or rape, but she had suffered a broken leg and was feeling poorly. She’d kicked off her covers with her one good leg, and was now curled up in a ball to retain body heat. Thomas plucked up her covers, and gently draped them over her so that she might sleep more comfortably. She shifted, snuggling deeper, and slept soundly.

Anthea’s bed was in a separate ward, which was connected to the hospital via an ante chamber packed with supplies. Nurses often took their breaks inside, where a cramped card table and several chairs had been drawn up to host a whole supply of gauze packets and syringes. One nurse was inside, on her coffee break, and was thumbing through a London fashion magazine as she sipped a cup of coffee. She smiled at Thomas and Dr. Butler, but said nothing and did not move from her chair.

In the next room, the pregnant omegas lay waiting. There were five, as of that moment, with only two close to giving birth. One was a young woman named Opal, who’d been impregnated by a brigade member and was suffering from depression. She did not want her baby, and felt bound by it, but took comfort from Amos’ promise that she didn’t have to keep the baby if she didn't want to. She'd resolved to have the baby adopted out, and Thomas was already interviewing several possible candidates. Now, there was nothing left to do but wait. Opal was young (eighteen) and just wanted to live her life. Thomas had even played cards with her a few times at her insistence. She'd called her mother from the communal telephone, grateful to hear that her parents were moving to America just as soon as she returned to them. She was looking forward to having a new life, and to being able to grow up properly away from the Brigade.

As for the other…well… the story wasn’t so bright and hopeful.

Anthea was awake, but only just, flat on the bed with her bony body wrapped in several flannel blankets to try and garner her some warmth. She was pale, her lips and her eyelids blue, and was listless. Her belly was massive compared to the rest of her frame. She didn't seem to understand where she was.

Thomas paused at the foot of her bed, noting her medical chart which hung over the railing with a red pen dangling from a string. It was full of negative marks.

“…Thomas…" Anthea croaked. Upon the bed, her left hand twitched like she wanted to reach out to him.

Dr. Butler drew Thomas up a visitors chair, and then backed away with Amos at his side. Both of them wanted to give Thomas room, but neither seemed willing to leave.

Thomas wondered if they were worried for him or for Anthea.

Thomas took a seat, not truly looking at Anthea for a moment. Instead he looked at her hand, which was taped up and holding several IV’s. He could remember when Anthea’s hands had been so smooth and whole. Now, they were bony and thin, veins puffy and swollen.

“Anthea.” It was odd to hear her name upon his lips after so long.

He looked at her face. There were tears leaking from her eyes. They looked abnormally large in their sunken sockets. In an act of mercy that he had not thought possible of him, Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her face. Her shaved head was unbelievably disturbing. God… she'd had such beautiful brown hair, pilled in a wrapped bun atop her head. She’d been a vision in her Christmas gown of red and green. She'd had a sprig of holly on her breast.

She’d been pregnant then. Had she known? Had she rejoiced?

“For…” She could barely speak, “Forgive me. I… I couldn’t resist him. I loved him so-“ Her voice was without tone, too soft and weak to have the strength of a chord.

“For god’s sake." Thomas griped, feeling utterly sick at the thought of Lawrence Gray, “Don’t think about it now. It’s over and done with. Just…"

Just what? Don’t fuck your brother?

“I can’t live without him.” Her bottom lip quivered wildly. “I tried to get him... to open the door. He wouldn’t. I heard the shot. I cried and cried.”

Thomas could not imagine the agony of hearing Robert shoot himself. He let out a long sigh, relaxing back into his chair as he covered his mouth and considered their options. To forgive or not to forgive? To bring it up, or let it die?

“Anthea…” He just couldn’t let it go. He just couldn’t forget. The image of her fucking Lawrence had been so god damn sickening- “He was your brother. Your brother for god’s sake. Can’t you see-?”

But there were more tears. Thomas wiped them up again.

“Love is… without logic.” She said. Thomas didn’t know if he agreed.

He didn’t want to talk about Lawrence anymore. Lawrence was dead, and Anthea was soon to join him. They were working on borrowed time. Thomas needed to know what to do with the baby.

“Anthea… what do you want me to do-“

“They say you did all this.” They spoke over one another. Thomas gave directive to her own words, since she was the one dying.

“…Not all of it.” Thomas said. “I had help.”

“The money- Lawrence’s… I know… Amos said… it’s yours.” She was having trouble talking in coherent sentences. Maybe she was woozy, “Will you- I beg you- raise my baby. Protect my baby. Please?” It was then that a whimper broke through her voice. She coughed, and her body shook from the strain. Thomas snapped to attention, fetching her a glass of water from the bedside table and taking Anthea from behind her head to raise her up so that she could sip. It didn’t do much, but it quenched her throat and made her voice less raspy.

He wouldn’t. He’d have the baby adopted out to a wealthy family. He wasn’t going to tell Anthea though.

“I will.” He lied.

“If it’s a girl… name her Cecilia-“ She coughed again. Thomas gave her another sip of water. When she pulled way, Thomas noted there was blood on the rim of the glass.

“Alright- but let’s sleep now." Thomas urged. Jesus wept- if there was blood in her mouth what could that mean for the baby?

“If it's a boy… Lawrence.” And suddenly Anthea was crying again. “For his- for his-“

Father. Yes. He knew. Thomas waved her off, eager to have her sleep.

“Yes, fine, just sleep now.” He urged. “I’ll do whatever you want, but you have to rest. You’re in shit shape.”

“Tell them… how much I loved them?” Anthea pleaded.

“…I will.” Thomas doubted he'd need much convincing. Some things you just gave to a child, no matter who their parents were.

“Tell them… my whole world..” She mumbled, her eyes closing.

“Anthea. Everything will be fine-“ It was an awful lie to tell, “Just rest.”

“I admire your strength. I wish I had it.” She opened her eyes again. Thomas noted they were misted as if in memory. “Remember the dinner when… we fought… and you said I was brave, to make fun of me?”

God, that had been a fucking life time ago. Thomas could remember wearing that awful peach frock with the diamond in the center. How Anthea had been so pointedly furious because he was pregnant and mated to Lawrence. She’d been vapid and jealous, spiting him at every turn. He’d vomited in a vase.

“…I’m not brave.” Tears were coming down her face again. Her eyes were swollen at the rims. “I've never been brave. Laurie… he was brave.”

But Lawrence hadn’t been brave. He’d snorted cocaine to forget his passions for his sister and had beaten Thomas to the brink of death just to hide from his own insecurities.

He’d been as cowardly as his sister. Just with less grace.

 

~*~

Thomas slept that night with the stethoscope in his ears, listening to the heartbeat of his baby. Every so often an odd swishing noise would fill his ears… maybe it was the baby shifting.

The steady throbbing of his baby’s heart made Thomas feel a little more secure in the world.  
Robert would be home soon. Thomas couldn’t wait to let him listen to the baby. He’d use the stethoscope, so proud of their baby’s heartbeat. It was strong and quick… determined to thrive.

He’d woken the next morning, the stethoscope having fallen to the floor in his sleep. He used the toilet, then returned to bed to hide beneath the covers and listen to the baby again. The heartbeat was slightly slower… perhaps he was sleeping? Thomas rubbed his stomach, humming softly. He could hear the reverberation of his own voice in his womb. A great deal of swishing preceded a quickening of the baby’s heartbeat. Thomas smiled, certain that he was hearing the baby wake up.

The baby was curious, but sleepy. After a while the heartbeat sank again. Thomas let him sleep.

Thomas mumbled every lullaby he knew. He sang his baby awake, and stroked soft patterns into the stretched skin of his stomach.

It was in moments like these, with the crisp fog of England still thick on the ground and all the world asleep, that Thomas could imagine life was good. That things would turn out for the better.

But for some, even the dawn was racked in pain.

 

Anthea was fading, and fast. What little strength she’d been saving up seemed to have been isolated for her apology to Thomas. Having given it, her body was now collapsing. Thomas had no sooner put on a pair of trousers than a nurse had come knocking on his door. Her pale complexion had told Thomas all that he needed to know.

Anthea was going to die. Today. Perhaps before noon.

He headed downstairs to the hospital wing and found it full of life. Omegas were having their breakfasts in bed, a porridge and eggs combination. Some were being fed by nurses, too weak to eat by themselves. The little girl with a broken leg was having her hair brushed by a nurse. It was a tangled nest of curls.

Thomas entered into the pregnancy wing, and found it likewise bustling. Opal was up, looking nervous. Indeed, all the mothers-to-be were on edge. Every doctor in the ward was clustered around Anthea’s bedside, talking in grave whispers. Dr. Butler was there, and was the first to approach Thomas. He was grim faced, and Thomas already knew what he was going to say.

“Thomas- we need to speak in private-" Dr. Butler took him to the ante room, where a nurse was putting together a cart full of supplies. One look from Dr. Butler sent her in the other direction. She shut the door to the ante room, giving them privacy if only just.

“She will not live through the day.” Dr. Butler said. “Her vitals are dropping and fast. We have to act now to save the baby. If we preform a cesarian section, she will not live. If we don’t, the baby will not survive her death. She cannot give birth naturally. She’s too weak.”

Thomas nodded. He’d been under no illusions of grandeur.

"Let me speak with her." Thomas said. “I’ll let you know her decision.”

Dr. Butler was content to have Thomas be the bearer of bad news. Thomas entered the pregnancy ward gain to find the doctors still in a gaggle at the foot of Anthea’s bed. He approached with caution, finding Anthea sweating and pale. She looked….

She looked dead, already. Like any second would be her last.  
Thomas loomed over her head, bending over so that she could get a good look at his face. She was lost within herself. She could not seem to see him.

“Anthea." Thomas whispered. "Anthea can you hear me?”

“…Tho…” she could not finish his name.

“Anthea, I have to tell you something." Thomas said, determined to get the news across when she was still lucid. “You’re going to die, Anthea. Today. The doctor said he has to perform a cesarian section to get the baby out alive but… you won’t make it through-“

Her dark eyes flickered up to his own. In that moment, despite her frailty and shallow breath, it was clear she could see him and comprehend his words. Her body was dying but her brain was still alive.

“Do it." she whispered. Thomas could barely hear her voice. He bent his head lower so that she wouldn’t have to strain herself. “…I have… no life…now. Do it… I… I know… you’ll do... the right… thing.”

Thomas looked back at Anthea, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. She had no idea that he was going to adopt the baby out to a wealthy family. The child would want for nothing, he would make sure of it, but she was under the impression he would care for it.

But Thomas knew he couldn’t. What he did, he did for the child. He could not save the mother. He could not save the father.

But he could save the baby. He had to be strong and stick to his guns.

“Please…” She begged. “Please forgive… me…”

Thomas pursed his lips, putting on the softest expression he could muster.

“I forgive you.” He lied. “Wholly and unconditionally. And you don’t have to be afraid… I’ll love your baby like it were my own.”

She smiled, and closed her eyes. A tear fell down her face.

 

 

Dr. Butler was deeply concerned that Anthea would not last through the afternoon, so the cesarian section was organized rapidly. The team comprised of Dr. Butler and another doctor Thomas did not know by name. Four nurses would be assisting, leaving the rest of the medical squad free to assist other omegas. Anthea was rolled out of the pregnancy wing and into an operating room, which was actually nothing more than a storage closet which had been rebuilt and fitted out with an extensive sink. Thomas was allowed in, but no one else, as Anthea was prepped for surgery and her stomach coated in iodine.

Thomas was forced into a surgical gown, his hair covered and his hands stuffed into gloves. He stood at Anthea's side, watching over her even as nurses pulled a screen between Anthea and her belly so that she would not have to see the surgery as it occurred. They were preparing an anesthetic, from which she would never awake. She had no will and testament to make, nothing to her name save for the child in her belly.

Thomas clasped her hand in his own, determined to be strong for her so that she could fall apart if she needed to. The looming finality of death lent a somber atmosphere to the operation. This was less of a birth as it was a tragedy.

“I’m so happy…” Anthea whispered, listless. “I’ll see Laurie... soon…”

Thomas ran his fingers across her shaved skull. Her brown hair had grown back in bizarre tufts. He let his fingers run across her clammy forehead. “Yes.” He said, simply because it was the thing to say.

“Cecilia." She closed her eyes.

“Or Lawrence. Yes." Thomas said.

Dr. Butler walked around the divide, catching Thomas’ eyes. He nodded. Thomas understood what he meant to say… they were ready to begin.

“They’re ready to begin.” Thomas whispered. Why now of all times was there a knot forming in his throat. Why was he feeling sad?

Because it was sad. He just didn’t want to face it.

Anthea gave him a tiny smile. “Goodbye… Thomas…”

The nurse at Anthea’s side gently placed the gas mask over Anthea’s blistered mouth. It took barely a second with Anthea slipping easily underneath the anesthetic while another nurse monitored her vitals.

“…Goodbye Anthea.” Thomas whispered. She was not awake to hear him.  
She would never be awake again.

“Patient fully under-“ the nurse monitoring Anthea’s vitals spoke up.

“Let’s begin." Dr. Butler said.

The room fell into rapt silence, save for the voices of the doctors when they called out to the nurses. Thomas stood at Anthea’s side the entire time, eyes locked on her face as he slowly watched her complexion turn a ghastly shade of white. She was almost blue by the end of it, her life slowly faded away.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe more.

“Pulse falling-!” The nurse called out.

“We don’t have much time to work with.” The other doctor was nervous at the shrinking window of opportunity.

“Focus.” Dr. Butler commanded. “Forceps-!” He called out to the nurse behind the screen. Thomas could hear an odd squelching noise which made him queazy.

Anthea’s head slowly sagged to the right. The nurse holding the mask to her face pulled back, two fingers at her jugular vein. She caught the eyes of the nurse on Anthea’s other side. The pair of them shared a grave expression.

It was over for her. She was dead. Thomas cursed, bowing his head. He reached out, and gently used his fingers to push Anthea's mouth closed so that she did not look out of sorts in death.

There was more noise from beyond the curtain but Thomas dare not look.  
He expected the cry of an infant any moment now.  
Instead, he got the horrified gasp of a nurse.

“Shit-!” The other doctor cursed.

“Damn.” Dr. Butler spat, “Alright- we knew this was a possibility-“

The nurse behind the screen had backed up. Thomas saw her face; it was white. She was terrified.

"What's happening?” Thomas demanded. He dare not step around the curtain lest he see more blood and body than he could handle.

"Don't look.” Dr. Butler commanded.

But that made Thomas want to look all the more.

He stepped back, just a hair, in order to see Dr. Butler holding a creature in his arms.

 

Thomas was taken aback, shocked.

From the neck down it seemed relatively normal, save that it was small and its hands seemed bizarrely formed. Its face, however, was horribly misshapen. The top of its head was completely missing, caved in as if its brain was gone. Its eyes, as a result, were bulging obscenely from its head. One eye was massive, unable to close the lid around a discolored iris and pupil. The top of its head was bloody red and lumpy… it was like Thomas was looking at the inside of its skull.

He could hear it breathing. It was alive.

“Oh my god-“ the words fell from his mouth. He could not stop them.

What in the name of god was wrong with this baby? Was it… was it common? Was it treatable? Where was its brain? Had it detached or had it never-

Was it because of Lawrence-

Thomas could barely breath, could barely focus. He was utterly enraptured by the sight of the baby in Dr. Butler’s arms. The nurses were tentative to clean the baby, as if scared to touch him.

“… Buggering fuck-“ Thomas had never heard Dr. Butler curse before. He was so stern and stoic it seemed completely out of character. The bravest nurse stepped forward, carefully taking the baby away to wipe it clean with a cloth. It was only then, out of Dr. Butler's arms, that Thomas could see the baby had a penis and exterior testicles. It was a boy.

Thomas stepped forward, but was cut off by Dr. Butler who stuck out a hand to keep him back as the nurses fretted over the baby on a cleaning station. They carefully wrapped him up in layers of blankets. He did not cry. He did not thrash.

“Will he live?” Thomas whispered.

“No.” The other doctor mumbled. He seemed horribly dejected, as if personally wounded by the baby’s outcome. He shucked his bloody gloves, bitter, and tossed them in a hazard bin to begin scrubbing his forearms clean in an opposite sink. “

"What's wrong with him?” Thomas whispered. “Why does he look like that?”

“He has anencephaly.” Dr. Butler explained. “His brain is gone.”

The other doctor headed over to Anthea’s head, carefully checking her jugular vein for the lack of a pulse. He checked a nurse’s watch for the time.

“Time of death, 10:39 A.M.” The doctor pronounced. Another nurse quickly jotted down the time for medical papers. Thomas wondered if he should alert the Dowager of Lincolnshire.

He was drawn, as if by a magnet, to the baby’s side. Cleaned and swaddled, one of the nurses tentatively put a woolen cap over his head to shield the worst of the damage. It was obvious though, from looking at his face, that he was horribly deformed. The hat did not fit properly on his head.

The nurse caught Thomas’ eyes. She seemed relieved, and quickly passed the baby over so that Thomas suddenly had no choice but to take him.

Burdened, Thomas wrapped his arms defensively about the newborn and clutched the baby close to his chest. It breathed, but it did not move. It did not cry either. It was as if the baby was asleep.

“What do we do?” Thomas asked Dr. Butler. The nurses had turned off the overhead surgical lights and were now laying a cloth over Anthea’s body to hide the damage caused from the cesarian section. There were bloodied instruments on trays, whole pans full of tissue. It was disgusting, but quickly carted away so that Thomas did not have to look at it long.

Dr. Butler was somber, pulling off his gloves and scrubbing down in the sink next to Thomas.

“… Best just give him a bottle and a warm blanket.” Dr. Butler finally said after a moment, wiping his hands off with a clean towel and taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Let nature take its course. He won't make it through the next day. He’ll probably die by tonight. Hell… I’d say even a few hours.”

Thomas looked down at the baby in his arms. The one revealed eye did not seem capable of moving in its socket. The iris was brown.

“Lawrence.” Thomas whispered. “His name is Lawrence Gray the Second.”

Dr. Butler did not make to contradict him. He left the operating room, seeming to need a second to gather himself.

And suddenly, Thomas was left a room alone with a corpse and something not quite alive.

~*~

 

No one wanted to touch the baby. No one wanted to look at the baby.  
His care was left to Thomas and the few nurses who dared to come around.

In the nursery, where now only Alden’s daughter lay sleeping, Thomas hid in the corner rocking the baby upon an old wooden chair. He’d tried to offer the baby a bottle, but it didn’t seem to know how to drink. He did, however, seemed to recognize touch even if only a little bit. With this in mind, Thomas had let one of Lawrence's hand be free of the swaddling so that he could gently rub the baby's hand and arm with a long stroking finger.

There would be no need to screen for an adoption. No need to worry about what to do. All that was left was for Thomas to wait for the inevitable outcome and remain calm. Lawrence would probably sense it if he panicked. Thomas was determined that Lawrence’s life be as stress free as possible.

Of course, some people wanted a good gawk too.

Amos was not one to enter into the nursery, and when he did he seemed heavily uncomfortable. He found Thomas in the corner, left alone by everyone else. He was nervous to approach the baby, slightly disturbed by Lawrence's face.

“Jesus.” Amos whispered. “That's a face you don’t soon forget-“

“Amos, do not make me cross.” Thomas whispered, not even looking up as he continued to stroke the baby’s arm. “I’m not in the mood.”

Amos crouched down, gently reaching up to Lawrence’s knitted cap so that he could see what lay underneath. Thomas glared, and Amos scuttled back at once.

Thomas carefully re-fixed Lawrence’s cap.  
Lawrence’s one open eye was trying to close. Perhaps he was sleepy.

“…It's not gonna live, is it.” Amos mumbled. Thomas shook his head.

“Listen, I just wanted you to know…” Amos sighed, looking away, “I’ve been in contact with Lord Grantham. We’re trying to locate Robert… to tell him what we know. Phone lines are shit in Austria, but Vienna has a few lines. Freud’s renowned. One is viable to be the right one.”

Thomas nodded, not really listening.

“I’ll come get you when there’s news.” Amos whispered. Thomas didn’t even answer, his attention fully focused on Lawrence. His breath was slowing; he was asleep. “We should know something soon though. There's only so many phone lines in Vienna.”

For a moment, Amos just stood over Lawrence, staring down at him dejectedly. "Christ, it’s ugly.” Amos finally said. “I mean, look at that eye-“

“Amos, if you don’t leave right now I’m going to set this baby in a crib and knock out your teeth.” Thomas said, and though he did not raise his voice nor stop stroking Lawrence’s chubby hand, his words were sincere.

Amos was taken aback, raising his hands in defense. “Leaving.” Amos said, and turned away without another word.

"See that you do.” Thomas muttered, inwardly furious. When Amos shut the door to the nursery, Thomas gently clasped Lawrence’s hand in his own. The baby didn’t seem to know how to squeeze, but he was aware of Thomas’ touch and seemed to want more of it.

“… Don’t listen to him." Thomas whispered to the baby. “You’re not ugly. You're just different. And your mother and father loved you very very much. Your mother most of all.”

Lawrence, asleep, did not make to challenge Thomas on the topic.

~*~

A good two hundred miles to the north, Robert Crawley sat quiet and contemplating in his favorite leatherback chair.

The library was an excellent spot for a good think during the high hour of noon. Mary and Tom were out on business, the children were taking a walk with the nanny and Tiaa, and Cora was down at the hospital delivering some sort of ultimatum on a current project involving updated technology. With the house absent of its usual stock, Robert allowed himself to ponder alone save for the occasional company of Carson who came to bring him tea and his favorite lemon scones.

Robert felt oddly accomplished though there was little reason to save that he'd finally worked out how to get in touch with that idiot Kinsey.

Vienna had very few phones, and most of them were split amongst government groups for quick communication of national news. In the past month, however, Freud had decided to keep up with the times and had apparently had a phone installed to his private study. It was confidential information, and had cost Robert two hundred pounds to get an ear in, but it now offered Thomas the chance of a lifetime… to speak to Kinsey before he returned home.

Dorsette called often. Apparently whatever business he and Thomas were concocting together was going quite well, save that Thomas was underneath incredible strain and not doing well emotionally. He needed to speak to his alpha, or so Dorsette had conveyed. Any news was good news. Robert had thought to try and ease the burden as best he could, set in his ways and certain that Thomas shouldn’t be working while pregnant. He needed to be resting and preparing for his steps into motherhood. The loss of his daughter had been crippling. Robert was determined that this baby should survive. That Thomas should be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.

Of course, not everyone was on board with this plan.

Carson, in particular, was furious with Thomas. Mrs. Hughes had conveyed to Robert in private that Carson had all but made Thomas cry, bullying Thomas over his choosing Kinsey. While Robert was oddly touched by the dark side of Carson’s loyalty, he likewise felt horribly guilty over the whole interaction. It had been terribly difficult to come to grips with the fact that he was not going to be Thomas’ alpha. In a way, deep down, he was still desperate to be with Thomas. Still hoping and praying that something would hold out and change… but ever time Dorsette mentioned Kinsey, Robert was reminded that Kinsey was Thomas' alpha. That the love the two men shared was comparable to what he felt for Cora, and could not be replicated with another. They were bound in their souls, and now they were expecting a baby…

And Thomas did not deserve to be harassed for loving his alpha.

As if on cue, Carson entered the library once again. He brought with him a fresh pot of tea and more lemon scones. Robert gave him a tiny smile, still warmed by the familiar sight of his butler. Robert could remember when the pair of them had both had black hair.

“Carson.” Robert happily accepted the cup of tea Carson offered. “How are things?”

“Well M’lord.” Carson said. Robert was glad to know it was smooth sailing downstairs. There was certainly much joy in the air with William now nine months old. He was now starting to take his first steps, and had delighted the entire staff by toddling from a chair leg to his mother's arms without anyones help. Mrs. Patmore had apparently been so delighted she'd made William a cake.

Carson carefully took the telephone sitting upon the side table and returned it to the desk. He gave the machine a dry look. "Are we to expect any more calls from the traitor today?”

Ah. There it was again.

“I need to speak with you about that.” Robert said, setting his tea cup aside. He even stood up, determined this conversation be taken to heart. He knew that Carson was set in his ways but this topic in particular offered little wobble room. Thomas deserved nothing but respect.

“I want to make it clear, Carson, that I do not consider Thomas Barrow in a poor light.” Carson did not meet Robert’s eye for a moment. He didn’t seem to agree, so Robert pressed on. “Mrs. Hughes conveyed to me that there was some disagreement between the pair of you. That you were verbal in your vindications. But you and I both know that I acted ungentlemanly. I pushed my opinion upon Thomas when he was fragile and recovering from abuse. His running from the abbey was not a show of cowardice or selfishness. He ran out of fear of me, of fear that I might abuse him. I admit that I did wrong, and I would appreciate it if you could show the same brand of humility."

Carson pursed his lips, inclining his head. “I beg your forgiveness, M’lord, but I do not believe Barrow is in the right for abandoning you when you had given him so much care.”

“It’s true that I have given Thomas a great deal, but there was never a status quo to be met.” Robert warned. “Thomas owed me nothing, save what he gave. I feel that, in time, he would have given me more if I had not pushed myself upon him. I have no one to blame but myself. Thomas has suffered greatly in the name of the great good. He has shed his freedom, and his future to protect other omegas from abuse and neglect. He has even forced the Brigade to show their true colors, setting half o f London on fire. He was lucky to have survived that brutal assault; after all the fire started at his apartment.”

Carson let out a tiny sigh. Robert pressed forward, tentative.

“He’s pregnant, and he’s alone. He desperately misses his alpha. Dorsette has made it clear that Thomas cries every day. He wants nothing more than to be a good omega to his mate. Do you truly despise him so much that you won’t even give him the benefit of the doubt?”

Carson looked duly reproachful. His eyes fell slightly to the carpet before rising up again. When he spoke, his tone was soft and pensive. “I do not despise him, M’lord. I trained him. I only wish he would act with more humility towards your person. I believe that you should be his alpha, not this Kinsey fellow.”

“… Well…” Robert sighed, “I feel the same, but the fact of the matter is that Kinsey has claimed him. Thomas is not up for the taking. He’s spoken for, and three months pregnant. And from what Dorsette says, Thomas is utterly besotted with his mate, so perhaps we should let the subject be. For as infuriating as Kinsey can be, the fellow isn’t a cad. He treats Thomas well, and is tender with him."

“He left him for Vienna, M’lord.” Carson grumbled.

“I know.” Robert was sore on the subject too, “but that’s the way things are Carson. Let’s try and move onward and upward, yes?”

Carson pursed his lips, but gave a tiny nod. “Whatever you desire, I shall do, M’lord.”

“I’ve spoken with Dorsette regarding the renegade Thomas is leading. He was the one who saved the sixty omegas from the Brigade. They’re being healed in a secret location, and are well protected. Of course, all of this is quite taxing on Thomas. He needs to be resting, save in his nest. But his nest is gone, devoured by flames.”

Even Carson seemed disturbed by the thought.

“I only want him to be safe, and happy." Robert admitted. “I would appreciate it, from now on, you could reflect that sentiment as well.”

Carson sighed, dejected, “I will not apologize for being loyal to you, M’lord. Not when you are my family. I had grown to hope that Thomas would be a bridge for our house… that your union might join the upstairs and downstairs.”

“As had I, Carson.” Robert paused, the memories making him somber. “But Thomas is still our family, and he deserves our loyalty as well. He can no longer be a bridge for our house, but he has become a bridge for the future of his sex. I am proud of him.”

“…As am I, M’lord.” Carson finally replied. He seemed surprised by his own words. Robert, however, was pleased by them. They were not the words of a servant trying to appease his master. They were genuine, and were spoken from a place deep within Carson that was rarely shown where Thomas was concerned.

It would have to do for now.  
~*~

 

It was four in the afternoon, and Thomas had still not left Lawrence’s side.

He was quiet, never crying. He did not seem to want to eat, though Thomas had attempted to feed him several times. At best, Lawrence had allowed milk to dribble into his mouth but had been unable to swallow. Thomas had patted him upon the back to help him spit up, and reasoned sorrowfully that Lawrence would not be able to swallow food. He simply didn't have the brain capacity to understand the reaction. Still, Lawrence did respond to touch if only feebly, and once or twice had even grasped Thomas' fingers as he’d rubbed Lawrence's arm.

Thomas held Lawrence’s hand, rocking him back and forth while he hummed lullabies underneath his breath.

When the door to the hospital opened, Thomas looked up to see Amos. He seemed elated, eyes gleaming as he crossed the floor and took Lawrence from Thomas' arms to deposit him in the first crib that he saw.

"Careful!" Thomas said, alarmed, “For god's sake, he doesn’t have a skull you idiot!”

“Fuck it-“ Amos grabbed Thomas’ hand, “We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You want to explain to me what fish is bigger than a helpless infant!?”

“Your alpha!” Amos snapped.  
Thomas stopped, eyes widening on instinct.

Amos drug him forward.

The pair of them headed out of the hospital, in a flat out run by the time they reached the hallway. Thomas had no idea what was going on, but Amos didn’t seem afraid. Instead, he seemed excited, which just made Thomas more frantic. As they ascended the stairs to Thomas office, he was surprised to find the telephone off the hook; Amos just hauled Thomas inside, slamming the office door and locking it for good measure.

“Pick up the phone!” Amos urged.

Thomas did so at once. “Robert?!” He cried out, terrified.  
No one answered him. It was cold static. He looked Amos for an answer.

“Still nothing?” Amos asked. Thomas shook his head, heart pounding in his chest.

“Give it time.” Amos urged. “Grantham found a line to Kinsey. Well- not really. He found a line to Freud. I just talked with an associate on the ground. He’s in Vienna monitoring Robert’s progress. A sort of plan B guy, if you will- but what matters is that he’s going to get the line to Freud’s residence. We get someone to pick up we can find Kinsey!”

Thomas was staggered.

So this was why Robert hadn’t been calling? There wasn't a line directly in to Freud? And here Thomas had thought that Rob was simply caught up in his work. But Amos had poured all his resources into finding a line in, and for that Thomas could not believe how grateful he was. To think… Lord Grantham had put in so much effort to try and save Robert…

How would he ever thank either of them? Amos and Grantham both had shown their true colors by extending the extra hand to him in this dire hour. If Thomas could warn Robert of the danger coming, he could get Robert home quicker. Determined, Thomas chewed on a fingernail and waited impatiently for the phone to pick up.

“Let’s just wait.” Amos said, perching on the edge of Thomas' desk. “One of my men is waiting by the phone. The other's getting the butler. It may take a moment but it’s going to work. Just keep the faith-“

Thomas waved Amos off. He would wait all night if it would get him through to Robert.

Twenty minutes passed. Nothing but cold static could be heard on the phone. Thomas did not so much as twitch upon his chair, his heart pounding in his chest. He gripped the phone tight, his palm slowly growing slippery with sweat.

He watched the clock tick.  
4:37 in the afternoon.

Any minute now. Any minute-

_“Freud wohnsitz, das ist der butler Herr Heighman-“_

“Kinsey!” Thomas cried out the name, startling Amos so that he nearly fell of the desk. Thomas knew absolutely no Austrian- or was it German- what the hell did they even speak over there? He begged in the only tongue he knew, “Kinsey! Please! Dr. Kinsey! Please!”

 _“Wer ist das?”_ The man on the phone asked, quite confused as to why he was suddenly being shouted at by a hysterical Englishman. Thomas could offer him no easy answers.

“Kinsey!” Thomas was close to sobbing. To be so close and yet so far, with the only barrier between them a fucking language, “Kinsey, please! Please!” He bowed his head, fingers grooving into his forehead. His whole body was trembling.

A tear dripped down his cheek, staining the desk beneath him. Amos was behind him, and placed a supportive hand upon his shoulder. Touched, Thomas gave a hearty sniff, and reached behind him to touch Amos’ hand. He let go after a moment, so nervous that he had to chew his fingernail again.

 _“Einen moment bitte.”_ the man said. Thomas didn’t have a fucking clue what that meant, but suddenly the line was quiet again.

Had he hung up? But no… Thomas couldn't hear the dial tone. So clearly they were still on line… but where had he gone? Had he gone to get Robert? Had he gone to fetch someone who could speak English?

Ten minutes passed. Thomas thought he might collapse from the anxiety coursing through his system.

And then, at 4:51 in the afternoon, nearly an hour after Thomas had first sat down at the phone, he heard Robert Kinsey's voice.

_"This is Dr. Kinsey-?”_

“ROBERT!” Thomas screamed the name, all but leaping up from his seat. Amos was clapping his shoulder, squeezing his flesh triumphantly, even as Thomas began to sob hysterically. This was surely a gift from God, the only shot he would get to warn Robert to run. “Robert run! You have to run! Run as far as you can, they're coming for you- Get out of there-“

 _“Thomas!!”_ Robert was shocked, and did not sound happy. _“Thomas, I’ve been trying to call you for weeks- my man said the apartment caught on fire, and burned down! I couldn’t find a way to get into touch with Moira Furnace, it’s not a registered number!”_

But Thomas just could not stop crying.

 _“Dovey, sweetheart, darling-“_ Robert was close to begging, _“It’s alright. Everything is alright. Dearest, I’m alright. I’m right here. Everything's alright- God I had no idea where you were- I thought you were hurt-!”_

“No.” Thomas blubbered. “I- I got your things out. I got your diploma.” He sniffed. “But it’s all gone, Robbie… everything’s all gone and it’s my fault!” He wailed, suddenly crying again with exceeding force so that he had to sit back down before he fell over. Amos was still at his shoulders, offering silent support. His repetitive squeezing was a welcome massage to Thomas’ tense muscles.

 _“This is absolutely not your fault!”_ Robert shot down the notion at once, refusing to give it a second thought, _“Dovey this is their fault, theirs and no other. Don’t you worry for one minute about it. We have money. We’ll find a new place to live, and there’s nothing so important to me in the world as you and our baby. We’ll get a new place. Don’t you even worry about that. You're the only thing that matters to me. Everything else can be replaced-“_

Thomas sniveled, wiping his tears away even as they continued to fall. God… Robert's voice- every inch of him was so precious to Thomas. He'd been suffering in the man's absence. He needed Robert home. Now.

“Robert, please get out of there.” Thomas begged. “Come home, today! Leave today! I- On the phone- Alden told me that Averill is coming after you! He’s going to try to kill you! You have to get out of Vienna and get back to England! I’m begging you-! Get out of there!!” Should his voice rise up any more he would be close to screaming.

 _“Wait, dovey- calm down now- take deep breathes.”_ Robert implored. _“No one is in danger. Shh-“_

But Thomas would not ‘shh’. Not when Robert’s life depended on it.

“Robert, you aren't listening to me!” Thomas shrieked indignant. “Alden told me himself that he’s sent his son Averill to kill you! He’s in Austria! He's coming for you! You have to get out of Vienna and get back to England! Don’t you understand, they set half of London on fire to get to me, they don’t care about the damage they can do!” He was having trouble talking coherently as he began to cry again. It was so dire that Robert understand, but Thomas was a wreck by this point. Hysterical, even.

“Please Robert-" Thomas sobbed, chest aching from the emotion within him, “Please, if you love me, if you love me in any way at all-“

 _"Darling, you’re my life!”_ Robert protested.

“Then RUN!" Thomas screamed the word. His voice cracked. He sobbed onto his desk, mindless to the way that Amos kept rubbing at his shoulders. “Run…please… run. Leave today. Right now-!”

 _“Okay, okay, calm down Thomas… take deep breathes…”_ Robert urged. _“You’re going to upset the baby.”_

Thomas shuddered, taking as deep breathes as he could manage on his alpha’s command. It took several moments before he felt stable enough not to start crying again at the drop of a hat.

 _“I’ll talk with Dr. Freud and my director today.”_ Robert said. Thomas heart swooped with joy. _“I’ll get the paperwork moved, but I can't leave today. I have to get the legal papers for my passage out of the country. I’ll express that there's an emergency at home, Dr. Freud should be able to get some movement out of the Vienna government. I’ll leave as soon as they’re in my hand, but it may be one or two days.”_

“Robert-“ Thomas sniveled, “They’re coming for you. You can’t trust anyone- I don't know where they are or what they have on their side but-“

Amos was tapping on his shoulder. Thomas looked around to see Amos gesturing for the phone, eager.

“I-Amos wants to say something-“ Thomas handed the phone over, watching amazed as Amos pushed forward through the chaos to deliver them both to promise.

“Robert, it’s me.” Amos said, “There are two men you can trust in the city. Both of them are under cover on my orders. They’ve been following y-“ Amos paused, pursing his lips, “Yeah well I don’t like working with ‘maybes’. They’ve been watching your back; but if Averill is in the country you’re not safe anymore. You need to get the hell out of there. Averill is huge, he looks a bit like Alden but he's got lighter hair and a goatee. Massive arm tattoos, leather get up- it’ll be obvious when you see him that he's after your arse. Course, our goal is to make sure he never gets that close.”

Amos paused, grinning, “That’s more like it chum! I enjoy your enthusiasm.” He winked at Thomas before continuing on. “Now, the two men you can trust have been following you since you left England. They took the same ship over, and even boarded the same trains. Their names are Archie Knox and Martin Waters. Say those names back to me?” Amos nodded. “Righto. Archie’s the one in charge of the mission. He's the one that patched line through to Freud's personal telephone. They’re both former Brigade members, and they’re going to be wearing a white bandana around their upper left arms. You keep your eye out for that bandana. If they tell you to do something, you follow their instructions. I won't lie to you, mate... you may not be able to go through with this legally. You may have to run. I suggest you have a valise packed and be ready to leave as soon as they give the word."

Thomas gestured to the phone. Amos nodded, catching his eyes. “Right, I know, but that's the situation we're in now. Look, Thomas wants you again. Get your pale English arse back home as soon as you possibly can. He’s in a right state without you, and getting bigger everyday-"

Thomas was too impatient. He yanked the phone away, cupping it back to his ear.

 _“-But I’ll be looking to you to keep him safe until I return-“_ Robert was saying, still underneath the impression he was talking to Amos.

“Robbie…” Thomas croaked, “You… You have to do what those men say, and you have to leave as soon as possible. I- if something happened to you- I couldn’t live Robbie. I’d die-“ He was close to tears at the sheer weight of the thought.

 _“Darlin’, I swear to you.”_ Robert spoke with great strength, _“If I have to fuckin' walk to Normandy and swim the English channel I will get back to you alive. Don’t you ever doubt it. I may not look up for the rough and tumble but I am. I’ll find a way back to you Thomas. I don't care if they send men after me. I don’t care if they set Freud’s house on fire. I’m coming home. Now listen to me, because I’ve got a plan all my own-“_

“Anything.” Thomas was willing to follow Rob to hell and back.

_“Moira Furnace is strong but it’s not impenetrable. Amos isn’t a member of the peerage. If he were to be caught by the Brigade, you’d sink with him. I need to protect you more than any other. As much as I stand with Amos, I have to recognize that you’re what’s most important. You’ve done so beautifully, dovey, but you’ve taken on too much strain. If anything happens, anything at all, I want you to leave the furnace and head back to Downton Abbey. Stay as far away from London as you can manage. Trust no one. Lord Grantham is a good man, he’ll protect you, and he’s a member of the peerage. He can sway the law if he needs to. Even if it's only a little bit.”_

Thomas sniffed, considering. Yes, he supposed he could see the merit in hiding at Downton, but that did not mean he wanted to. What of the furnace? What of Amos and his men?

Did they not deserve his loyalty too?

 _“Dovey…”_ Robert’s voice was grave, _“I love and I promise you that everything is going to be alright. On my father's grave, on our unborn child's head, I promise you that I will be home soon. I'm going to talk to my director right now. Right this very instant. He’s just a street over, he’s probably getting ready for dinner. I’ll bang down the door if I have to.”_

“Okay.” Thomas whispered, wiping his eyes. God, so much anxiety was melting away just knowing that Robert was on his way home. That Robert understand how much danger he was in. “Just… call me. Call the abbey. Let me know what's going on. I’m begging you-“

 _“Don't worry, Dovey.”_ Robert said. _“I’ll call. I promise. I’ll make sure Mr. Carson knows where I am.”_

“… I love you." Thomas whispered. “If- If something happens-“

 _“Thomas, nothing is going to happen.”_ Robert growled. He seemed incensed by the thought. _“I am leaving as soon as my director stamps that paper and I am coming home. I don’t care if that Averill bastard is crawling up my arse with a pistol. He’ll regret tangling with me."_

“Please don't fight him-“

_“I’d fight a bull if it got me home quicker to you.”_

Thomas closed his eyes, feeling tears drip down his hot and swollen cheeks. He felt exhausted now.

There was a knock at the door. Amos came around the desk, unlocking it to stick his head out.

“What?" Thomas heard him say.

 _“… I’m going right now.”_ Robert said. _“I have to hang up Thomas. I love you so much. I’m coming home-“_

“Please. Be safe.” Thomas whispered.

_“I will Dovey. I love you. Hold to your locket. Run to the abbey if you have to. I have to hang up.”_

“Bye-" Thomas choked out. Before he could lose his nerve, he hung up the telephone and promptly burst into tears. On reflexive instinct, he scrambled for his locket beneath his shirt, and opened it clumsily to breath the scent that was close to fading away.

To hear Robert's voice, after so many months of being parted, had opened many wounds deep within Thomas. Why had Robert left him? Why had Vienna been so damn important? Why hadn’t Thomas followed him? Why had he decided to stay and work on the furnace? Both of them were fools and in the wrong. They should never have split from one another. They should have known that it was folly, that Alden and his lot would try and do something. Now they were facing the consequences and had no one to blame but themselves. Thomas wasn’t one for conservative unions or traditional marriages, but he swore in that moment that if Robert were to get back to him safely Thomas would never leave him again. They would be by one another’s sides for the rest of their lives. In death, they would intertwined together… and in heaven they would walk to the pearly gates hand in hand.

Thomas was far from the dutiful omega, but he was Robs. Forever and ever, he was Robs.

Amos was at the door, having closed it again. He looked grim, and offered Thomas his handkerchief. Thomas waved it off, taking up his own so that he would not soil Amos’. He blew his nose several times until the handkerchief was sopping wet, and shoved it deep into his pocket to grimace at the soiled touch. Amos once again offered his own, and Thomas begrudgingly accepted it to dab at his still moist eyes.

He handed the handkerchief back, and Amos accepted it without care for the dampness.

“So that's good.” Amos mused aloud. “He’s coming home. He knows who to trust. He knows who not to. He’ll get back, Thomas… don’t you worry about that.”

Thomas nodded, still nervous but slightly more content.

“Eh…” Amos pursed his lips, raking a hand through his sandy locks. “Listen, I hate to be the bearer of bad news-“

“When are you ever not." Thomas grumbled. sighing as he relaxed in his desk chair.

“Well, it’s the Gray babe.” Amos said. “Nurse Stewart just came and told me…”

“He's dead.” Thomas summed up. It was hardly surprising.

“Aye. Just stopped breathin’.” Amos said. Oddly enough, he did not make room for a crude joke or speak on crass subjects. Despite having publicly thought the baby an ugly blighter, he did not salt the wound in death.

“What do you want to do?” Amos asked.

But that wasn't even up for discussion. “We bury him and his mother. Together.” Thomas said. Amos nodded, and left the office without another word.

~*~

 

The sky was bloody red as dusk set.

The forest was dark and quiet, the trees turning black as red light stained the leaves and muddied their colors. A few crows circled overhead, perhaps smelling fresh corpses, but either way they wouldn’t receive a meal.

Amos and Belphrey had both pitched in, fetching two other incredibly strong men to dig a hole deep enough to be a grave. Thomas sat out, kept forcibly from hard labor in his delicate condition. Anthea had been cleaned, her frail body washed of blood and wrapped in an old floral tablecloth that had a few holes in it around the edge. Thomas made sure that the wrappings were secure, deciding at last minute to lay Lawrence upon Anthea’s chest so that even in death the pair of them could be together. The baby was small against his mother’s petite breasts, and fit comfortably between her bosoms. Thomas re-wrapped the tablecloth so that Lawrence was well hidden.

It was by far the most humble burial a lady of the nobility had been given, but it was raw and real. It was offered with genuine hope that she might find peace.

Belphrey dropped down into the hole, just in over his head as a man that was six feet tall. Anthea was carefully handed down to him, and Belphrey lay her upon the dirt floor of the pit before arranging her limbs in a natural pose of sleep. He climbed out, aided by his fellow men, and dusted off his knees as the five of them gathered around the rim.

Amos scratching his skin, his hands dirtied from labor. He looked to Thomas, perhaps expecting him to make some sort of a speech. To be fair, of the five men present Thomas had known Anthea best but that was not particularly a good thing.

A stranger would be kinder.

“… I don't have much I can say.” Thomas said. Above them a few crows had gathered in the trees. One was getting rather brash, perching on the handle of a shovel that had been used to dig the bit. It watched, clicking its beak anxiously.

“You collected beautiful figurines of omegas holding parasols and wearing fancy skirts.” Thomas said. “You exemplified them before your life went to shit. You had brown hair down your back… beautiful brown hair. You were a lady, and you were used to finery. To a life without toil. I don't know how you survived so long in that covenant, though I suppose that you must have done it for love of your child. Now the pair of you are together again, and both of you are dead. I don't know if there’s any mystic wisdom to be found in this situation. I suppose we could gather that you shouldn’t fuck your siblings.”

Amos nodded as if Thomas was the most eloquent speech maker of his time. Even Belphrey tilted his head deep in thought.

“I don’t know if you’re screwed.” Thomas shrugged, feeling very cold and miserable in that moment despite it being late September with a muggy heat permeating the air. “I don’t know if you’re in heaven or hell. I don’t know if your baby is with you or not. I don’t know if you… are with him.” Thomas refused to say Lawrence Gray’s name out loud. It hurt too much in that moment, with Robert on the run and Anthea dead at his feet.

“I likewise admit that you were a solid bitch and I honestly hated you for most of the time that I knew you.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head. Christ, how he'd hated Anthea when he'd lived at Belton House. “But... you were loved and you loved someone. I don't think that's something that everyone can say. I’m sorry things went so pear shaped… and that’s all I know to say.”

He felt drained from his meager contribution. Thank god he hadn’t actually dug the ditch.

Amos reached into his vest, fishing beneath the leather to pull out a flask of gin. He uncapped it, holding it up in the air, “To Athena.” He said.

“Anthea." Thomas corrected, terse. Amos shrugged, and took a long gulp before passing the alcohol around.

Each man took a deep sip and passed the flask to his left. When it finally came back to Thomas, Thomas held out the flask and poured his share on the ground so that it crowned Anthea’s head with the stench of gin.

He capped the flask back and handed it to Amos who stowed it away in his vest.

“Alright, let’s cover her before the crows get excited.” Amos ordered. Each man took up a shovel except for Thomas, who sat down upon an upturned log and watched the men work as darkness slowly consumed their camp.

By the time they’d be finished, it would eight at night and the woods would be swallowed in gloom.

~*~

 

But the night held more horrors, deep in Vienna, Austria.

The cobblestone streets were absolutely quiet, save for the two Englishman that made their way up Berggasse after an exhausting and impromptu trip to Rathaus.

Dr. Clarence Stanton was not in a good mood with Rob, but Rob did not care.

He’d been living on the edge for the past several weeks, unable to fully concentrate with Freud while he didn’t know where Thomas was. Every call to England had ended with the same news. That the entire apartment block had gone up in flames and no one knew where Thomas was. Of course, Rob knew. Thomas had to be in Moira Furnace, or so he prayed, but there was no goddamn way to get into touch with Moira Furnace when the phone wasn’t listed legally. Rob had hoped and prayed, waking up each day under the delusional notion that someone would write or approach him with news on Thomas' whereabouts.

But no one knew anything… and Rob had begun to believe that he himself wouldn’t know until he was able to go home.

This wasn't the first time that he'd approached his director, Stanton, with the notion of going home. Every time, though Stanton had urged Rob to stay just another day. He’d pressed that Rob was being over dramatic, that Thomas was probably hiding out and wanting to lay low until the Brigade had lost the hot air in their sails.

Rob had tried to believe it too, knowing Thomas to be incredibly smart and well connected with Amos Dorsette’s men… but the anxiety had eaten him up from the inside out.

The smell of peach haunted his dreams. The feel of Thomas beside him made his body ache for the loss of warmth and affection.

“You do realize this isn’t going to look good for the school.” Dr. Stanton grumbled. “You should have brought your omega with you if he was going to be so much trouble-“

Rob said nothing. Stanton rubbed him the wrong way at the best of the times, and right now Rob was not in the mood to be trifled with. His paperwork for legal boarding would go through, but it would take two days. When Rob had attempted to press that this was a dire emergency, he’d been met with less than an enthusiastic response from both the English diplomat and his director who were rather confused as to why he wanted to leave a week early.

“You can’t leave tomorrow. You have to explain yourself to Freud at the very least-“ but even as Rob rolled his eyes a sudden zinging pain at the back of his head caught his attention. He whipped around, expecting to see this Averill braggart. Instead, he found nothing but a small pebble at his feet that had clearly been lobbed at him. He narrowed his eyes, casting a furtive glance at his surroundings.

The streets were empty and dark. No one was home.

“Are you coming?” Stanton demanded. By now he was several paces ahead. “We ought to return to the hotel to get some sleep.”

Rob slowly turned back around, walking with a stiff gate. Stanton was just as annoyed with him in return.

“I can’t believe you’d go so far as to throw this much baloney in the wind.” Stanton complained. “You ought to take this opportunity to the fullest. Instead you've been dragging your feet the whole time! Why didn’t you bring your omega?” He demanded. The pair of them reached the steps of the hotel, which was less for random tourists as it was a travel lodge. It had at one time been a house, but now was being rented out by the Vienna government for foreign parties. It offered the taste of home while still allowing the passerby to immerse himself in the culture of Vienna.

Another stinging pain hit Rob, this time in his ear. He hissed, rubbing his ear wildly as he looked back over his shoulder. He scanned the streets, finding them blank, but this time noticed a dark figure crouched over in a side alleyway.

Rob squinted, noticing something lighter colored at the man’s shoulder. Could it be a white wrap?

“… Look, think what you want." Rob grumbled, straightening his coat collar as he continued to look out over the street. Was that one of Amos’ men, trying to get his attention? “I-“

But suddenly the man in the alleyway stood up, jerking his hand wildly to try and catch Rob's attention. He seemed panicked.

“… I’m going to have a smoke.” Rob finally said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Fine.” Stanton complained, “But mark me when we get home I’ll be bringing your shoddy behavior before the board!”

Rob didn’t care. Stanton unlocked the front door and headed inside, slamming it closed as Rob continued across the street. Instead of stopping for a smoke, Rob slunk around the alley corner and found an unshaven man with a white bandana about his arm hiding behind a trashcan. He looked haggard, as if he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.

“Excuse me-" Rob said, but the man refused to let him get another word out. He launched out from behind the thrash can, grabbing Rob by the shoulder, and yanking him into the alleyway where the pair of them could be alone in the dark. He pressed a finger over his lips, urging Rob for silence. Rob jerked his arm out of the man’s grip, rubbing his stinging flesh irritably.

“What?” Rob hissed. “What do you want-?”

“They're here!” The man whispered, frantic. “They're in Vienna. They’ve come for you! You have to leave tonight!”

“How do you know they’re in Vienna?” Rob whispered. “Have you seen them?”

“No, you numpty, they’re not that stupid!” The man was exhausted. “I can smell ‘em! I'm tellin' you, they're here. I know these men! I know how they work!”

“I can't leave tonight!” Rob whispered. “I don't have legal boarding papers.”

“Sod legal.” The man whispered back. “This isn’t about bein’ legal anymore, Kinsey. Your life’s in jeopardy!”

“Fine-! Just shuttup and let me think!”

Rob was ready to have an aneurism. What to do-? That was the real question. The way Rob saw it, he had only two honest options. The first was to trust the system, and the process of the government. To wait two more days for his papers to come through, to say a polite farewell to Freud, and to ignore Amos’ advice. One the other hand, Rob could feel the points in Amos’ favor starting to weigh up. Alden and his priggish crew had gone so far as to burn his home to the ground and terrorize his omega. They wanted Thomas and Rob dead; they weren’t too shy about it either. Thomas had clearly been fighting to get into touch with Rob, and upon making a solid connection had promptly flown into hysterics begging Rob to run. To get out as soon as possible saying that Averill was coming. Now, not even five hours later, here was one of Amos’ men warning him the same.

It boiled down to who he trusted more… his mate, or his director.

Rob didn’t have to consider it for more than a millisecond.

“Let me get my things." Rob said. “I’ll grab my valise, then head back out here. Alright?”

“Alright, but make it quick!” The man urged.

“What’s your name?” Rob demanded, wary. If the man didn’t same Archie Knox or Martin Waters, Rob wouldn’t trust him.

“Archibald Knox.” The man said. “But me mates call me Archie.”

That settle it then.

Rob headed back across the street, already making a mental tally in his head of the things he would need to collect. As he reached the front door, Robert paused to fish for his key, having temporarily forgotten which coat pocket he’d put it in. It was rather nice to have a house instead of a hotel, save for the fact that you had to worry about locking the front door and making up your own—

 

Without warning, a massive explosion ripped the house apart!

 

Rob was knocked clean off his feet, sailing backward across the street only to crumple on the other sidewalk. He rolled, blackened with soot, his glasses bent and his clothes smoldering. He was temporarily deaf and disorientated, rolling with nausea as the world around him danced with light. For a moment, he could not fathom who or where he was, until he felt hands beneath his armpits, jerking him up from the pavement and dragging him bodily across the sidewalk into a littered alley.

The world went black around him for a moment, as the shock of what had just occured rolled through his body.

But the smell of peach invigorated him, urging him to get up.

_“Robbie.” Thomas was somehow with him, shaking his shoulder, “Robbie you have to get up and run. Please. Think of the baby. Think of me.”_

Rob sucked in one breath after another, bare bodily function demanding he keep alive. The repetition made his chest ache. His ears were still ringing. Red light was flooding his eyelids, and when his eyes fluttered open he saw his little rented apartment across the street being devoured in flames. People were screaming, running out onto the streets in nightcaps and dressing gowns, desperately fetching buckets of water and blankets to try and douse the flames. Rob could not comprehend what he was seeing. His glasses were stained with ash.

 

He was being shaken by the shoulders, roused to his senses. Archie Knox was before him; he must have drug Rob back into the alley to get them some coverage. He was obviously panicked.

“Get up!” Archie begged. “C’mon, we gotta run!”

“M…” Rob staggered up to his feet, swaying dangerously. His balance was disorientated from the shock of the blast. “My- co workers! I have to- save-!” He reached out a hand, blindly staggering out into the street until Archie yanked him back into the alley by the neck.

“Goddamnit no!” Archie snarled, furious at Rob’s inability to comply with simple demands. “You’re the target, Kinsey! You have to run fer your life! You’ve got to get out of here now, come with me!”

Archie grabbed Rob by the hand, and tugged him along the alley.

They were stumbling, running, as Archie navigated them onto Türkenstraße. They took a sharp left, now flat out running as Rob slowly regained his balance and his sense of panic. His fight or flight mode was in full gear, with the decision to flee giving him an aggressive rush of adrenaline. The pair of them took block after block, heading surely towards the Danube. They rounded the corner and entered onto an expansive marble boardwalk that framed the Danube on either side. The Ministry of National Defense was stationed on the riverside, with massive columns lit up by torches at their base. It made for a sage viewing experience, save that it was momentarily framed in black plumes and red scorching light from the fires now spreading along Berggasse. A young man with curly red hair was waving emphatically at Archie; clearly this was Martin Waters. He stood in the cockpit of a runabout, docked on the side of the Danube with nothing more than his bare arm. Rob had to wonder how the man had known they would be coming, when the blast had only occurred moments ago, and if this was an established plan B for any emergency that might have happened.

“Go, go!” Archie barked, shoving Rob forward. He stumbled on weak legs, falling over the edge of the boardwalk and dropping onto the stern of the varnished boat. He nearly slipped into the water, but Archie yanked him by the back of his britches and pushed him into the cockpit alongside Martin.

Without warning, a gunshot fired out. It pinged off the side of the pier, nearly hitting Archie in the arm. Archie panicked, shoving the little runabout away from the dockside as he yanked a pistol out of his waist band and turned to fire.

“Get him to Böhmerwald!” Archie barked. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Right!” Martin said, starting the outboard motor without a moment to spare. Rob looked up, alarmed, to see that their group was being approached by five men. Amongst them, leading the fray, was a brute of a man with blonde hair and a chiseled jaw. He was running flat out, carrying a pistol in both hands, and had expansive tattoos upon his enormous arms.

“Come with us!” Rob urged. “It’s not safe here!” Two more shots had all of the men ducking; one shot nearly hit the boat and instead zipped into the water. Rob’s heart was pounding in his chest.

“Sorry mate.” Archie wore a stoic if bitter grin. He aimed his pistol with precision, and fired three shots. “I take orders from a higher power.”

One of the men chasing them fell, clearly having been hit. The other four just kept running, not even looking back to their wounded companion.

Several rounds of gunshots fired, as Martin sped off in the runabout. Rob crouched in the cockpit, his hands up over his head. His heart sank as he saw Archie fall backward into the black waters of the Danube. For a moment, the water was rife with waves; Archie’s form was but a small speck upon their horizon as Martin sped away before they could be caught.

Still, Rob noted that Archie did not move from the water. That his body sank beneath the surface after a moment.

~*~

The day after Anthea’s death, Thomas tried to push on with as much normalcy as he could muster. He found odd solace in Alden’s baby, whom he was now calling Daphne after her departed mother. Daphne was exuberant, and enjoyed toys that made noise. She’d found a playmate in a wooden rattle, which she shook about at all hours of the day. She even slept with it, so Thomas made good use of the rattle’s powers when it came time to changing a nappy. He spoke to her in a playful voice as he covered her bottom in baby powder, wrapping her in a flat before bunching up rubber pants to slide over the outside of her cloth diaper. Daphne, like most infants, was hardly pleased to be shoved into a pair of pants that synched in around her thighs, but was happily distracted by her rattle.

“What a sweet girl you are!” Thomas praised, bending over to pepper her plump cheeks with many kisses. “The sweetest little girl- the most precious baby in all the land. Yes you are! Yes! Yes!”

Daphne let out a delighted screech. The volume made Thomas’ ears ring. He thought excitedly of the day when he’d be diapering his own baby, and hearing the delighted screeches of love they produced. He was pretty certain his own child wouldn’t have hair that was bleach blonde, but kissed Daphne’s curls all the same as he lifted her up onto his hip. He jiggled her a bit, getting her comfortable in her new nappy as he bundled up the soiled linens with one hand and tossed them into a special hamper. Washing shit off of old nappies wasn’t the best job in the world, but someone had to do it. Daphne banged her rattle against Thomas’ breast bone, babbling at the noise it made.

“What’s this?” Thomas teased, gently taking her rattle away to shake it in her face, “How incredible. I think I might just have to take this. D’you mind?”

She did mind. Loudly. She screeched, blabbering as Thomas tapped her upon the tip of her nose and the top of her head.

“Can’t I just borrow?” He teased.

“Nah!” She wailed, increasingly angry at his inability to mind his own business. Told off, Thomas handed her over the rattle, and she snatched it, and just for good measure thwacked him in the chin.

“Ey-“ He muttered, bouncing her upon his hip again. “Ey you stop that now. Little bugger.”

Daphne didn’t care. She shoved the handle of the rattle in her mouth, gumming at it. She was almost ten months old now. She surely was eager for a teething toy.

 

The door to the hospital opened to reveal Amos and a nurse. Amos was white, his lips bloodless. Thomas could take one look at his face and know in an instant that something was terribly wrong. It shot a pang of panic through his heart.

The nurse took Daphne away from Thomas without protest. Amos gestured for him, swallowing several times. He didn’t seem to have the courage to speak.

“What’s happened?” Thomas demanded. “What’s going on?”

Amos shook his head, pointing out the door in a silent command for Thomas to follow.

Afraid for Rob, Thomas fled the room.

Amos followed in hot pursuit. The pair of them exited out to the hallway, and Amos took over to show them up to Thomas’ office. It scared him to see that the door was open, and that several members of their crew were inside Thomas’ office arguing. One man was on the phone, talking to someone, and seemed to be hastily forming a plan.

“-You cannot have him go through Germany.” The man was saying, adamant that whoever was on the phone understand. “It’s a hot territory. You take him through Leichtenstein and pass through Switzerland- Yeah, I know it’s longer!” The man was angry, tugging at his own hair, “But wouldn’t you rather they be alive in the end?!”

“What’s going on?!” Thomas demanded. Everyone in the office turned to look at him, save for the man on the phone who was still talking rapidly.

“Look, we take him into France and we can get him to the Covenant of Saint Rita.” The man on the phone said. “That’s our best alliance overseas. If we can get him to the Covenant, they can get him up to the channel-“

Amos yanked the phone out of the man’s grip. He looked up, affronted, only to pale as he saw Thomas. Amos passed the phone to Thomas, and Thomas took it. His hands were shaking wildly.

He feared the worst.

“H-hello?” Thomas trembled. “Who is this?”

 _“Who is this?”_ An angry man on the other end demanded.

“Thomas Barrow.” Thomas said. “Where is Robert Kinsey?”

 _“Mr. Barrow-!”_ The man seemed oddly elated to hear from him, _“I can’t tell you my name. I’m still inside the Brigade stronghold.”_

“Are- are you- is he- what’s happened?” Thomas demanded again.

_“I’ve just received intel that Alden had his son Averill blow up the LMH Vienna Ambassador’s house. It’s where your alpha was staying.”_

Thomas suddenly had the horrific mental image of yet another house consumed in flames. Of Rob dead, or charred in third degree burns never to live a day without pain again-

Thomas collapsed, or nearly did. Amos caught him, hassling the man behind Thomas’ desk away so that he could deposit Thomas in his desk chair. He could hear his heart pounding wildly, feel a tight hot sensation spreading through his throat.

He couldn’t talk. He was too afraid.

 _“I know for a fact that Kinsey was not reported dead at the scene. That he was missing.”_ The man continued on. _“His director survived, and said that Kinsey was the last to enter the house, but it’s our belief that he didn’t return home. That he wasn’t present at the time of the explosion-“_

Thomas whimpered, dropping the phone into his lap. Amos snatched it up at one, pinning the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he used both hands to rub Thomas’ back. Thomas buried his head in his hands, on the verge of an anxiety attack as Amos listened.

“It’s me.” Amos snapped. “Archie and Martin?”

There was silent for a moment. Amos cursed, sighing up to the ceiling at whatever news he heard.

“…Damn.” Amos muttered, before addressing the room of men before him who looked fretful.

“Archie’s dead.” Amos said. “Shot and killed.”

The men grimaced. One or two looked stricken, as fi they’d known Archie personally and were taking his death to heart.

“Martin?” A random man asked, hopeful. Amos nodded, giving the man a clear ‘it’s fine’ look. Thomas heard the room give a collective breath.

But what of Rob? What did they know of Rob?!

“I see.” Amos said, nodding. “No, I agree with Sholten.” Amos looked to the man who’d originally been on the phone, a frayed and exhausted sort who looked like he needed a good night’s sleep. The man threw his hands up in the air as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“Take him through Switzerland, and head for the Convent of Saint Rita. I’ll get connections out. We need every man on the ground available. If Averill is after him… he’ll need all the help he can get. Put out a red alert. I want that son of a bitch dead.” Amos commanded. He nodded, lips pursed, “Well, that’s the way it’ll have to be. God be with you, son. Take care of yourself.”

He hung up the phone, and carefully patted Thomas’ shoulder as if he though Thomas might shatter.

“Thomas, listen to me.” Amos urged. “Robert is alive. Our man, Martin Waters, took him by boat on the Danube to the Böhmerwald forests. We were just contacted by Martin through one of our English extensions. They’re going to head on foot through the mountains until they reach Switzerland. They’ll take the train to France, and head for Lyon… they’ll find refuge at the convent.”

Thomas moaned aloud, fingers trembling upon his face.

It seemed that his prayers had been answered, if only for one small second. Thomas was terrified to imagine what would have happened had he not gotten a call through to Rob. Would Rob have been at home when the bomb went off? Was anyone else dead from his party? Where was Rob now, and how would he get through the mountains? Was Averill after them, or had they lost the Brigade in Vienna? Was Rob safe…. or just safe for right now?

 

The lack of answers made Thomas sick to his stomach.

~*~

It had been a dark and dreary night.

Martin had taken Rob by boat along the Danube before abandoning their craft in a sub division of Linz. They could not get closer to the border of Germany without endangering their lives, and so Martin had ordered Rob around dawn to head out and march for Wels. The pair of them started a standard of jumping busses, using stolen money that came from god knows where By the time they reached their destination, it was noon, and Rob was ready to keel over. They found little respite, as Martin once again ordered that they take a train to Gmunden where they would find shelter in a hotel overnight. It was essential they stay on the move, Martin said. Averill and his men would be searching for Rob day and night. The less sleep they got, the better.

It took little more than three hours for the train to reach Gmunden. A lakeside town in Upper Austrai, Gmunden had the distinctive air of a vacation feel. On the shore of Lake Traunsee, Rob and Martin took refuge in a tiny inn called Steinmaurer. Rob immediately fell asleep while Martin placed a phone call, though it was mostly a game of Rob tossing and turning as he imagine the fate of his co-workers. He kept seeing their faces, kept hearing the voices of their omegas. God, what if they were dead?

William, who’d been so excited with his omega Mary. The pair of them hadn’t been on holiday in ages; Austria was to be a mini vacation of sorts.

John, who’d worked so damn hard to get onboard the program and who’d brought his newly bitten omega bride Florence. She’d worked to the bone to clean their little house, scenting John like made till the whole room had smelt like vanilla.

Arthur, who’d been so kind to Rob with his own omega Dorothy, and who’d offered Rob many a fireside chat as Rob had lamented the loss of Thomas. Dorothy had been pregnant, and had offered Rob consolation about Thomas’ upcoming birth. What if they were dead? What if Dorothy survived, but lost her baby? Rob would never forgive himself.

And then Percy, the final member of their group besides rob… Percy, so young and determined to make a name for himself in the field of psychology. He was by far the brightest, always wanting to debate and make a fuss. Rob could see Percy’s shining face, as he gabbled to his mother over the telephone. He’d whined for her affection, wanting to know that he was still her golden boy even if he was in Austria.

He’d been so young. Only twenty years old. What if he was dead?

 

Rob had fallen into a fitful slumber at the thoughts of his dying comrades, only to dream of Thomas crying at home. He’d been swollen, his stomach painfully round, and pleading with God for Rob to return home.

Rob had woken in a start, sweating feverishly, only to see Martin perched by their window overlooking the lake. He was pensive, smoking a cigarette.

“Called home.” Martin said, somber. “Told ‘em that Archie’s dead… where we are. They’ll get word to Amos.”

Feeling overwhelmed, Rob said nothing until Martin offered him a cigarette.

“Thanks.” Rob mumbled, lighting it with a matchbook from their bedside table. “What do we do now?”

“We’re going to head across the lake towards Böhmerwald… there’s plenty of rivers you can travel. I’ll get us a boat and some gas. We’ll make our way to Switzerland and take a train to France. Can’t go through Germany… too dangerous.”

“And Averill?” Rob asked.

Martin gave him a timid smile.

“Can’t outrun the devil.” Martin said sadly. “But that’s what I’m here for. He comes after us again, I’m going to give you the chance to run.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“M’ not doin’ it for you.” Martin replied, calmly. “M’doin’ it for m’sister. Amos saved her from the Brigade.”

Rob stood up, cracking his back and neck as he came to stand by the window. He blew a long plume of smoke outside, not wanting to stink up the air in their hotel room. It was sparsely furnished, the sort of dwelling you might find common in the lower class… but it was clean and quiet. In the dusk gloom, Rob could see ferries trekking across the lake. The forests and mountains on the other side looked ominous and massive.

“Archie was a good man.” Rob whispered. “I never wanted him to die.”

Martin nodded, flicking ashes out the window. They drifted like tainted snow to the cobblestone below.

“He had a way.” Martin said. “He’ll be missed. But he’s with his omega now… so that’s what matters. Gonna be hell to tell his daughter though. Glad that’s not my job.”

Martin tossed his dead butt out the window. Rob continued to smoke his own.  
He would not go back to sleep till around ten that night.

 

The morning was stale and cold, oddly humid despite the lack of heat. The mountains were cooler than the lower lands, and the tips were even capped with snow though it was far from snowy right now. Rob had a feeling that when winter came the entire lake would freeze over. Perhaps people skated on it.

Martin had gotten barely any sleep, but he seemed to be bursting with energy that Rob could only blame on youth. Close to his forties, Rob was ready to groan every time he had to fall out of bed. He sounded like a carton of packing peanuts being squashed; he could stand to get a back massage, but those days were far off.

First Rob had to get home… and ply his perfect omega with raspberry crisps.

The pair of them checked out of their hotel, heading to the lake shore where a great deal of boats were collected. There were a few runabouts, most of which were used to scoot from one side of the lake to the other. Rob smoked a cigarette, watching from afar as Martin conversed with a haggard fisherman over one runabout in particular that looked like it had seen better days. The man was finally won over when Martin offered him what looked like a stolen pocket watch. On instinct, Rob checked his pockets until he remembered that his own pocket watch had been inside the hotel when the blast had occurred. At that moment he possessed nothing but the clothes on his back, and a picture of Thomas which he had kept tucked inside his vest pocket ever since leaving England.

It had been the only thing to keep him sane. To remember he had a beautiful omega at home waiting on him, pregnant with his first child. Nothing mattered but getting back to Thomas.

If it took a shitty runabout bought on a stolen pocket watch to get him there, then fine.

Martin vanished after purchasing the runabout, instructing Rob to clear it out of trash and get the motor running. Rob spent a good thirty minutes cranking the engine, having to fight against rust and grease to finally get the aged motor working. When he was finished his arm ached and Rob spent several minutes rotating his cuff until Martin re appeared.

He was running like his life depended on it, carrying a bulky canvas sack over his shoulder and looking scared to death.

“Go, go, go!” Martin shrieked, leaping into the boat so that the whole vessel rocked wildly at the sudden disturbance of weight. Unsure of what was going on, Rob looked around to see a crowd of men running after Martin and looking pointedly furious.

“Oh you little thief!” Rob seethed. Martin was impatient, and leaned over the back end of the runabout to rev the engine. The pair of them went flying across the police, immediately disturbing the no wake zone as the zipped through ferry traffic and fishermen. Rob had to duck to avoid a spray of water, cursing as he staggered back up to take control of the boat. Martin seemed relieved, grinning as he slouched against the back end of the boat. He rifled through his pilfered sack, revealing a great deal of food. He must have ransacked the back end of a shop, which ought to have pleased Rob save that he was certain by the end of this journey he’d never be allowed back into Austria again.

“Why did you steal all that food?” He demanded.

“We gotta eat!” Martin complained. “We might as well eat good!”

“I’ll remember that when we’re eating it in a jail cell.” Rob muttered. “Where are we going damnit? Focus up and tell me!”

“Keep for the western territory! We’ll take an inlet and head for Bad Ischl!”

“Couldn’t we go to Good Ischl instead?” Rob joked over the wind. A cracking sound Something zipped past his ear, stinging, and Rob cursed, rubbing at his temple to stem the throbbing…

pain…

Rob looked down at his hand, and was shocked to see it coated in red. He reached up to touch his ear again, only to realize with horror that there was a tiny crescent shape now cutting a rip into his cartilage. He looked about, shocked at the attack, and was horrified to see a runabout boat hot on their tail.

Averill was at the helm, holding a smoking gun.

“Jesus Christ!” Martin yipped, blood suddenly in his face from Rob’s ear and the stinging wind. “Take the wheel, I’ll handle this!”

“You better!” Rob roared. Martin dug for his waistband, pulling out a pistol, and began to fire rapidly.

“Conserve your ammo!” Rob shrieked, only to panic and jerked the wheel hard to the left in an attempt to avoid a fisherman sitting in the way. The men in the fishing boat screamed, a wave of water coming over their heads, but at least a collision was avoided. Rob righted the boat, steering in a zig zag formation to try and throw off their pursuers. This made shooting all the harder for Martin, not that he was complaining. Indeed, he reloaded with swift speed and perched again like a little gunslinger, shouting delighted obscenities.

“Yeah, take that you little shit pot!”

“Whose your daddy, eh? Whose your big boy?”

“I buggered your mother and she liked it!”

Rob looked over his shoulder at Martin, slightly disturbed.

 

They closed ranks on the inlet heading towards an opening where a large painted sign warned of shallower waters and lower speeds. Nervous, Rob started to slow down only to get his hand smacked away from the throttle.

“Martin, we can’t go this fast in a river channel!” Rob shouted. “We’ll crash!”

“Ah- take the gun and I’ll drive!” Martin yowled.

He grabbed Rob about the waist, forcing him down so that for a moment Rob was disorientated on the cockpit floor. Then, Martin thrust his smoking gun in Rob’s face, and Rob clumsily grabbed the handle to square himself on the blistered leather seat backs. Their pursuers still numbered in three. None of Martin’s shots had worked. Rob checked the chamber to note that Martin only had three bullets left. They would have to be used with precision.

Martin made a wild swerving arch around a floating raft that blocked natural traffic through the river without proper passage. It resulted in wild screams from everyone on land, with fishermen diving out of the way as a spray of water coated the pebbled beach. Rob was thrown off balance, smacking into the side of the boat, before staggering back upright. He was pleased to see their pursuers were having difficulty to. It was hard to shoot and hold on for dear life at the same time.

“Take em out!” Martin yowled before jerking the steering wheel hard again so that they screamed around a fallen log in the river. They were now being encroached upon by massive overhanging trees, so that debris littered the water’s surface. Should they hit a fallen limb, it would spell absolute disaster at their present speeds.

Determined to get in a shot, Rob aimed. He had to take off his glasses, stowing them in his pocket. His far sightedness came in handy, giving him an almost pencil like precision on their attackers who were some distance away. Another shot zipped past Rob, surely meant to kill him, but instead it only hit the water’s surface. He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and pulled the trigger aiming dead for Averill’s face.

Whether it was a call of wind or an act of good fortune, the bullet missed Averill and hit one of his accomplices. The man shouted in pain, and crumpled into the base of the cockpit. Rob let out a steady breath, re-cocking the gun as he aimed once more for Averill. All it would take would be one well placed shot and this nightmare would be over!

He took another steady breath, hands sweating on the barrel of the gun.

“Aim for- AH SHIT!!!”

Rob whipped around, only to see a massive concrete dam ahead of them. They could not go through the channel- it was blocked!

“What do we do?!” Rob demanded. They had very little time left to work.

Martin looked behind them, then looked left and right. It seemed that Averill and the others had not noticed their oncoming doom; if they had they certainly weren’t panicking outwardly.

“Jump!” Martin shrieked.

“What?!”

Instead of saying the word gain, Martin grabbed Rob about the armpit, yanked him up off the cockpit floor, and gave him an almighty shove off the side of the runabout.

The speeds at which they were going were so intense that Rob was immediately left behind by their vessel. He crashed into the water, which felt as hard as cement, only to sink down into frigid waters. He caught his glasses trying to drift away from them, and clenched onto them tight as he struggled back to the surface. He could hear screaming, the sound of metal shrieking in protest, and was suddenly dazzled by a shooting firework display of red and yellow. He couldn’t see without his glasses, and waves kept slapping him in the face. Desperate to know where Martin was, Rob crammed his soaking glasses back onto his face to see that their pursuing runabout boat was now nothing more than a wreck of shrapnel embedded in the side of the concrete divider. Martin was no where to be seen; their own boat seemed to be upturned, bobbing the wrong way in the water as if Martin had jerked the wheel too hard and caused the boat to flip.

Panicking, Rob swam forward, dropping his gun in an attempt to go faster. Water intruded into his mouth, but still he kept trying to call out.

“Martin!” He cried. “Martin where are you-?!”

He kept paddling, hardly a prestigious athlete but pumped up on adrenaline. As a piece of burning shrapnel floated past his face, Rob was suddenly grabbed at the ankle and yanked beneath the water.

He panicked, and kicked as hard as he could. His foot connected with something heavy and solid. Whoever was trying to hold onto him let him go, and Rob swam determinedly back to the surface to put as much distance between himself and his pursuer as possible. He swam doggedly for the shore, which was nothing more than a tangled bed of roots from overhanging trees. As soon as he reached the roots, Rob began to climb, his muscles aching with protest. He finally got to land and collapsed, panting in the dirt. He looked over his shoulder to see a man bobbing in the water, his neck bent at an awkward angle.

He looked left and right, but no sign of a pursuing swimmer could be seen.

Averill was gone. The other two shooters were gone. Where were their pursuers? Were they hiding in the water? Were they dead? Rob staggered back to his feet, stumbling away from the water in an attempt to get cover. Without his gun, he was a sitting duck.

Where the hell was Martin?

“…Kinsey…”

Rob stiffened, drawn to the sounds of a man gurgling his name. There, in the embankment, camouflaged by mud, was Martin. He seemed to have swam to shore only to collapse, and was coughing haggardly as if something was lodged in his throat. At his side, sopping with water, was the canvas bag he’d stollen from Gmunden.

“Get over here. Git.” Martin moaned.

Rob did so at once, collapsing at Martin’s side as he tried to drag him away from the water more. It was only then that he saw Martins was wounded. A stick was embedded through his shoulder, perilously close to his heart. It seemed that when he’d rolled the boat, he’d crashed into water and had hit shrapnel from the trees. Rob grimaced, pressing hard on the wound to try and stem the bleeding. It seemed that Martin had exacerbated his wound by swimming to shore with the limb embedded in his chest. The other option had been to drown; it seemed Martin had been doomed from the start.

Martin was talking, but his voice was sluggish. His lips were growing pale.

“Not gonna work.” Martin said, “You gotta listen close.”

“Stop talking, you’re only making it worse!” Rob snapped. His heart was pounding in his breast, demanding that he do something, anything, before this man died and left him alone in the wilderness.

“Head through Switzerland.” Martin’s eyes were closed “Stay away from Germany… Go to France. You… you’re wanting… Lyon.” Martin licked his lips, his eyes fluttering open for a minute to find Rob’s face. It was as if he couldn’t see clearly, despite the pair of them being right next to each other.

“There’s a covenant. Covenant of Saint Rita… in Lyon, France.” Martin whispered. “You gotta get there. It’s a safe house for our men. They’ll… they’ll get you home.” Martin gave Rob a tiny smile.

“Me, I don’t think I’m gettin’ home.” Martin whispered. Suddenly his eyes were filling with frightened tears. “D’you… D’you think there’s a God?”

“Look, you’ve got to stop talking.” Rob begged, scrambling with his brain to figure out how to stop this wound. Heavy internal bleeding, close to the heart; Rob needed his tools, he needed to perform surgery to save Martin’s life. But his hands were covered in mud and blood, and all of his tools were back in England, no doubt burnt to a crisp by Alden’s men.

“… Do you think…” Martin was about to cry. Rob could hear it in his voice. “Do you think I’m going to hell, Kinsey?”

Rob looked at Martin, at his bloodless face as his sagging composure. At the blood seeping from his chest and at the way his voice was fading in strength.

He knew in that moment that Martin was going to die. That there was absolutely nothing Rob could do to save him, and it burned.

But there was one last thing he could do… give Martin courage. So he did.

“O’course not.” Rob whispered. “You’re a good man, Martin. You’re goin’ to heaven, I know it.”

Martin seemed happy to hear it. He gave a tiny smile. “S’stupid. I wish me mam was here.” Martin drew in a short breath, as if about to snivel. “She’s been dead for five years. Thank god too or I’d have never become a… a man…” Martin hitched another breath.

He was losing oxygen. He’d lost too much blood. Rob’s hands and knees were absolutely coated at this point.

“… I miss her.” Martin whispered.

“Just…” Rob reached out and hastily pushed Martin’s red hair out of his face so that he could see better. “Just lay still. You’re going to be alright, you’re… you just need to rest.”

Martin didn’t believe him.

“… Covenant. Saint Rita.” Martin’s voice was tiny. “France. Lyon. Get there.”

He smiled, just a tiny bit.  
Rob sat by Martin’s side, gently pushing his hair out of his face every time it flopped forward from the weight of water and curls.

Martin’s head lolled a bit to the left. Rob took his pulse, and found it lacking.  
Martin was dead.

Rob cursed, burying his head in his filthy hands.  
Without knowing why, Rob yowled aloud, slamming his fists into the muddy embankment again and again.

“Fuck!” He cried out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!!”

Two men dead for him, and why? Was he really worth it? Was his life so invaluable?

Rob looked out across the water at the wreckage. There were men coming, more boats; they would find Martin’s body, and exhume him.

But there, across the river, staggering up the other embankment, was a wholly unwelcome face.

Averill looked murderous, sopping wet and bleeding. He seemed to be searching for Rob, unable to find him with fumes from the wreckage blocking his view. One of his companions was still with him, so it seemed that the other had bitten the bullet and was the anonymous man floating in the river.

Averill looked to the other side, and when he saw Rob on the embankment he leered.

Rob pursed his lips, suddenly furious at this man… this stupid stupid man… who thought he could put the value on another’s life and take it away.

He took up the sack next to Martin’s body, dragging it over so that he could shoulder it.

Rob staggered back to his feet, eyes locked with Averill across the way. Averill had nothing… no weapons, no tools, but seemed just as murderous as ever. So it was to be a fight to the death between the two of them, but who would prevail?

“… You want me, come and get me.” Rob said.  
He turned, and without further ado began to make his way deep into the Böhmerwald forests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **triggers include minor character death, infant death, and anencephaly.**
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> Let me know if you have any questions or concerns.


	27. A Push Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert Kinsey pushes ever onward to reunite with Thomas. As the months march onward, Thomas must grapple with the difficult task of stopping the Brigade and handling his grief over the possible loss of his alpha. Fortunately, allies are at hand... but what happens when Alden has an ally too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no news on grad school or a job. I am just literally trudging on from day to day.  
> The good news is that my website is now officially up and running. It's called the [ SubRosa Writer](http://www.liladostal.wixsite.com/mysite) and is an offered aid to writers of all backgrounds including fanfiction writers. It has interviews of highlighted writers, some published some not, and a blog full of writing tips. I urge you to stop by and make use of its resources. I've worked very hard on this website and hope that people can use it.
> 
> Pushing onward with the chapter... triggers today will include **verbal mentioning to past sexual abuse, animal attack, and minor character death**

Deep in the Austrian mountains, a soft gloom fell over the woods. The dusky tinge of rose ghosted the far corner of the sky, which was slowly being taken over by a swath of black and blue. Stars glimmered, far off pinpricks that seemed to blink of their own devices. The mountains, scraping the roof of the sky, were ghosted with the ashen bodies of fallen stars. Their peaks were white with snow, the cold month of November slowly drawing towards its inevitable end. The forests were still, a lack of wind causing the trees to be stiff in their roots. Branches were drooping over, aged and dying; new sprouts were taking their place. It was all very scenic and lovely but Robert Kinsey had been traveling through the woods for over two months now and couldn’t be arsed to care anymore.

His shoes were worn flat. His clothes were threadbare. He was constantly cold now, and knew that he’d lost weight from lack of steady food. His only sense of direction, his only compass, was the sun and moon. Rob constantly walked to the west, certain that at some point he’d run across a town again, or at least a post sign telling him where he was. He could be in Austria. He could be in Switzerland. He could be in fucking Germany at this point. What was worse, the food that Martin had stolen was long since gone. Now, Rob had nothing more to his name that worn out shoes, his father’s pocket watch, and the waxen picture of Thomas that he’d received before leaving England.

All Rob knew was that he was tired, hungry, and desperately wanted to be home with Thomas.

That was the only thing that kept him going; thoughts of his omega. Thomas would now be five months pregnant, obviously carrying his child. The baby would be kicking. It would have a heartbeat. Rob could not help but wonder what the sex of the child was, and what they would end up calling it.

That was the one good thing about hiding in the mountains. It gave you a damn lot of time to think.

Of course, naming a child and following through with parenting was not a one man show. Rob was under no illusions that his pick of name would be the name that got chosen simply because he was the Alpha or having to backpack across Europe in Oxford flats. For the sake of his imagination, however, Rob dwelled in the fantasy that Thomas would let him choose everything to do with the baby. It gave him the opportunity to come up with some truly ludicrous concepts.

If the baby was a girl, Rob wanted to name her something with an ’M’ for his own mother. Perhaps Marie, or maybe Margret? But then Rob had thought of the name Moira, for the Moira furnace, and he was suddenly in love with the idea of Moira Kinsey.

Oh, she’d be a feisty one, he was sure. Probably with dark hair given her lineage. She’d have sharp eyes and a cut upturned nose. Her little sticky fingers would get into everything. She’d toddle about in britches Thomas made for her, and would constantly demand to see inside of things. Cabinets, desk drawers, closets, and bed boxes would all be pilfered as she learned about the world around her. Thomas would be able to use his valeting skills to mend her clothes, and Rob would teach her to read from his science books. Moira would be educated from the start, as smart as she was keen, and would go on to have a brilliant career in science, he was sure.

If it was a boy (and Rob had to admit he was hoping for a boy), Rob would want to name him after his father. Rupert Kinsey was as fine a name as there ever was, and Rob could remember being young and watching his father be introduced with pride. His father had been a solicitor with a penchant for helping the poor. He’d had a nice office made of oak, and had constantly smoked a pipe. Before George had been born, Rob could remember sitting in his father’s lap and his father reading to him from the morning paper. His mother had been young then, thinner and with blonde hair. She’d showered him with kisses, called him her golden boy, and promised him the world.

When George had been born, Rob had been introduced to him in quiet. Their father had taken Rob upstairs to his mother’s bedroom, where she lay with George swaddled in her arms. He’d been tiny, pink with a little ‘o’ of a mouth, and Robert had been horribly confused as to where exactly he’d come from. Their father hadn’t alluded to the mysteries of life, but had explained kindly that George was his new little brother. That it was Rob’s duty to care for him, and keep him in good health.

 _“He’s your family, Robert.”_ his father had said, brown mustache tickling Rob’s chin. _“We always love our family.”_

 

Rob might have gone on deluding himself in the fantasy of his unborn child had it not been for the thin trill of smoke that wafted beneath his nose.

Rob paused, his hand outstretched upon the base of an enormous oak, wary of any noises or smells that were not common to the mountain air. But fears of the Brigade (whom he’d not seen in weeks) were diminished by the sight of three men in a clearing some ways back down the mountainside. They were clearly hobos, resting about a fireside where something sumptuous was cooking. Rob had eaten nothing for weeks but fish raw from the river and snails. He was desperate for actual cooked food and strayed closer despite the warning bells that were going off in his head. He was unshaven, fiendishly dirty, and no doubt looked insane…. but he was still an Englishman and even two months in the woods couldn’t make him forget his manners.

As Rob approached, one of the men stiffened. He was youthful, maybe around Thomas’ age, and had a gun at his side. Instead of reaching for it, as Rob thought he might, the man instead stood up and faced Rob head on.

He was brave. His wild dark hair and gleaming eyes made him a formidable man… an alpha.

“Qui es-tu?” The man asked. It was clear that he was French, as were his brethren. Hell, the whole lot of them looked related. They had the same facial structure, the same hair makeup. Perhaps they were related in some way. The other two men looked around, unsure.

Rob had studied French in school. He spoke roughly, but kept his voice as compassionate and warm as possible. Anything to make a good impression when these men had warm food over a campfire.

 _“I’m a man without a name until I can get to safety again.”_ he said.

 _“Oh…”_ The man was surprised, stroking his chin where fine stubble was growing. _“Why aren’t you safe now?”_

 _“I’m being chased by the Brigade.”_ Rob said. Once again, the man was taken aback.

 _“The Brigade?”_ Another one of the men said. He was the youngest, and looked the most afraid. _“They’re not hunting you, are they?”_

 _“I’m not sure.”_ Rob admitted. _“I’ve been alone for many weeks now. I don’t know where I am. I’m very far from home… I… I admit I’m low, friends._ ” Rob rubbed his eyes. They were burning.

 _“What may we call you, if you’re without a name?”_ The man asked. Rob was unsure what name was safe.

“Rob.” Rob finally said.

 _“Sit down, Rob.”_ The man said. Rob all but collapsed amid the men, instantly warmed by the meagre campfire between them. He let his hands unfurl before the flames, and noticed that his hands were stained almost black with dirt and ash.

Suddenly Rob had a vision, of Thomas before him. Of how their hands had clasped together when they’d made love. His hands had been clean this, his nails manicured.

Somber, Rob let his hands drop.

The man who’d allowed them into their clearing pulled out a beat up tin can from his rucksack, using it as a scoop to offer up some onion soup from their communal pot.

He gave it to Rob; the tin was hot but Rob didn’t care. He slurped down the soup greedily. It was watery and thin, but it was sustenance and it wasn’t raw. By god, he’d dreamed of meals like this!

 _“Thank you.”_ Rob whispered, ragged as he sucked down the rest of the soup. The man refilled his tin, giving Rob a small smile as Rob consumed his second round. The others seemed concerned, and why not? Rob was a site.

 _“I apologize for how I look.”_ Rob said. _“I’m not usually so… grubby.”_

 _“You’re not French, are you?”_ the second man spoke up for the first time. He seemed quiet, but not unkind. His eyes were owlish and soft. Rob almost could imagine that the man was an omega.

 _“No.”_ Rob said. _“I’m English.”_

The other three burst out laughing, delighted. The first man looked to Rob, and offered his hand in a shake.

“Well, Mr. Englishman. I am Jacque Rosier.” Jacque introduced himself in English, “And these are my two brothers, Galen and Laurent.”

Galen was the quiet one, gentle and calm. Laurent was the more curious of the pair, though he clearly boded no ill will. What was more, Rob’s original hypothesis was confirmed: the men were related.

But with onion soup now in his stomach, Rob was growing more sleepy by the second. He wished, more than anything that he could join the company of the men for a little while. He needed the human interaction… the decent food.

“What is an Englishman like you doing hiding in the Bohemian forests of Austria?” Laurent asked. So that was another mystery solved then; he was still in Austria.

“I could ask the same of three Frenchman.” Rob quirked. Galen laughed.

“Our little brother is to be wed.” Jacque declared. “We are taking him on a long hike to try and change his mind.”

 _“Leave me alone!”_ Galen said in French; teasing was a universal code between siblings. _“My alpha isn’t so bad!”_

So it seemed he was an omega.

“Do you have an omega?” Laurent asked. His question was light hearted, but it brought Rob great misery at the thought of Thomas so far away. He bowed his head, once again consumed by the meagre fire before him.

“…Yes.” Rob finally said. Little did the men know Thomas’ photo was burning a hole in his inner vest pocket. It hurt too much to say more. He grimaced and looked away.

“I’m sorry but I need help.” Rob said. The three Rosier brothers listened intently, seeming to glean that he was truly desperate to beg off of three frenchmen hiking in the woods. “I have to get to a place in France called Lyon. To the Convent of Saint Rita. It’s the only way I’m ever going to get home. I don’t know the way, and I’m being hunted. I know you’re having a bit of a celebration… but I beg you as one man to another. Help me. Point the way. Anything that you can give, I’ll accept.”

Jacque scratched his chin after a moment, taking a sip of a canteen. He offered it to Rob, and he found that it was wine. The taste was like syrup on his tongue. By god he hadn’t tasted wine in so long!

“Thank you-“ Rob passed the canteen back.

“You’re in luck, Robert.” Jacque said, and it was by force of his native tongue that he did not pronounce the ’t’. “You see, my brother’s and I are heading home. We do not live in Lyon but… we know the way. If you agree to help us with the cooking and don’t mind sleeping beneath the stars… I think we could help you on your way. Of course, we could not say where this convent is but… I’m sure we can figure that out.”

Rob’s throat constricted with a fiery burning sensation. He was so swept up in emotion he dug deep into his pants pocket for the only personal item he had left: his father’s pocket watch.

“Here-“ Rob choked out, offering it over to Jacque who took it, unsure. “It’s my father’s. Please, take it as payment for helping me.” He sniffed, having to rub his nose with the back of his hand. “I- I was going to give it to my son but… You’re the reason I’ll be able to make it back to him so-“

Jacque gave him a timid smile, but handed the watch back. Rob took it, confused.

“I do not like English watches.” Jacque joked. “Nor do I like English cooking, so you’ll have to learn to cook actual food. Galen will show you, he must cook for his alpha now!” Jacque ribbed his little brother playfully. Galen batted his hands away, rolling his eyes.

“I have nothing else to give.” Rob whispered.

“I have nothing to need for.” was Jacque’s calm reply.

 

That night, for the first time in two months, Rob slept with a full stomach and relative peace. His back was to a fire he had not made, and his head rested upon a bundle of clothes that was not his own.

He dreamed of Thomas….  
But that was nothing new.

~*~

Back in England, the two months of absence had left Thomas Barrow a husk of his former self.

He did not eat regularly. Most nights, he did not sleep. His pregnancy was wearing hard upon his body, and he could no longer wear trousers or pants. His stomach was now swollen, five months along and counting. December would mark six months, and what was more it would be the longest Thomas had undergone a pregnancy without a miscarriage. As a result, his body was beginning to shut down. He ate to keep his baby alive. He rested to give his baby strength… but the fetus sucked so much from him that at times Thomas was dizzy and could not be arsed to move from his chair.

It didn’t matter to him. Nothing mattered save the fact that for two months Rob had been completely out of touch. No word, no letters, no phone calls… nothing. Nothing, save the news that Rob had apparently passed through a lakeside village called Gmunden with a youth named Martin Waters who had been assigned to deliver Rob through Switzerland and into France. Instead, Waters had come under opposition from the Brigade, and had died in a horrific boat collision. Another body was recovered at the scene by the police of a German mercenary recruited from the Brigade. Alden’s son Averill was not found, nor was Rob… tracks had lead into the woods on both sides of the river. It was impossible to know who had gone where or what had happened to either man. In the end, Martin Waters was dead, Archibald Knox was just the same, and Robert Kinsey was on his own until he could make it to the safety of Lyon, France.

The London School of Medicine had held a public ceremony for the two dead psychology men that had lost their lives in the terrorism of Vienna. One was a professor named William Turring, who’d apparently been the oldest member of their mission and a renowned teacher. The other had been John Balton, a newly married psychology professor who’d brought his bride Florence along as an impromptu honeymoon. It had ended in disaster, with Florence dead and John just the same. The survivors were shaken, and had not attended the ceremony. They included a long time friend of Rob’s, Arthur Washburn, his omega Dorothy, Turring’s widowed omega Mary, and a young psychology student name Percy Eccles. They were all home now, resting up, and had each sent their condolences to Thomas through distant connections. Each had said the same thing: that Rob had adored Thomas publicly during his trip to Vienna, had spoken about him every day, and had tried to leave two by confronting his director. Their letters of condolences came with the traumatizing package of what little things had survived the blast belonging to Rob. They had all arrived in a very familiar red briefcase, still embossed with the golden signature of Rob’s name. Tucked inside were photos Rob had taken of Vienna for Thomas, including a picture of him shaking hands with Freud, along with unsent letters half-drafted. The briefcase was now defaced, ruined by the blast… but it was easy to discern to Thomas.

After all, it had been his courting gift.

The school had since then become a base for riots against the Brigade. The papers and the public were in firm agreement… something was definitely up with Alden MacNaire.

Popularity polls running in the papers had put Brigade numbers at an all time low, stating that most people believed the Brigade was directly responsible for the mass fires that had consumed London and the terrorist attacks on Vienna. The Brigade had publicly come out as saying that the fire was a ‘tragic’ accident, and that the attack in Vienna had nothing to do with them. Thomas knew this was a downright lie, and it seemed that most people agreed. The real question now, in the mind of the public, was whether or not the Brigade should be allowed to continue if they were going to authorize such horrific violence. Sixteen people were dead from the fires, another thirty missing. Ten were injured from the blast in Vienna, with thee innocent English citizens dead. Now both Archie Knox and Martin Waters could be added to the list. Where would the body count stop? When would it be enough?

No one seemed to know the answer, and the papers just painted a scarier picture.

 

Thomas sat in his office, quiet at his desk. He wore a hand-me-down dress of black, a cast off of one of their omega survivors. His stomach was swollen beneath the black flannel, obvious at every turn. Upon his desk, spread to each corner, were maps of Europe that he’d pilfered from Amos’ men. He’d plotted with a pen, ruler, and divider; black lines now scoured the map. He’d called villages on rural telephones. He’d sent out pleas to the Vienna government. Anything… but there had been no return.

Nothing to insist Robert Kinsey was alive.

 

As a result, Thomas’ black dress fit perfectly along with his dour expression. Even without an official recognition, he felt that Rob might very well be dead.

He prayed for his alpha to live, but in truth he could not allow himself to be optimistic.  
He waited in perpetual anticipation, dying a little every day as his heart shed more and more hopes like leaves.

A gentle knock at his door interrupted his constant ennui, but not by much. Thomas merely glanced up to see Amos carrying a mug of what was surely tea.

Their relationship had grown strained over the past months. While Amos’ world might have been growing sunny with the Brigade unpopular and MacNaire under questioning, Thomas’ world had blackened by the hour. Where Amos rejoiced, Thomas grew ill. Where Amos saw hope, Thomas only saw more suffering.

Amos gave him a tiny smile. Thomas did not return it.  
“Nice morning for it… whatever it is.” Amos said by way of greeting. “Sleep alright?”

Thomas sat his pen aside; it clattered and rolled. “I do not sleep. You know that.” He caught Amos’ eye, unable to hide his stony expression.

“…Right.” Amos was tight lipped, never willing to show his anger or pessimism to Thomas. “S’alright. I understand.”

But that, to Thomas, was unacceptable.

Why did he understand? Why did people always have to understand? Why was everything on the range of acceptable? Couldn’t some things be beyond forgiveness? Couldn’t some things be too far? Too much?

Rob’s disappearance, and possible death was too much. Was beyond understanding.

“Do you?” Thomas challenged. “Why? Why do you always have to understand, hmm? Why does everyone…have… to understand me.” Thomas’ jaw grew tense with anger. “Why can’t some things just be… beyond understanding, Amos.”

Amos set down the cup of tea carefully. He spoke with calm, controlled tone and never betrayed an ounce of frustration, “All I’m saying is that… I know you’re stressed.” Amos whispered.

“You know nothing.” Thomas corrected. This was a common theme running between the pair of them now a days. “… We both know nothing.”

Amos sighed. For a moment Thomas saw the tension; it wasn’t much though. Just a blip on an otherwise serene mask. “I’m not a god, Thomas.” Amos implored gently, “I can’t search the world and pick out a man like a blade of grass-“

“But you can cast one off all the same.” Thomas said. Amos paused, slightly ashen at the thought.

“… I just-“ Amos gestured to the cup of tea on the edge of Thomas’ desk. “I wanted to bring you a cup of tea. You need to eat today. For the baby.”

Thomas closed his eyes, turning his face away.  
He did not want to think about the baby right now. It was too difficult… too much strain.

“…Thomas I’m really worried about you.” Amos admitted. “I think you need to talk to someone about how you’re feeling. For the baby, if no one else-“

“I will decide what is best for me and my child.” Thomas snapped.  
Amos could not make to correct him. Thomas’ lack of freedom was an infamous topic between the pair of them. Thomas could no longer leave the Furnace. It was too dangerous… too volatile.

 

“Alright.” Amos said. He would not pick a fight. He would not push a topic. “Just… have that cup a’tea. Yeah?” He gestured to the mug still sitting untouched on Thomas’ desk.

He left after that, closing the door carefully behind him.  
The tea remained un drunk.

 

~*~

Halfway across England, in an underground police station, another conversation was taking place between two men.

This one was just as tense, but for completely different reasons.

It was not common that Thane was the one being interrogated, but now he sat at a sparse table well aware of the hot spotlight shining upon him. He’d gone into work only to be taken into custody by Lieutenant Colonel Turnbull, the highest ranking official in the land and the leader of an investigation regarding the Brigade. Thane had tried to keep a brave face for the most part, but the fact of the matter was that as Chief of London Police, Thane reported directly to Turnbull.

Turnbull was a long-faced man, the kind with an iron jaw and a beard the color to match. His brow was heavy, his hair balding and thin. He had that sort of manic look about him often associated with men of the law… but his dress was indistinctive save for the badge that he wore pinned to his lapel at all times. Its gleam shone in Thane’s eyes and he squinted, looking away.

On the table between them there was a Victor Victrola. It recorded continuously, catching every word exchanged between the two men.

Thane eyed it nervously.

 

“Start from the beginning.” Turnbull ordered. Thane pursed his lips.

“I thought we’d already been there.” He said. It felt like he’d told his story five times over.

“Start gain.” Turnbull growled. There was no mercy in his eyes. No compassion.

Thane let out a long sigh, internally cursing Ambrose MacNaire and his arsonist tendencies. He’d told the boy not to set fire to the flats. Begged him-! But he hadn’t listened, too stupid to understand that a fire couldn’t be controlled.

“… Sixty omegas went missing from Dover Castle.” Thane said. “Due to insider information-“

“Who was the insider?” Turnbull asked.

Thane only knew one answer to give to hide the awful truth, “That’s-“

“Classified?” Turnbull seemed to know his every hiding spot. He gave Thane a small smile, but there was no warmth in it. “You think you run the world, Thane…. You don’t.”

Turnbull looked like he wanted to eat Thane alive. “You’re a tiny little man, and so am I. All we have are friends, and the question is who has more? You or me?” He gestured between the pair of them with a long knotted finger. His knuckles were huge, his nails well manicured. Turnbull gave him another ugly smile, “The answer is me. And what’s more, I’m aware of what your ‘classified information’ really means. It means that Alden MacNaire didn’t get his way, and you had to clean up his messes. It means Amos Dorsette got another one over you. Didn’t he?”

Yes. He did.

Thane grimaced, letting out a long breath through his nose. For some reason, in this dire moment, he found that he could not think straight. Instead of attempting to gather some sort of plan, his thoughts kept dancing back to dangerous territory. Of his two omegas, Colleen and Millie.

Both of them were terrified of Alden, and Alden knew it.  
He laughed about it often to Thane’s face. Than hated it.

“Don’t you get tired?” Turnbull sneered. “Of cleaning up his messes?”

“This isn’t his mess.” for if it was anyone’s mess, it was Thane’s.  
Calhoun was dead. Thane was the only higher member of the Brigade left to hold Alden at bay… and he knew more and more with each passing day that it wasn’t enough. That Alden was getting out of control.

“Whose mess is it?” Turnbull asked. “Yours?”  
Thane did not make to agree.

Turnbull relaxed a bit in his chair, drumming his fingers softly upon the bare table between them. “Who do I need to crucify? Because believe me, boy, I’m going to crucify someone. And I don’t quite care who.”

Thane suddenly realized in that moment that he might sink along with the MacNaire clan. Once again, his mind danced back to Colleen and Millie. Of how Millie had cried when she’d seen London on fire. She’d begged Thane to take them back to Scotland. To get them away from Alden.

He should have listened to her.

Turnbull wasn’t fussed about Thane’s silence. Instead, he carried on in a conversational tone. “I don’t really care about a lot of things. But there is one thing that gets to me, Thane, at least when it comes to you… You see, what I don’t understand is why you follow MacNaire when we both know that you’re a good man deep down. That you have two omegas, both of whom you saved from destitution and jail. Good girls… What are their names again?” Turnbull thought for a moment. “Colleen… and Mildred?”

“…Millie.” Thane corrected, his tone flat. She hated being called by her proper name.

“You love them, don’t you?” Turnbull offered, “Keep them safe?” Thane nodded.

“So why are you tangling with MacNaire eh?… What is it? Fame? Power?” the ugly truth was yes to both. He’d needed to jumpstart his career. Alden had offered him money and a position to boot.

“What are you trying to do?” Turnbull asked. “Because you’ll go down with him, if you keep this up.”

Once again, Thane remained silent. As worried as he was about his own future, he knew what would happen if he went against Alden.

Amos Dorsette had suffered the horrific consequences. At times, Thane could still hear his screams for mercy during dark dreams.

Turnbull seemed to know this too.

“…Sarah Dorsette.”

Thane’s head snapped up at the name, his eyes wide. How did Turnbull know-?

“Oh yes.” Turnbull was grave with warning, “You remember what happened to Sarah Dorsette don’t you?”

He doubted he could forget.

Alden had been merciless when he’d discovered Amos’ treachery. He’d had Amos beaten within an inch of his life, tortured for days, and when he’d been taken from his jail cell it had been to the gruesome blood bath of watching his omega… his omega…

He could still see Sarah’s face. White, eyes black and vacant like a dolls, her body hanging upside down.  
Her pregnant stomach-

Thane looked away, drawing a long breath to cover the running nausea that now threatened to overtake him.

He thought of Millie, eighteen years old and possibly pregnant. They were still unsure.  
He thought of Colleen, forty and barren. Both of them could easily end up in Sarah’s shoes if he betrayed Alden.

But if he did not… if he allowed the madness to continue… when would it end?  
Where would the line be drawn? And would London survive it?

“… There are things you… do not know.” Thane whispered, thinking of the MacNaire boys, and Alden’s determination to have Thomas Barrow as his own.

“I think I need to know them.” Turnbull said.

Thane could not deny it. They were at the point of no return.  
“I think you do too.”

~*~

Oblivious to the predicament of Chief Thane, Thomas sat at Moira Furnace hard at work upon his maps. He kept fluctuating going back and forth with his pens to try and chart where exactly Rob might be. The most obvious target was Salzburg, which was packed with trains that could take Rob to France. Of course, Salzburg was also dangerously close to Germany and Amos had apparently warned both Archie and Martin repeatedly not to take Rob close to Germany during this politically trying time.

Thomas didn’t know whether or not he agreed. Would Rob honestly stand a chance hiking through the woods on his own? How on earth would he survive without help? And even then, where on earth would he end up? The mountains? Großglockner and Wildspitze Mountain ranges both stood in the way if Rob dared to try and brave the south west.

Would he survive it? Could any man-?

A knock on the door caused Thomas to slow up, a magnifying glass still dangling in front of his face so that one eye was comically enlarged. It was daytime, with the Furnace in full function. At the same time, Thomas did not want to be disturbed.

“Busy!” He called aloud, before ducking his head back towards the map. He could see a dark shadow beyond his shaded windows; tall and imposing.

The door opened anyways. Irritated, Thomas slammed his magnifying glass down. Amos entered with a tall stranger behind him.

Or was he really a stranger?

There was something about the other man which seemed oddly familiar. He was incredibly tall, with a long iron jaw and eyes like thunder. He wore a badge upon his lapel, a token of his office as Lieutenant Colonel. He was carrying a truly enormous briefcase at his side. It looked like a tiny valise. Was he going to be a guest? Amos seemed surprised at their guest’s appearance, and seemed to be silently imploring with Thomas not to cock up the interaction.

“..I know you.” Thomas said, slightly wary of the man. Where had he seen this man before?

“Not really, but you will soon.” The man corrected him. His voice was as dark as his gaze, his voice deep with a throaty timbre. He was most assuredly an alpha, and by far the most sharp that Thomas had ever met including MacNaire. The man took off a bowler hat to reveal thinning gray hair swept in a side part. He tucked his hat under his left arm, extending a hand to Thomas to shake. Thomas accepted it, but was shocked when the man did not shake his hand and instead placed a chaste kiss upon his knuckles.

It had been a long time since someone had acknowledge his omega status in such a way.

“Sir Hugh Turnbull… Lieutenant Colonel of his majesties police forces.” Turnbull said.  
But of course! Thomas did know this man- he’d visited the Furnace once before after the sixty omegas had arrived at the sanctuary. The pair of them hadn’t spoken at the time, Turnbull had been much too occupied with Amos. Thomas had been surprised to find that even Amos had a boss… that this man was just as influential as the other when it came to dismantling the Brigade.

But why was he here now?

“And you’re the famed Omega of Lincolnshire, Thomas Barrow.” Turnbull said. “I have things to talk with you about, and I’d rather do so alone.”

“That sounds rather ominous.” Thomas said. Amos gave him a tiny understanding smile, though it was Turnbull who soothed his fears.

“I’m merely here to conduct an investigation about the Brigade.” Turnbull explained. “I’ve been interviewing prior victims, and have just recently conducted an interview with Chief Thane.

Christ, this man had gotten Thane to play along? He really was powerful!

“You’re kidding.” Thomas could only imagine what that interview had been like. Oh, what he would give to have been a fly on that wall!

“I am not.” Turnbull said. “I wanted to interview you about some events that occurred last August. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

Oh Thomas was under no illusions as to what events Turnbull was interested in. His initial interaction with the Brigade had been distressing to say the least.

“Mr. Dorsette tells me that you’re in a frail way.” Turnbull said. Thomas caught Amos’ eye, his gaze growing sharp. Frail, was he? “Do you think you’re up for such an interview?”

Thomas pursed his lips, hoping his anger was getting across to Amos. By god if the man didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable or ashamed. “Oh… just a cup of tea and I’ll be right as rain.” Thomas said, bitterly.

Amos turned, heading for the door, “That’s my errand then.”

“See if you can manage it without getting lost.” Thomas chided. Amos paused at the door, looking a bit over his shoulder.

Thomas hoped Amos could understand exactly what he meant by that. Rob… lost in the wilderness.

He seemed too; either way he didn’t reply and instead shut the door after him.

 

Amos did not return upstairs. He instead sent one of the Nurse Stewart, who likewise brought Turnbull a cup as well as a plate of scones from Herr Koch. Left in mock privacy, Turnbull opened up his massive briefcase to reveal it was actually a Victor Victrola. Thomas had never seen one up close before, and was curious to watch Turnbull load a fresh vinyl adjusting the sensitivity of the volume so that their voices would be captured best.

Thomas was forced to roll up most of his maps, scooting his charting equipment aside so that the recorder could take center stage for their interview. With a flick of a switch, the victrola was on, and suddenly Thomas felt quite nervous to make a good impression. He leaned in, wondering how close he should sit to be captured. But Turnbull was not worried, and indeed relaxed back into his chair as he picked up his teacup.

“The vinyl will pick up the frequency of your voice, you needn’t lean over the machine.” Turnbull said. Thomas relaxed in his chair, timidly picking up his own cup. He didn’t want to rattle the saucer and violate the recording.

“… This recording is taken on 3:32 in the afternoon, November 28th, 1927 in an undisclosed location between myself Sir Hugh Turnbull and Thomas Barrow, the Omega of Lincolnshire.” Turnbull said. Thomas supposed it was a ‘header’ of sorts for their recording.

Turnbull took another sip of tea before setting his cup down and fixing Thomas with a calm stare. “I want to start with the basics.” He said. Suddenly Thomas felt oddly nervous. “When did you first meet Alden MacNaire.”

Thomas could remember the night well. He’d tried to run away from the abbey and had failed.

“… I was…” God in heaven if this wasn’t a walk down memory lane. “I was working as an under butler at Downton Abbey for the Earl of Grantham, Robert Crawley. I went into heat without warning. I reacted poorly upon coming out of it… Lord Grantham called for MacNaire for help. It was July of 1926.” he added, just for help.  
Turnbull nodded, “How did you find MacNaire’s manner to be?”

“Horrific.” Thomas whispered, for there was no other way to describe the man. “He threw me around the room. He literally picked me up and spun me like a top till I became ill. He tossed me to his companions. I was like a toy to them. He forced me against my will and drugged me with chloroform…”

But suddenly Thomas paused, remembering in a flash that awful July night when he’d woken up to discover he was in hell.

 _“All you are is a fuckable hole.”_ Even now the words made him shudder. He licked his lips, pressing forward tentatively.

“When I came to, I was naked, bound between two poles.” He felt like he were reading off a manuscript instead of reliving his worst memory, “I had a gag in my mouth. I was chained at my wrists and ankles, and leaning on gravel. I was in intense pain. I was dehydrated, blinded… I couldn’t move. I hadn’t eaten in days. I was starving.”

“Why were you put in this position?” Turnbull asked.

“… I supposed to break me.” Thomas whispered. “MacNaire never really did say.”

“So- MacNaire was there?” Turnbull offered. Thomas nodded.

“Yes. He was there. When I woke up he was singing my name to me. He was baiting me, teasing me I guess. He kept stroking my naked body without my consent.” Once again Thomas had to shudder at the thought. He suddenly felt very cold and took another sip of tea to try and warm himself.

“I know it’s hard,” Turnbull consoled, “But you have to be honest if you want to help others.”

But Thomas had to know, “Whose going to hear this recording?”

“Members of a committee drafted to interrogate MacNaire.” Turnbull said. “the more you can give us in your testimony, the better.”

Well if that was what they were going for… “He made me urinate on myself.” Thomas admitted. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, “I’d be there so long that I’d had to relieve myself. He made fun of me for it. He kept saying that it was all my fault I was being tortured. That if I’d been good, I would be safe. They kept insisting that I wanted it. That I was happy being bound.”

“They?” Turnbull asked.

“Chief Thane was there as well.” Thomas said, “So was Dr. Calhoun, and an alpha woman. I tried to say that if I turned up dead people would be curious but then Thane said that no one would care. That I was an omega and they were alphas. He touched me too. They all touched me.”

“I see.” Turnbull took a small sip of tea. Neither of them had made to touch the plate of scones between them. After this awful conversation, the pair of them had been solidly put off their appetites.

“The female alpha…” Thomas was trying to remember the details but it was terribly hard, “She choked me. Alden touched my… my genitals.” Thomas’ cheeks were burning horribly again. “He kept saying that my… can I curse-?” Thomas paused. “I’m sorry I’m afraid he was very crass.”

“Please.” Turnbull said. “I urge you to use the exact language he used. Anything to help us gather better understanding of the events.”

Thomas nodded. “He said that my ‘cunt needed attention’.”

Thomas paused. For some reason he was finding it harder and harder to speak about these things. He found his hands falling upon his swollen stomach, rubbing the top of his rotund belly, “I begged him to let me go. I said that it was my body, that it was my choice. He touched me more. He…”

His throat was burning. Thomas sniffed, trying to be brave, “He put his fingers inside me.” He whispered. “I tried to shake him off. He laughed at me.”

God- it was like hell, to relive that moment over again. Turnbull did not push him, allowing him to go at his own pace. His face betrayed no emotion; he did not look happy nor sad.

“He…” Thomas sniffed again. His nose was about to run, “He pinched my nose and he closed my mouth. He kept saying that if I looked at him he’d let me breath. When he finally let me breath, I had to vomit.”

_“All you are is a fuckable hole.”_

Thomas had never told anyone that Alden had said such a thing.  
Maybe it was time he did.

“He…” But even as he began, Thomas could hear his own voice fluctuating with tears. He stopped, bowing his head. He fished out a handkerchief but found his own was missing. He cursed his lack of preparation, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears. Turnbull was there to save the day, offering Thomas his own handkerchief. It was silk, embroidered with the man’s initials. Apparently his middle name started with the letter ‘G’.

“In your own time.” Turnbull said softly.

“He said that… that all I was was a fuckable hole.” Thomas whimpered. He damned himself for the tears that slipped from his lashed, and immediately chased the incriminating evidence with Turnbull’s silk handkerchief. “To be filled with seed again and again.”

He blubbered now, bitter at his lack of control. God, how it burned him! Even the memory was too much: “He said that my only purpose was to bear children. That I’d obey an alpha, bear their pups, and nurture them both until the day I died.”

He could not help himself, he sniveled, “I… I’ve never been able to get his voice out of my head. Saying that. I- I tried to be brave and tell him otherwise but-“

He had to pause again, holding the silk handkerchief over his eyes to catch the tears that fell.

“Don’t rush yourself for my credit.” Turnbull reminded him again. “We have all the time in the world.”

After a moment, Thomas sniffed. He swallowed, trying to get his throat to relax. “He… He and Thane- all of them- they held me down. Alden starting to push his fingers inside of me again. He raped me with his hand. I screamed for him to stop, to let me go. I begged him. Alden just kept taunting me. Telling me that he was going to make me bear his children.”

There was no point in hiding, “I was so scared.”

Turnbull nodded, but said nothing. Thomas carried on. “He… he said that he was going to fill my hole till it gushed with seed. That he was going to tie me up until my next heat, fuck me through it, and bite my neck. I begged- God I begged so much, but they wouldn’t let me go. They put me in the dive.”

“What is the dive?” Turnbull asked carefully.

Thomas sniffed again, wiping his eyes hastily. His tears seemed to have stopped for the moment. “It’s a cage in the basement of Dover Castle. It’s in this weird cellar. They keep all of these alphas in rut down there. They’re locked up, and they get let loose on an omega. You’re stuck behind this barred cage, so the rutting alphas can’t reach you but… they still try.” He sniffed again, “They tried to reach me, but when they failed they just started to… masturbate… all over me.”

He flushed, wishing there was a more delicate way of putting the facts. To think, all of this was on recording! “It was horrible. I felt like I was filthy. Like I’d never be clean again.”

Turnbull nodded, “That must have terrified you.” He said sympathetically. “It certainly would have scared me. As a side note, tell me about these alphas in rut. Did they look well taken care of?”

“God no.” Thomas shuddered. The whole lot of them had looked deranged. “They were unshaven, filthy, covered in their own excrement… I think they’d been living like animals.”

“And do you think that the Brigade, that MacNaire, had been given charge over these young men to see them through their rut?” Turnbull asked.

“I know it.” Thomas scoffed.

“So it seems that it almost doesn’t matter what sex you are.” Turnbull mused. “If the Brigade wants to use you, they will. How does that make you feel?”

Turnbull had a point.

“… Like there’s no justice in the world.” Thomas mumbled. “Like the King doesn’t care about his subjects if he allows the Brigade to do what they want.”

But Thomas had more to say, and didn’t want to get distracted. If this investigation was really going to be focused on Alden, then the committee needed to know everything. “There’s more that I want to say.” Thomas said.

“Yes?” Turnbull asked.

“Right before I was returned home, Alden propositioned me.” Thomas said. “I was getting changed in the bathroom and he walked in on me. He wanted me use the restroom, shave, and change. He kept putting his hands all over me. He wouldn't look away. It made me feel filthy again… and then to make it worse, he said that he wanted me to become part of his brood.”

“Hmm.” Turnbull did not look happy about that.

“I had to tell him no repeatedly. It was like he wasn’t listening to me.” Thomas shook his head, “He grew furious. He abused me.” Thomas paused, “He's been violent towards me ever since.”

“And I supposed these misgivings only escalated when you made the sanctuary.” Turnbull said. Thomas nodded.

“He threatened me continuously.” Thomas said. The phone calls, the unwarranted visits- all of it was enough to make him ill. “He called me and said he was going to rape me and kill me. He got his sons to harass me. Ambrose, he was the one calling.”

“And then, when your alpha left Ambrose set fire to your apartment.” Turnbull said.

Thomas bowed his head. It was hard to think about Rob. It made him disturbingly numb. “Ambrose came over and banged on the door. He tried to get in by saying he was someone else at first, but I knew he was lying. The second time he came back, he tried to ram the door down. I had to push furniture in front of it, and then he set the apartment on fire. If it hadn’t been for Amos Dorsette, I would have died.”

“It seems like the MacNaire children are just as dangerous as their father.” Turnbull mused. Thomas agreed whole heartedly.

“I want to talk about your alpha if you don’t mind.” Turnbull paused, “I understand if that is a difficult subject for you.”

No, he really didn’t understand. No one understand. Thomas refused to move his eyes from the desk. Instead, his fingers sought his locket, which he rubbed methodically. The smell of white tea was gone; now only Rob’s picture was left.

“Alden MacNaire has stated that you are violent towards alphas… that you hate all alphas, and want to lead omegas into rebellion. What is your relationship with your alpha like?”

Thomas closed his eyes, looking away.

“… He is… my heart.” Thomas could think of no other way to put it. “Somewhere out there, lost in the wilds of Europe, my heart is wandering outside my body. Freezing, starving… god knows what.”

When tears fell from his eyes, Thomas could not stop them with Turnbull’s handkerchief. He did not have the strength to wipe them away.

“My heart is lost, and people wonder why I cannot breath.” He said bitterly, “And it’s all that bastard MacNaire’s fault.”

“It’s rumored that the Brigade was behind the terrorist attack in Vienna-“ Turnbull began. Thomas cut him off.

“It’s not just a rumor.” He said quickly. “Amos has men still inside the Brigade. One of them was able to call the f-“ Thomas paused, cutting himself off before he gave too much away, “- to call us. He told us that Alden had authorized the attack. The only reason my alpha did not die in the initial blast was because Amos had sent men of his own to Vienna to watch over him.”

“Archibald Knox and Martin Waters.” Turnbull said. Thomas nodded. “And now both of them are dead too.”

Thomas thought he might be sick. He looked away, saying nothing for a moment.

“It was him.” Thomas whispered bitterly “MacNaire is a monster. He’s behind all of it.”

“Thank you for talking to me about these difficult things.” Turnbull said, “I have to ask, what are you hoping to see happen from the committee hearing against the Brigade?”

“I want the world to know what sort of a man MacNaire is.” Thomas spat. “If my humiliation is the price then so be it.”

“Is there anything that you want to tell the committee in particular?” Turnbull asked. “A sort of wrap up?”

Thomas looked at the victrola spinning innocently on the desk between him and Turnbull. He leaned in, wanting his voice to be heard as loud and clear as possible.

“Think of your omegas.” Thomas begged, “It doesn’t matter who you are. If MacNaire thinks he can take your omegas away, he will. Every omega in the world belongs to him, that’s how he sees it. He’ll try and lie and say that he’s your friend. He said the very same thing to me. Then he raped me with his fingers and said that I was a fuckable hole. I wasn’t a person to him. I was something he could breed— even less than that. Please, do something. Stop this man. Please.”

Turnbull nodded. Thomas stopped sitting back in his chair. Turnbull reached out and shut the victrola off. It shuttered to a stop, the vinyl disk laying still between the pair of them.

Even now there was a menacing quality to the disk.

~*~

_“Think of your omegas.”_

Thomas Barrow’s voice rang out in a room full of men. Robert Crawley kept as much composure as he was able, blessed to be on this committee in the first place. He’d been strategic in his political involvement, determined to stop the Brigade in any way that he could. when he’d heard word through Lord Stewart that a group was being gathered to interrogate the MacNaire’s and the Brigade, Robert had put his name forward to join the numbers. He’d been honored to be selected, and now sat amongst the his peers upon a long panel. Before them, flanked by police officers and looking gray, was Alden MacNaire. He was stuffed into a suit and tie, looking like he might burst a seam at any moment, and had even attempted to comb his unflatteringly long blonde hair.

 _“It doesn’t matter who you are,”_ The victrola lay upon the peer bench, playing with the aid of a gramophone so that everyone could hear, _“If MacNaire thinks he can take your omegas away, he will. Every omega in the world belongs to him, that’s how he sees it.”_

In the middle of their bench sat the Duke of Cambridge. As the highest ranking noble, he was the presiding judge of their little jury. He was a beta, a well learned man, and carried himself with a grace that was only possessed by men of the throne. At his sides sat the Countess of Iveagh, an alpha who had always taken pro-omega views, and Robert. To Robert’s left was Lord Steward, and to Iveagh’s right was the Baron of Strickland. Their little posse was finished up by the Reverend O’Higgins, a prolific member of the English church who was known for his vast charities to omegan causes, and of course Lieutenant Colonel Turnbull.

_“He’ll try and lie and say that he’s your friend. He said the very same thing to me. Then he raped me with his fingers and said that I was a hole.”_

The words burned Robert with a fiery passion, put such a rage within him that it was impossible for him to think straight. He could remember so easily how frightened and angry Thomas had been upon returning home last August. No wonder he’d been in shock. He’d been raped! Raped by this bastard before him-!

 

_“ I wasn’t a person to him. I was something he could breed— even less than that. Please, do something. Stop this man. Please.”_

The recording was over. Turnbull shut off the victrola, and the room fell into horrible silence.

Alden MacNaire had the audacity not to look the slightest bit ashamed, but MacNaire was not alone.

At this side, looking small and pathetic when squared beside his father, was the son Ambrose MacNaire. Where Alden was oddly at ease, his son was nervous. He seemed to realize, now that he as before a committee questioning his methods and up for potential arrest, that he’d made a terrible mistake to light Thomas’ apartment on fire. It was too little too late as far as Robert was concerned. He was determined that at least one of the MacNaires would suffer the consequences for their heinous actions.

When Thomas had spoke about his rape, Robert had felt vomit in his throat. He’d told MacNaire flat out, up and down, not to touch Thomas. It seemed that MacNaire hadn’t cared either way, and had not only proceeded to touch Thomas but to molest and traumatize him as well.

No more! Absolutely no more!

“A chilling recording if there ever was one.” Turnbull said. Robert quite agreed, stiff in his seat.

“Robert Kinsey is still missing.” Turnbull added. Robert could only imagine what Thomas was going through. “His family and omega are desperate for his safe return.” Turnbull looked to Alden at this, eyes narrowed. “I find it funny that your oldest son, Averill… he’s also overseas right now? In Europe?”

“Visiting friends in Germany.” Alden said calmly. “Is that a crime?”

“Not yet.” Turnbull said. Robert hoped it would be by the end of this inquisition.

The Countess of Iveagh wasn’t swallowing it. She was known to be a stern figure of justice in her own county, a prime reason why she’d been picked for the committee.

“You expect us to believe the coincidence of your son being abroad and Kinsey missing? When your other son is now facing serious charges of arson, harassment, and destruction of public property? He attempted to kidnap and brutally murder the Omega of Lincolnshire!”

“I-!” Ambrose spoke up, furious at being labeled for a fiend. HIs father cut him off with a hand upon the shoulder.

“My son got a little exuberant.” Alden said. What a shoddy excuse, “The Brigade will pay for the damages-“

“And what of the sixteen dead?” the Countess asked. Robert felt triumphant for her cleverness. “The thirty missing? Will you pay for those as well? What price shall we afford to the heads of men and women who died in your little blaze of glory?”

“… It was a tragic loss of life.” Alden had the audacity to sound sorry. Robert highly doubted he actually was.

“I find your empathy to be less than believable.” The countess warned.

“Countess, I am deeply saddened at the loss of life!” Alden tried for reproach, but he wasn’t a very good actor, “The fire was an accident-“

“Accident?” The Baron of Strickland could hardly contain his annoyance. “Your son shoved the London Constable down a flight of stairs and set fire to an apartment. How is that an accident?”

“I only meant to-“ Ambrose began, only to be cut over by Turnbull who had a recording of prior interrogations before him.

“Smoke the slut out… you said.” Turnbull paused, “A rather odd turn of phrase, but I admit it’s catching on quickly in the lower ranks.”

Alden did not betray anxiety if he was feeling it. Robert had to admit the man was equipped with a large pair of stones if he could swallow this and keep on going.

“The slut in question happens to be a highly respected and charitable omega.” Turnbull said, “Whom you’ve continually harassed over the phone and in person.”

“The omega was becoming insubordinate!” Ambrose snapped. “He’s also kidnapped sixty innocent omegas from our care-!”

“The subject of the sixty omegas has been resolved, MacNaire,” Turnbull warned. “We know their location. They’re quite safe, and many of them have even been returned to their families. I believe we have their testimonies too-“

Suddenly everyone was shuffling through their papers. Robert dug into his own pile, pulling out one at random that caught his eye simply for the word ‘urine’. He read it aloud.

“I was awoken from my cell, where I had been laying in a pool of urine as a punishment, to find a man standing over me. I thought I was to be raped again, instead he picked me up and carried me out of the prison telling me that I was free. That Thomas Barrow had built a sanctuary and was going to save us all. Barrow treated us with absolute kindness, and returned us to health and home. Were it not for his charity and bravery, I would have died a wretch. I will forever be grateful to him, and his sense of compassion.” Robert read. He had to stop, staggered at the thought that someone would be forced to sleep in their own excrement as a form of punishment.

“One girl has listed that she was raped six times a day.” Turnbull added, showing off another paper. The Countess made a disgusted noise underneath her breath, “That you raped her multiple times, and told her that you wanted to fill her up with your seed.”

Alden rolled his eyes.  
“That’s a lie.” He declared, “They’re all lying, They want to overthrow the Brigade because they want power and opportunity that doesn’t befit their sex status.”

“This woman here-!” Robert gestured with his paper, “She says she was made to lay in a pool of her own excrement as a punishment. That she’d been raped and was being held prisoner. Are you completely out of your mind?”

“It’s not my fault that the girl took a leak on herself!” Alden sneered.

“Sir-!” Reverend O’Higgins spoke up, “If I may?”

At once the table fell quiet. O’Higgins didn’t speak up much; he was a quiet spoken man and seemed to have and unyielding sense of optimism.

“As a man of the book of Litigo, I urge you to remember the teachings of the Supreme Alpha whom your organization claims to hold before all others.” O’Higgins said. _“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because the Supreme Alpha loved us first.”_ O’Higigins paused, “If you are to be a messenger for the word of the Supreme Alpha, how are you accomplishing this by instilling such awful fear in omegas?”

Alden waved a hand, irritable at being talked down to by a man of the book, “It is the way of the rod that an omega not overstep their position or be higher than an alpha. Barrow in particular has been insubordinate from the start. For god’s sake-!” Alden scoffed, “The only reason I met Barrow in the first place was because he tried to kill that man over there-!”

Alden pointed to Robert, who at once shot down the notion. At the time he’d been dramatic, but Robert could see clearly now. Thomas had never been trying to kill him. He’d just been frightened and acting wild.

“That’s a lie!” Robert shot down. “Barrow never tried to kill me. He tried to take a phone from my hand. It’s hardly a criminal offense-“

“And yet you called me-!” Alden snapped, his eyes burning with a mounting passion.

“It was the gravest mistake of my life!” Robert declared with gusto, “I have regretted it ever since. I trusted you!” He pointed at Alden, furious. “As so many Englishmen and women have, I trusted you to help me with a frightened and confused omega. Instead, you took him and assaulted him! Raped him! When I expressly told you from the start that he was not to be touched! That he was to be treated with care! And the filthy things that you said to him-“ Robert snarled, unable to get the words out for the disgust he felt. “That all he was- was a- a hole?!”

It was… vile. Absolutely vile.

“Have you no shame? No sense of decency? You have done something absolutely heinous in the eyes of God!” Robert slammed a fist upon the table, dramatic as it might be.

“Everything that I did was to awaken Barrow to his role as an omega!” Alden shot down. “I’ll have you know that he thanked me for it! Look at him now, comfortable with an alpha and pregnant with a pup-!”

“Oh yes, the alpha that’s missing- the one that you’re hunting down.” Turnbull said, scathing. Alden looked ready to clock the man in the face. His tie was pinching in around his neck, the muscles beginning to bulge as his face flushed.

“You are reading me wrong sir.” Alden growled.

“Am I?” Turnbull asked.

“You want for me to swing, so it doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll just turn the evidence right back around and craft it in your favor.” Alden said. “I demand to have a jury of my peers, not a jury of vultures-“

“Ah, well if that’s what you want.” Turnbull got up from his seat, and for a moment Robert wondered what the man was up to until he came around the table and made for a door on the side of the chamber. It had remained untouched, a sort of stand-by room that had briefly held the MacNaire family while the committee had gathered their papers together. Now, it ought to be empty.

But Turnbull opened the door and stepped aside to reveal a man that Robert had seen before.

Alden froze, the blood draining from his face as Chief Thane walked into the room.

“…No…” Alden whispered, his voice grave. It seemed, for the first time during the hearing, he was finally beginning to understand the seriousness of the charges he faced.

“Surely not you.” Alden murmured. Thane had the decency to look ashamed, but only just. There was a dark realization on Thane’s ancient face. He seemed more exhausted than Alden. “Not when you’re my closest brother.”

“What we’ve done is wrong, Alden.” Thane murmured. “It’s time to make it right.”

Alden was staggered. Ambrose looked more horrified than ever.

“This name is Chief Thane of the London Police.” Turnbull said. “He works directly underneath me. I’ve interrogated him, you’ll find the documents before you- I wanted an insider’s approach to the Brigade. Who better to know the devil than a demon?”

“That fiendish bitch takes my child, and I’m the devil?!” Alden roared, spit flying everywhere. “Sixty omegas are ripped from my arms, but I’m the one in the wrong?! So a bit of smoke got out of control! So we got a bit exuberant in our roles! The ends justify the means, and here’s the proof! If you don’t keep a handle on omegas they’ll undermine you at every turn!”

“Will they?” The Duke of Cambridge finally spoke up, calm even in the face of a growing fire.

At once, everyone on the committee looked to the Duke to hear his say. He was, after all, the impromptu judge of their little hearing. But instead of being humble before his judge, Alden was just furious.

“I wouldn’t expect a snot nosed Beta brat to understand!” Alden barked. “You’re not an alpha, you hold no authority over me!”

Robert was immediately outrage: “You will hold your tongue before a prince of courts!” He shouted. The others were barked down Alden’s outrage as well.

“Absolute madness-!” The countess crowed.

But the Duke raised his hand for silence, and so quiet took control once again. The Duke looked through his papers, where it seemed he’d made several notes in tight script.

“Chief Thane has confessed that you were behind the assassination attempts in Vienna.” The Duke said, “That you sent your oldest son Averill to Germany to recruit four hessian mercenaries.”

“No!” Ambrose shook his head emphatically. Alden just stared dead on, furious. “No that’s not true.”

“He’s confessed to more.” The Duke warned. “He also told us of your long term plan for Thomas Barrow.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed; what long term plan?

“I don’t know what he’s referring to.” Alden said coldly. “I look at Barrow as-“

“An omega. Yes, we know.” The Duke sighed tersely. “Thane has told us that you were planning to abduct Barrow. To force him to miscarry his unborn child and then use him to-“ The Duke paused, rifling through his papers, _“Breed his own pups. As many as he could stuff inside.”_

Ice cold dread washed over Robert at the thought. The idea of Thomas being taken and forced to miscarry was just… just… sickening! Absolutely sickening!

“You bastard!” Robert hissed, “If you think that we’ll ever allow you to have your wicked way-!”

“Is it wrong to court an omega?” Alden snapped, “When you were doing the same?”

“You are not courting!” Robert barked, “You are hunting! And I will never- ever- allow you to put your hands on Thomas! I will die before-!!”

Lord Stewart reached out and carefully laid his hand upon Robert’s shoulder to try and give him reproach. Robert froze, suddenly aware that his heart was pounding and that a muscle in his jaw was jumping.

He needed to control himself. By allowing Alden to get under his skin, Robert was inadvertently giving the man the upper hand. He had to reason with himself, and remember that Thomas was safe. That Alden did not know where Thomas was, and could not harm him.

To be fair… Robert didn’t know either.

“Mr. MacNaire-“ The Duke spoke up in the awkward silence that had fallen between the men. Alden was leering at Robert… maybe he knew that Robert still cared for Thomas.

Maybe he knew Robert always would.

“I will not lie.” The Duke said, “The accusations against you are strong and your defense is weak. Puny, really.” The Duke took off his glasses to carefully wipe them upon a silk handkerchief. “I feel, in light of the testimony from Chief Thane and the accusations now being held against your own sons that it’s time for the Brigade to be renegotiated-“

“This is absolutely outrageous!” Alden roared. Without warning, the man suddenly made a brash move forward, as if to strike the Duke for daring to go against his organization. Ambrose cowered in his father’s shadow, now looking petrified.

But Alden was not without opposition. He didn’t get two feet before both Turnbull and Thane had taken out their weapons. Suddenly two guns were pointed at Alden, and the man had to freeze lest he be shot at point blank range.

Robert shot up from his seat, a hand outstretched to shield the Duke from any blast that might occur. He was not alone. The Countess was likewise on her feet, alarmed. O’Higgins was shocked, with a hand over his mouth.

Alden glared at Turnbull and Thane, a dark ugly leer taking over his face.

“What?” He murmured softly, “D’you think a bullet scares me?”

“You’re not immortal, Alden.” Thane warned, “It’s high time to let go of this vision. You’re not the man you once wore. Power’s corrupted you.”

“Power? Corrupt me?” Alden scoffed, “What are you talking about, you fool? I am power! I am the embodiment of the Supreme Alpha here on earth-!”

“But when will it be enough?” Thane begged, “When are you going to be satisfied, Alden? When every man in England is underneath you? When you’re the King?”

The Duke scoffed at the mere insinuation. Alden, however, did not seem to find this funny. An ugly look took him over.

“… I’d wear the crown better, don’t you think?” Alden warned.

“That is treason!” Robert barked. The man was out of his mind-! To even insist-!

“Oh what are you going to do?!” Alden scoffed, and suddenly he began to laugh at them all. “What, are any of you going to do?! I’m bigger than everyone in this room! I’m the fucking head of the Brigade!”

He just laughed and laughed, throwing his head back.  
But behind his father, Ambrose seemed to realize that he’d made a terrible error. That Alden was not going to win this fight. There was a dark look on his youthful face; Robert saw his hands inching for his waist as if to take something out from behind his back.

“I’ve had enough of this!” Turnbull snapped, reaching for his own waist where a pair of handcuffs lay. “Alden MacNaire, you’re under arrest for high treason against his majesty the-“

“The boy!” Robert barked, pointing to Ambrose. “Watch the boy!”

But it was too late. Ambrose pulled out a gun from behind his back; god only knows where he’d been hiding it to get past security! Ambrose pointed the gun at Turnbull and Thane; the pair of them were forced to point back lest they be open to fire.

“Da, run!” Ambrose shouted. Alden looked over his shoulder to see his son holding a weapon; instead of looking afraid Alden looked… proud. Disturbingly proud.

“Get out of here!” Ambrose barked at his father. “Get out now!”

“Don’t take another step!” Turnbull roared at Alden. “Neither of you-! You’re both under arrest!”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. He fired point blank.  
The bullet struck Thane between the eyes, and the man crashed to the ground dead.

Chaos broke out in the court room! Robert lunged for the Duke, as did the Countess. Together, the pair of them shielded the prince, forcing him to the floor so that the desk acted as a natural barricade. Everyone ducked, with O’Higgins rapidly saying a prayer. In that moment Robert could only think of Cora- of how beautiful her smile was in the spring sun and if he would ever see her again.

Of Mary and Edith; of his grandchildren and his home.  
Of Carson. Of Bates.

Of his darling Sybil-

More shots fired out. Robert heard a door bang shut, the sound of Turnbull cursing.

“God damnit-!” Turnbull barked, running after whoever had fled. It seemed that someone had gotten out. He could hear another person wheezing pitifully.

Wary, Robert slowly stood back up to survey a scene of absolute chaos.

Blood splattered the floor and the side of the jury box. Thane was dead on the floor, blood coating his face and chest. Next to him, slumped against the boxes, was Ambrose MacNaire. There was blood seeping from his breast; he’d been shot twice in the chest. Both Alden and Turnbull were no where to be seen.

“O’Higgins!” Robert cried out, coming around the desk at once to drop to the side of the dying man. The reverend followed, horrified at the sight of the dying boy. O’Higgins immediately pressed his hands against Ambrose’s pulsing wounds.

It would not be enough to save him.

“An ambulance!” O’Higgins begged of the others. “We must get an ambulance-!”

But it was too late. Ambrose was gurgling, a thin trail of blood seeping down the corner of his chin from his mouth.

“…Mum…” Ambrose whispered. “I’m sorry- I- … I tried…”  
His jaw fell a little more slack. His eyes were vacant, black and glassy like a dolls.

He was dead.

The Countess had regained her feet, still partly shielding the Duke who was ashen faced at the blood shed. Robert had seen worse during the war, but the boy was just a child. All he’d wanted to do was protect his father.

And to think, Alden had abandoned him to run away. It was the most despicable thing that Robert could think of.

“… Through this anointing, may the Supreme Alpha in his love and mercy, help you to accept grace.” O’Higgins murmured, touching Ambrose’ bloodied brow to make the sign of an Alpha. It was the last right, an attempt to make peace with Ambrose’s many sins.

“May the Supreme Alpha free you from sin, and raise you up.” O’Higgins carefully closed Ambrose’s blank black eyes. He looked like he could be asleep, save that he was covered in blood and ashen pale.

O’Higgins then started on Thane. It seemed there was no rest for the righteous.

“..My god.” The Countess whispered, cautiously stepping out around the desk. “It’s a blood bath.”

“These men are dangerous.” The Duke agreed. “They must be stopped. I will be contacting the King this very day. He needs to know that MacNaire is still on the loose.”

“But your grace, what should we do about Averill?” Asked the Baron. He seemed close to nausea over the sight of so much blood. “Should we contact the government of Austria?”

“We will leave that to his majesty.” The Duke decided.

Turnbull was back, winded and furious. He’d been shot in the shoulder, but was otherwise unharmed.

“Good god, man!” Robert barked. “You need a hospital!”

“I’ll live.” Turnbull spat, careful not to jostle his wound as he stumbled back into the room. “MacNaire got away. There was a motorcar waiting out back. Seems the bastards had a plan B from the start.”

He eyed Ambrose with distaste. “Well.” Turnbull muttered, looking away, “Least that takes care of one of them.”

It was a macabre way of looking at things, but Robert couldn’t say the man didn't have a disturbing point.  
~*~

 

As the winds of November froze into the snows of December, Rob pushed steadily onward with the Rosier brothers.

It turned out that Jacque was sort of the ring-leader; he was the oldest and self professed as the smartest. He was by no means the stealthiest though. That reward went to Laurent, who often caught their food whether it was rabbit or deer. Galen was stereotypical in his duties as omega, but Rob supposed that had a lot to do with his rural upbringing and rustic lifestyle. He cooked and washed, often taking time out of his day to mend holes that Laurent had ripped in his trousers. Galen was quiet, rarely saying more than ten words to a day, but he was gentle and always bore a sweet smile.

Rob was incredibly grateful for the Rosier’s company. He was able to bath, borrowing their soap, and successfully washed off two months worth of dirt to discover he had a cyst between his shoulder blades. Without saying a word, Galen offered to bleed it, which was unbelievably generous since Rob was essentially a stranger and cysts were disgusting no matter who took care of them. Rob was likewise able to shave, and felt more human than he had in weeks as he followed the Rosier boys across the Austrian mountain range. It was by Jacque’s knowledge that Rob learned he’d been traveling across an area called Tuxer Alpen. Their destination was a town called Innsbruck, where they would be boarding a train bound for Liechtenstein. There, Rob and the Rosier brothers would cross over into Switzerland, and take a train from Vaduz to Geneva.

It would be a long train ride, several days as a matter of fact, but it would offer them a chance to get off their feet and eat food they didn’t shoot. Rob had absolutely no money, and so was on God’s good humor until he could find some again… but he needn’t have worried. Jacque had brought money with him, and didn’t seem keen to steal from locals.

When the brothers arrived at Innsbruck, there was much rejoicing. Galen wanted to buy his alpha little trinkets where ever they roamed, much to Laurent’s humor, but decided to hold back in order to instead buy schaumrolles. The brothers were generous, offering Rob a taste of whipped cream and fluffy pastry.

It was unfortunate that the sweets likewise came with several jams. One of them was peach.

Rob found he could not be hopeful after that.

After begging Jacque, Rob was able to buy a small jam jar full of peach preserves. He’d boarded the train for Liechtenstein, only to hide in the corner of their carriage and open the jar so that he might smell the fruit in peace.

The scent invoked harsh memories within him… of Thomas laying beside him in bed sleeping peacefully, or cooking him dinner. Of his red leather briefcase now no doubt destroyed in Vienna… of how sweetly Thomas had kissed him, naked on his lap as Rob fed him dinner for being so good and kind.

Of his hair… his beautiful, beautiful black hair.

Night fell upon their train, and the Rosier brothers each went to sleep. Galen had his head in Jacque’s lap. Laurent had decided to kip on the floor, covered with Jacque’s coat and leaning against his brother’s thighs. His soft snores filled the air.

In the solitude of night, Rob finally dared to reveal Thomas’ picture from within his vest.

The corners of the photograph were blurred with mud and water, but the center of the image remained untouched. Rob found himself stroking the waxen paper, his fingers slightly sticky with the remnants of jam.

His eyes were haunting, pulling Robert in.

 _“Come back to me.”_ He seemed to be whispering.

Rob bent his head, and gently brushed his dry lips against Thomas’ high cheeks.

“Can’t sleep?”

The murmur of Jacque Rosier made Rob freeze mid-kiss. He raised his head to find Jacque watching him, though his eyes were drooping and his posture slack. He might very well drift off soon. Rob nodded, folding his picture away so that it could remain private.

“What are you thinking about, my English friend?”

“My omega.” Rob would not lie.

“Tell me about her?” Jacque whispered. Rob cocked an eyebrow, curious of what Jacque would think if he knew Robert’s omega was a man just like Galen. “We’ve traveled like family for months now but you’ve never mentioned a word of her.”

Rob smiled bitterly. “Well… we can start with the fact that he’s not a she.”

Jacque grinned, chuckling softly. He was careful not to wake his two brothers.

“So it seems you know the gift of a male omega too.” Jacque praised. “We are blessed men. But why do you not speak of him?”

Rob looked out the window, to the Austrian mountains that were rolling past underneath the moonlight.

“…Because he is so permanently within me that… it is painful to speak about.” Rob’s voice turned into a croak, his throat clenching tight as he imagined Thomas’ beautiful cerulean eyes. They were almost the color of moonlight.

Jacque seemed to understand implicitly. “Is he beautiful?” He asked.

Rob supposed a picture was worth a thousand words. He carefully fished Thomas’ photograph out of his vest pocket and handed it over so that Jacque might see. Jacque’s left arm was pinned beneath Galen, but his right arm was free. He took Rob’s photograph, and held it up to the moonlight to see.

“Ah…” Jacque smiled, his thumb stroking Thomas’ face. “The beauty of an omega goes without words, brother.”

Rob silently extended his hand. Jacque passed the photograph back so that Rob could tuck it away again. He felt like he’d shared a piece of his soul with Jacque.

“What is his name?” Jacque murmured.

“…Thomas.” Rob whispered. He closed his eyes, allowing the sound of the name to fill him up. “Thomas Barrow. He’s my fiancé. We are going to marry in April if I can just get back to him.”

Rob choked without meaning to. His throat was so tight he felt like the muscles could have bent iron. “He’s six months pregnant with my child.” Rob gritted his teeth, cursing the moisture in his eyes. He brought a hand up, hastily wiping the pain away. “And I cannot live without him anymore.”

Jacque was quiet for a moment, allowing Rob to regain his strength. It was hard, but Rob managed it, a hand over his breast to warm the waxen picture hiding in his pocket.

“…Do not worry brother.” Jacque said. “Tomorrow we will pass into Switzerland. By the end of the week, you will be in Lyon… and on your way home to Thomas. You will see your mate before the month is out. I promise you that.”

Rob looked up at Jacque, at his wild curly hair and gentle loping smile… and how tenderly he let his brothers sleep upon him. Galen was practically a child in his lap.

“…How can I thank you, Jacque?” Rob asked. “For all that you’ve done for me, and my omega?”

Jacque shrugged. “Live.” He said, wisely. “That is the greatest gift a man can give another, no?”

Rob smiled, in full agreement.

“And then, name your child for me: Jacquard Rosier Kinsey.” Jacque added with cheeky humor. Rob scoffed.

“…Mate…no.” He shook his head. Jacque shrugged, far from put out.

“Ah well.” Jacque sighed, “What can you expect of an Englishman. He does not know a good thing when he sees one.”

But Rob had to disagree… he’d seen Thomas after all.

~*~

November turned into December, and Thomas just continued to get bigger.

It was hard for him to walk up and down stairs now without getting tired. In his black dress, Thomas took up carts of clothes each day to the mines of Moira, determined to prepare a plan B now that the future was so uncertain. The news of Ambrose MacNaire’s death had come as a shock, even to Amos’ men. The papers were having an absolute field day, with a shoot out occurring between Ambrose, Chief Thane, and Turnbull. It had left both Thane and Ambrose dead, with Turnbull recovering with only one bullet wound to the shoulder. The lesson learned was an obvious one: do not test Sir Hugh Turnbull’s shooting skills if you wanted to live through the end of the week.

It was snowing heavily now, and so Thomas had to wear a coat when he ventured out. Nurse Stewart insisted on shoving a pair of mittens on him, along with every other type of knitted add-on available. Moira was a farming community, and so the fields were now reaped for the frozen season in a beautiful array of blues and whites. There was nothing quite so serene as an English farming village when it was bathed in snow. Thomas marched up the mountainside, day in and day out, taking with him cast off clothes from new omegas that had found the sanctuary through Amos’ men. So many were coming now, escaping Dover Castle with weakened security. The MacNaires were losing their stronghold, and people were bailing every chance they got. The future was looking bright for Amos’ men, but Thomas was without optimism.

It did not matter to him that the house of MacNaire had fallen. All that mattered was that Robert was still not home. With every drop of the temperature, Thomas felt sickened with anxiety at the thought of Rob frozen in the wilderness. He often had nightmares of Rob dead beneath a blanket of snow, or dying of hypothermia with his fingers and toes blackened. He would awake from each sickening vision crying out for Rob only to grasp and thrash in the empty gloom of his office.

He slept with Rob’s charred briefcase at night, clutching onto every last item he could manage in an attempt to keep his sanity.

The only good spot in Thomas’ life, the only beam of hope, had come on the morning of December 6th, when he’d awoken to the bizarre sensation of his liver jumping.

At least, that’s what he’d thought it was until he’d realized it was actually the baby moving.

Unlike Ada, who had only liked to move during the morning when she stretched, this baby was rather active. He danced (as Thomas liked to call it) with the rising of the sun, and especially enjoyed it when Thomas took walks up the mountainside. It seemed the activity invigorated him, and the baby appreciated it immensely.

So here he was, trudging up the hill, juggling a sack full of clothes and a bouncing fetus that was determined to bruise his kidneys.

“Alright- aye-!” Thomas grumbled as they reached the top. “Enough now, or you’ll make mummy have to pee again.”

Really, it was already tough enough as it was!

The mines reeked of omega scents at this point. Months of omega cast offs had made the once filthy mines feel bizarrely warm and rich.

Tucked away from the snow, Thomas began his daily work of sorting clothes into particular piles. He liked for things to be orderly… and in any event it gave him something to do.

Of course, like a flame attracted moths, Thomas solitude was intruded upon by a dark figure cutting a path up the mountainside.

And who could it be, but Amos Dorsette.

As the months carried on and Robert was still not found, Thomas’ patience with Amos had plunged. He was bitter with the man for not sending more help to Vienna, and as illogical as it was Thomas sometimes even blamed Amos for Rob’s disappearance. It seemed like Amos could draw the answers out of thin air sometimes. Like he held the world on a string. But then, without warning, Amos was revealed to be nothing more than an ordinary man who merely had a couple hundred friends in his back pocket. He couldn’t find Rob because he wasn’t a God… and Thomas hated him for it.

He wished he didn’t, but his feelings were authentic.

Amos poked his head into the cave, wary when he saw that Thomas was in a touchy mood. He tried to keep calm, but Thomas often found his anger was quick to lash out at Amos when things went topsy turvy. Maybe it was the hormones.

Right on cue, the baby began to kick again.

“Knock it off you little beggar…” Thomas whispered, stroking the swollen underside of his stomach. Long gone were the days when he could fit into a livery.

“Eh- can I get a minute?” Amos asked. Thomas nodded, but said nothing as he continued to sort clothes. Each type of clothing went in a different wooden crate spaced out around the back ends of the mines. He had a whole wing for undergarments. Good lord, the state of some of the knickers left little to the imagination but at least the smell was rife.

“I just wanted to tell you….” Amos paused, “I’ve been working with Sister Leonié of the Convent of Saint Rita. We’re trying to find Robert. We’re looking all over France-“

“Mm, I just decided that I don’t want to talk anymore.” Thomas cut across, folding a dress so that it was in a manageable square.

Amos paused, a but carried on after a minute or two.

“… We’re going to find him Thomas.” He murmured. Thomas all but threw the dress into the bin, furious.

“… Well you might want to wait till spring.” Thomas said, bitter.

“Why?”

“You’ll be able to find his body when the snow melts.”

He could sort the clothes tomorrow. Thomas tossed the rest of them into a random barrel, heading for the mouth of the cave. He brushed past Amos, only to be followed as he started off back down the mountain trail.

“Thomas, wait, just— would you listen to me?!” Amos barked, reaching out to grab Thomas by the wrist. Thomas jerked away, pausing up so that the pair of them were now squaring off along the mountain trail.

“No!” Thomas snapped, “I won’t listen to you! Listening to you is what got me into trouble in the first place, or did you forget?”

“Enough, again, I can’t handle this!” Amos protested. He was at his wits end, pulling at his hair. “I’m doing the best I can, Thomas! Why is that not enough for you?”

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore!” Thomas cried out. He was close to tears at this point. “It’s too late, Amos! Can’t you see that? Robert’s been missing since September! It’s December now! He’s dead!”

He broke off- his throat clenching tightly.  
He turned away to hide the tears now beginning to spill down his cheeks. God… he was so tired of crying. It felt like all he ever did was cry.

Amos’ silence was deafening in that moment.

“…He’s dead.” Thomas blubbered. “We don’t say it, we don’t acknowledge it, but we both know that he’s dead. He’s probably been dead for months-“

Thomas collapsed, sinking onto the side of an enormous boulder which cut along the mountain path. Snow had piled up along the boulder; it was biting cold against Thomas’ backside even with his coat.

He covered his face with his hands unable to hide the agony within him anymore.

When Amos slumped against the boulder next to him, he was just as silent.

 

Thomas dropped his hands; his face was just as distressed as before.  
He sniffed, eyes closed. His cheeks were wet.

“… Sarah.” Amos said, his voice bleak.

Thomas sniffed again, wiping his eyes. The wool of his borrowed gloves scratched against the raw, sensitive lids.

 

“Sorry?” Thomas choked out, when Amos did not illuminate.

“… Her name was Sarah.” Amos said.

Thomas looked at him, and was surprised to find the man so horribly grim… like he was the one dead and cold.

“Who are you talking about?” Thomas asked, having to sniff again.

“My omega.” Amos said.

Thomas said nothing, shocked that Amos was willing to speak about his lost omega mate when all signs had pointed to the fact that her demise had started his spiral.

He’d never mentioned her before. Thomas doubted he ever would again.

“… She was pregnant.” Amos said, “And… when they caught me and tortured me they tortured her too. They hung her upside down…”

Amos swallowed. “They cut her stomach.”

“Oh Jesus,” Thomas whispered, looking away. His stomach rolled with nausea. He had to take a moment to settle himself.

“The day I put her in the ground is the day I lost my mind.” Amos said. His tone was so bleak, his eyes so dead, that Thomas knew it was the truth.

Snow began to fall.

It happened on and off most days, but deep in the hills the snow had a strange muting effect. It was like there was no sound in the world anymore.

“I am so sorry Amos.” Thomas whispered.

Amos shrugged. It was an odd reaction to have to an apology.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re sorry or not.” Amos mumbled. “It won’t bring her back. It won’t find Robert. But I can tell you this, Thomas… Robert’s not dead. Y’know how I know?” He glanced at Thomas. Thomas winced with guilt as he saw that the rims of Amos’ honey eyes were red with unshed tears.

“How?” Thomas asked.

“Because you’re still sane.” Amos said. Thomas didn’t know how true that was but he supposed it was as good a truth as any. It wasn’t like either of them really knew where Robert was.

“…He’ll come back.” Amos said. “I know he’ll come back. Cause if it were me away from Sarah, lost out there in the woods, I’d fuckin’ hike all the way to the coast and swim back home.”

Thomas nodded. It made him feel warm and safe, to imagine that Rob was still alive and out there fighting for him. The baby danced in his stomach, delighted by the idea that his father was alive. Thomas rubbed his bump carefully.

~*~

It had been with wildest joy that the Rosier brothers had set eyes on France again.

 _“Mother, I am home!”_ Jacque had cried out, waving his newscap in delight. Galen had been gleeful, throwing his hands out wide and running at a full gallop down the sloping hills of Thoiry. Even in the middle of winter, France was beautiful. Each pastoral field was harvested for the colder months, leaving nothing but a pure blanket of white which made for easy sledding. Laurent and Galen used a rotten log that had fallen from an old cyprus, sliding down the hill at a breakneck speed and screaming all the while as Jacque and Rob followed. Beyond their scenic homecoming was the final natural barrier to be crossed… the Jura mountains.

They were beautiful to say the least, not capped like the swiss alps but instead rolling and steep. In the snows of December, they seemed to meld seamlessly into the sky cutting off the rest of the world. The brothers had had to cross with Rob between national borders on foot, but could easily take a train from Thoiry to Oyonnax. From there, the four of them could take a train to Lyon… or rather Rob would take the train by himself. He wouldn’t ask any more of the brothers, not when they’d already given him so much.

Now that they were in France, Rob was starting to finally feel hope again. Thoiry didn’t seem to far away, even if they were walking on foot. Once they were in town, they could get hot beer and maybe catch a night train. Nothing seemed out of reach at the moment.

“You are smiling, brother!” Jacque teased.

“I’m happy!” Rob declared.

“Aha! See?” Laurent clambered off of the rotting log, helping Galen back to his feet, “The Englishman does smile, Galen! I told you!”

Galen waved his older brother off, now skipping through the snow to kick up large clumps that flew through the air. The snow was powdery and soft, crunching sharply underfoot.

“You must forgive them,” Jacque said, “They are childish, no?”

Rob just shrugged with a blissful smile. He didn’t mind if Laurent poked fun at him; while Rob had never been ungracious to his hosts, he knew that he’d been somber and quiet. He felt like the Rosier brothers had brought him back from the dead… and in a way, they had.

A shot rang out across the valley, the sound harsh and echoing when little else stirred.

“Ah-!” Laurent sighed, feeling behind his back for his own trusty rifle. “I could hunt too!”

“No, brother.” Jacque warned. “We are close to town. Let’s eat at a pub today, and catch the night train. If you catch the meal Galen will have to cook. It is too much work, and I am too tired. It is cold!”

“You never stop complaining!” Laurent grumbled,

Another shot rang out. Laurent looked positively wistful.

“Cheer up!” Rob offered, “You can shoot when you’re home-“

But even as Rob tried for optimism another shot rang out across the valley and a horrible piercing pain ricochet through his shoulder. Rob cried out, dropping to his knees immediately, cupping his shoulder with his opposite hand as he gasped in pain. At once, the brothers turned, shocked to find their companion now bleeding heavily beneath his borrowed coat.

“ _Dégage_!” Jacque cursed, dropping down to help Rob up. “You’ve been shot!”

 _“Hospital!”_ Galen said at once, quite frightened, “ _We must get him to a hospital, Jacque!”_

“Fucking hell!” Rob gasped. He’d never felt such pain in all his damn life! He looked over his shoulder, wondering where the hunter was hiding. Had it been a stray bullet, or had they been taken for trespassers?

But the blood suddenly drained out of his face as he saw a man running across the valley, following their trail in the snow.

It was Averill MacNaire.

“Oh SHIT” Rob barked, grabbing Jacque by the collar and throwing him forward so that the group was off and running again, “RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

“What’s going on?!” Laurent demanded. When he looked around to see Averill chasing them, he was obviously shocked.

“It’s him!” Rob shouted, panting as he ran. “It’s the man chasing me! He’s the one trying to kill me! Just run for your lives!”

Laurent did as he was told but also yanked his rifle off his shoulder. There was no way he could load and run at the same time.

“Don’t stop to shoot!” Rob shouted, “Just run! The bastard can smell us for a mile!”

The four of them tore a path across the Thoiry Valley, heading straight for town. The problem was, no matter where they ran they would still have a trail in the snow behind them. Rob’s blood was another dead give away; with each splotch of red Rob left, their path just became all the clearer.

Laurent seemed to recognize this. He tore left, suddenly making for a stream that cut a wide path through Thoiry and on to the South.

“What are you doing?!” Rob demanded.

“Just follow me!” Laurent commanded.

Suddenly the four of them were following the younger Rosier brother, with Laurent chasing downwind and heading for what looked like an abandoned edge of town. Rob was starting to get a stitch in his chest, unable to keep running for much longer with a bullet wound. But every time Robert thought about stopping, even if only for a second, he imagined Thomas pregnant and waiting for him in England.

He could breath later. Right now he had to put as much ground between himself and Averill as possible.

Laurent’s plan had them running through an abandoned junkyard, which seemed to be rotting into the face of Thoiry without much use. As they jumped the low fence surrounding heaps of rotting wood, Laurent tore right and the pack followed. They were heading for what looked like a massive rubbish pile full of tin, which Rob did not understand at all. What was Laurent playing at?

“See him try to smell us through this trash pile.” Laurent hissed. Rob doubted it would help very much, although the junk yard did make for good cover.

A yard dog, chained in the corner, was howling and yipping, desperately clawing at the air as he tried to attack the intruders. Rob prayed to god the chain would hold, or they’d have two problems instead of one. Rob poked his head out from behind the barrel, but saw no one. Where had Averill gone?

“…Jesus…” Rob whispered, “I don’t see him. But he had to have seen us enter here. Where is he?”

Laurent pressed an oily finger to his lips, commanding silence. He was the hunter of the group; he knew best.

Rob kept looking behind piles, his steps as quiet as possible. The only noise now was the sound of the yard dog howling with anger. The dog was a German Shepherd; there was foam dripping from his fangs.

Galen was terrified. He hid behind Laurent, clinging to his brother’s back. God, and he didn’t even know the half of it either. Galen was an omega. If they were attacked, Galen could be in grave danger. Averill was just as dangerous as-

A sudden golden blur at the corner of Rob’s eye was the only warning Rob got before he was suddenly leapt upon!

Averill MacNaire roared, leaping upon Rob from atop a junk pile where he seemed to have climbed and waited like a perching jaguar. Rob stood no chance, and was flattened by the man at once. He fought tooth and nail, desperate to try and claw his way out as Averill took out a knife and began to try and cut Rob’s neck. The man was manic, his eyes dark and gleaming; his teeth were bared like fangs.

“Shoot him!” Jacque was screaming. “Shoot him brother!”

But they were so close, the pair of them only a knife away, if Laurent missed by even an inch it could mean death-!

A shot rang out, and hit Averill in the shoulder. He roared, falling to his side!

Rob rolled free, gasping for air as he staggered to his feet.

“Go, go, go!” Rob choked, grabbing Jacque and Galen as he passed them. There was no time to stop and wait, no time to reload a shot-!

The four of them were back off running again, with Rob dizzy from the near death experience and Laurent slinging a rifle through the air. Rob could hear Averill roaring behind them, foaming at the mouth from the miss!

“KINSEY!” Averill bellowed, “You BASTARD!”

But Rob was not to be outdone. As they passed by the furious guard dog, tethered to his post, Rob yanked the rifle from Laurent’s hands and slammed the butt against the wooden post keeping the dog tethered.

It broke, with the dog suddenly free even though the chain was still attached to the broken limb!

At once, the dog was howling and yipping, darting across the yard towards Averill who was still running after them. Rob looked over his shoulder, nearly tripping in a pothole as he watched man and beast collide.

The dog was furious and fast, tearing at flesh as he brought Averill to his knees. It would not be enough but it would at least buy them time!

“Aha!” Jacque rejoiced, “Clever man!”

They fled the junkyard through its main entrance, finding themselves in the back corner of Thoiry where only tiny cobblestone streets led the way. Instead of staying on the strait and narrow to seek shelter somewhere, Laurent took them left again and suddenly they were running along the edge of town.

“Christ, not this again!” Rob howled. “We don’t have time!”

“Just trust me!” Laurent shouted.

 _Second times the charm!_ Rob thought bitterly.

But it seemed the Laurent actually did have an honest to god plan this time, with the brothers now tearing a path along a train track that suddenly appeared in the snow. They were running back towards town, where the train station sat on the side. A train was embarking, its smokestack screaming as it began to puff hot columns of air high into the frigid sky.

“Hurry!” Laurent shouted.

The four of them reached the caboose as the train started to pick up speed.

Laurent was the first to reach the back rails of the freight car, and at once threw out a hand to catch a hold. With his other hand, he grabbed Galen and lifted him straight up so that Galen could clamber onto the safety of the between ways. Now it was just Jacque and Rob, running for their lives.

“KINSEY!!”

Rob looked over his shoulder; Averill was back on their path, his left arm torn and bloodied. Averill was furious, sweat dripping from his face and neck as he dug in hard to the earth beneath him! Rob knew in an instant that Averill would overtake him. The train was his only shot at escape!

Jacque managed to catch hold of Laurent’s hand. He all but clawed his way up the rails, desperate to get on board and out of the way so that Rob could get a hold.

“Robert!” Galen was screaming. “Run faster! Faster!!”

But Rob was just too slow. He kept running as fast as he possibly could, chest aching as he threw out his hand to try and grab at Laurent. Jacque threw out his own hand, the two brothers now groping wildly at the air-!

Rob felt the tips of Averill’s fingers ghost at the back of his sweating neck-!

But in their wild chase, neither man had noticed the condition of the tracks on which they were running. A stray rail log suddenly proved a shocking obstacle that Rob narrowly avoided. He jumped-!!

Laurent and Jacque both grabbed him out of the air, even as Averill tripped over the log and crashed to earth. Rob heard the man roaring in fury and disbelief as Rob was pulled aboard the train.

He crashed to the metal catwalk, panting with the world spinning before him. They were hidden from workers, on the cramped byway that offered passage into the luggage cart or dining cabin.

Rob’s vision blacked out momentarily. He felt like he was going into cardiac arrest.

But the wild ache in his chest slowly began to fade as Rob regained his breath. He was now dripping in sweat and blood but was mercifully alive. His eyes flickered up to the Rosier brothers, each of whom were shocked. Galen looked close to tears.

“We’re safe, brother!” Jacque urged. He pressed his hands against Rob’s wound. “We did it! We’re on our way to Oyonnax! You’re almost home!”

Rob tried to be hopeful.  
Tried to say something.

But he was too exhausted, too in pain… too frightened.  
He fainted on the grimy cat walk.

~*~

It was through Amos’ many contacts that Thomas learned Daphne’s birthday was on December 12th, and so as the day dawned bright and clear Thomas had Herr Koch make a cake for the occasion. There was no point in celebrating a birthday for the infants sake, because she would hardly remember it, but the Furnace was in a celebrational mood and Daphne had come to be looked upon as the trademark baby of their posse.

Instead of putting Daphne in a dress for her birthday, Thomas had elected to instead let her go sans clothes save for her diaper and rubber pants. She looked at them all, utterly confused, as a flock of recovering omegas and tattooed alphas sat a miniature strawberry cake before her topped with one tiny candle. The group would share another cake, allowing Daphne to enjoy her birthday without spoiling the group festivities.

They began to sing, with Thomas and Amos at Daphne’s back to help her sit up straight in her high chair.

“Happy birthday to you-!”

“You colicky bastard-“ Amos shot in.

“Happy birthday to you!”

“You never stop crying-“

“Happy Birthday dear Daphne-“

Thomas smacked Amos hard in the stomach to keep him from cutting in again, so that the song rounded off with a triumphant and clean, “Happy birthday to you!!”

Thomas blew out Daphne’s candle for her.

Every applauded, cheering Daphne on. Delighted by the mayhem, Daphne reached forward and grabbed at the icing of her miniature cake. Her blue eyes flew open in awe at the feeling of the icing between her pudgy pink fingers. She lifted her hands to her mouth, licking experimentally.

She paused, gobsmacked at the taste. Everyone laughed at her expression.

Daphne began to tear into her cake with gusto, picking it apart to suck on her fingers. It was as if she’d found a holy grail, and couldn’t get enough.

“Happy birthday, sweet pea!” Thomas praised, stroking her blonde curls, “And many many more!”

“Isn’t she just darling?” Nurse Stewart praised. Daphne was the only baby left in the nursery now. In order to keep her from feeling isolated, Daphne often spent most of her hours outside the confines of her crib. She could walk, albeit doggedly, and liked to hassle from one man to the next as she strengthened her legs.

Daphne kicked her legs beneath her high chair, the sugar making her excited.

“Here, Amos!” Belphrey offered Amos a slice of strawberry cake from their communal pile. Amos took it, looking slightly unsure about how to enjoy himself. “Ah, relax mate. It’s a slice of cake, you’re allowed to have fun!”

Amos handed Thomas his slice of cake. “Not a fan.” He explained.  
Thomas didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; he forked a pile of cake, groaning blissfully at the creamy frosting.

The baby was excited too. He began to kick, twisting as if hoping to punch his way up through Thomas’ lungs and get his own slice.

“Good lord!” Thomas groaned through a mouth full of cake, rubbing his stomach carefully. “Stop punching me!”

The group laughed; it was common knowledge that Thomas’ baby was active at impromptu moments.

“It wants the cake!” An omega patient teased.

“And he’ll get it if he just lets me swallow it!” Thomas grumbled, eating another mouthful. Amos touched the corner of his mouth with a finger, hinting that Thomas had smudged the icing. Thomas quickly cleaned up his face, not wanting to cause a scene.

Daphne let out a babbling shriek. She was positively covered with cake now, having somehow painted herself with frosting and bread. She seemed to be making art instead of eating now.

“Oh good lord.” Thomas grumbled, handing Amos back his half-finished slice of cake. He slid out Daphne’s tray, setting it aside to hoist her out of her high chair so that he could bench her on the rim of a medical sink. They were hosting her birthday party in the hospital ward, so that several omegas who were bed bound could enjoy the festivities and not strain themselves. Thomas turned on the tap, getting the water warm before carefully soaking a flannel. Daphne just kept babbling.

“Ma!” She gummed around a balled up fist. “A ba ba ba ba!”

“Yeah well that’s what you get.” Thomas said, hoisting Daphne up so that she could stand in the basin of the metal sink. He began to wash her methodically, cake and water running in rivers over the outside of her rubber diaper cover.

Amos tried a piece of the cake, relaxing against the basin as he sucked on the fork.

“God it’s sweet.” Amos grumbled, handing the plate off to a passing beta nurse who was going around with a tray. “How can you people stand it?”

“It’s a taste preference.” Thomas said. He wiped underneath Daphne’s armpits; how had cake gotten behind her ears?

“Well I prefer natural sweets like fruit.” Amos said. He watched Thomas get cake out from between each of Daphne’s fingers. She was screeching, indignant to have her fun spoiled.

“Pish!” Thomas tutted, “Hush now- silly girl-“

Daphne just blew a raspberry.

“…I’ve found a family that will take her.” Amos said. Thomas looked about, noting that Amos seemed distant and somber. He’d been changed since the conversation between them in the hills. It was like the mentioning of Sarah, no matter how brief, had opened up a box full of demons. “They’re gonna be here tomorrow morning, real early. They’re coming in from Ireland. She’ll be safe with them.”

“Good.” Thomas said, for as sad as he would be to see Daphne go he was glad that Amos had found her a safe, stable home. “Thank you.”

Amos said nothing, eyes downcast. The party just continued on around them, with someone dragging out a gramophone to play a jazz record. Omegas were dancing with alpha guards now, having fun for the first time in ages.

_“-And when I get low, ooh! I get high!”_

“Amos, about the other day-“

_“All the bad luck in this town is ‘round me. Nobody knows how trouble goes around and around me-!”_

“Don’t.” Amos cut him off. He seemed unable to speak on the subject. Daphne babbled over them both, now trying to mouth the tap where hot water continued to gush out.

“Oh I don’t think so-!” Thomas plucked her away from the sink. He toweled her off as best he could with a hand flannel. She was not pleased, clinging to his neck.

“Pease-!” She said, which was her only solid word and a clear tip of the hat to please.

“No.” Thomas shook his head. “No that tap is nasty.”

Amos gave Thomas a tiny smile. Daphne squawked, indignant.

Thomas paused, catching Amos’ eyes again. He was somber and quiet once more.

“Amos-“ Thomas reached out, wanting to comfort him as best he could, but Amos slipped through his fingers. He walked away through the crowd, not joining in with the mayhem. Instead, he vanished through the hospital door, no doubt heading back to ‘work’, whatever that might mean today.

Thomas suddenly realized that Amos never had any fun. That the only time Amos seemed in any way joyful was when he was getting revenge on the Brigade. Was that what his life had devolved to in the absence of his mate? Constant bloodshed to appease the growing chasm inside? Anger to hide from sorrow? Hate to hide from anguish?

Thomas thought of Robert, somewhere in the European woods fighting to get back to England. He wondered what would happen to his own baby if Robert never came back.

The thought made him sick to his stomach.  
He dared not dwell on it any longer.

 

~*~

But December 12th was not a happy day for others.

No jazz was to be found echoing off the private chambers of Alden MacNaire. Barricaded in Dover Castle with his two remaining mates, Alden had gone into seclusion speaking only to his son Averill over the phone as he drank whiskey to console himself. Somewhere out there, his daughter had turned one without him.

Alden could not get the voice of that Barrow bitch out of his head. No matter how much he drank, it was still there.

_“He said that all I was, was a fuckable hole. To be filled with seed again and again…. I’ve never been able to get his voice out of my head, saying that.”_

Even now, Alden could remember the feel of Barrow’s cunt around his fingers. He’d been dry without slick, but the heat and the feeling had been incredible. Male omegas were something else… clearly meant to be a distraction from honest female omegas. They were little snakes in the grass, that was what Alden thought now.

For the rest of his life, he’d never look at a male omega the same way again. Barrow had effectively spoiled the lot for him.

The only thing that kept him sane now was the fact that his son Averill was in Europe, hunting Kinsey down… and apparently had good news.

At his feet, crying softly, was his first omega Fran. Ambrose had been her baby, even as an adult. Where Averill had been Alden’s pride and joy, Fran had doted constantly on Ambrose. It had made the boy weak in Alden’s opinion, but he was proud that in death Ambrose had lived up to the expectation of MacNaire men. He’d shown loyalty to his clan and country…. that was more than most men his age could say.

Somewhere, deep inside of Alden, his heart was bleating with pain at the loss of his youngest son. Alden squashed that pain with whiskey.

On the phone with Averill, Alden wondered how to best tell his oldest the news? Averill was his greatest asset in that moment, he couldn’t allow the boy to be flummoxed with the news of his younger brother’s death… but perhaps he was man enough to take the pain and keep going. It would be a test to see if he was worthy of the title of alpha.

Averill was Alden’s successor to the Brigade. There could be no room for emotion between them.

_“Dad.”_

Averill sounded twenty years older than his actual age, exhausted by his manhunt.

“Son..” Alden took a slow sip of whiskey.

_“I got a shot in him, but the bastard slipped away. A train, headed to Oyonnax.”_

Alden let out a sigh of relief. One bullet down, a million to go.

“That’s alright son.” Alden coughed, taking another sip of whiskey, “You’re doin’ me an’ yer mum proud. Where are you now?”

_“Heading over the Jura mountains for Oyonnax. I have a feeling that they’re going to try and take another train somewhere. They’re weak, tired… hungry…”_

Averill would run Kinsey into the ground. Kinsey was a pathetic excuse for an alpha; Averill was bred for excellence.

“You still got charges left?” Alden asked. Averill had been given several to blow up the house in Vienna, but he might still have more.

_“Yes sir. Three.”_

“Here’s what I want you to do, boy.” Alden growled, “I want you to find them… and if they’re on a train, I want you take those three charges, and blow that train in two.”

 _“Yes sir.”_ Averill accepted his order without question.

“I want you… to take Kinsey… and cut him open.” Alden’s voice was a blister in his throat, full of emotion and hatred. “I want you to drag his entrails out one by one. I want you to take his tiny balls, and set them on fire in front of him. I want him to watch his heart still beating. I have no more mercy left in heart for any bastard connected to Thomas Barrow. I am the Supreme Alpha, and I command nothing but the fullest respect. Kinsey is dead to me. D’you understand?”

 _“…Yes sir.”_ Averill said.

“I don’t care how many fucking casualties there are.” Alden added, bitter. “Blow the god damn train up. Take a charge and shove it down Kinsey’s fat mouth. Knock his teeth into the back of his skull.”

 _“Yes sir.”_ Averill knew what to do. He could be trusted in all things.

 

But in the moment, Fran clutched at his knees, reaching for the phone.

Alden would not let her have it. Averill could not be distracted on his mission.

“Call me the moment you know Kinsey is dead.” Alden said. “And when the job is done, bring me his heart.”

He was going to eat it right in front of Barrow’s face. For a drink, he might just have the omega’s tears.

Alden hung up the phone, setting it aside. Fran crumpled, weak in her misery and grief. She cried plaintively onto his lap, her black hair undone and spilling all about his thighs.

A knock came at their chamber door. Neither of them made to answer.

“My baby…” Fran sobbed softly. Her tears were wetting his trousers. “My sweet baby…”

Alden stroked her hair, allowing the thick strands to pleat through his fingers.

The knock came again.

“What?!” Alden barked, furious at being intruded upon.

The door opened to reveal an anonymous guard member. Alden had never dealt with him before. In his hands was a thick red folder full of paper. Alden did not care for this man, nor for his papers. His children were torn from his breast and his mate was weeping in his lap. Couldn’t the world just let him be?

“Sir, I’ve news that I think you might want to hear.” The man said.

“Turnbull?” Alden growled, thinking of the bastard that had killed his son. If he ever got a chance, he would rip the man limb from limb. As it stood, he had several of his men on the ground already, seeking the bastard out.

“No sir.” The man said, “It’s Barrow.”

Alden narrowed his eyes, gesturing silently for the man to continue. Whatever it was, it better be good news.

“I’m an intelligence specialist.” the man explained, pointing to his red folder. “I was originally assigned underneath Chief Thane-“

“Don’t say that traitor’s name!” Alden spat. He was still furious at the betrayal!

The man was reproachful, starting again after a second. “I was assigned to screen phone calls for evidence of misgivings a long time ago. It’s a rather open net organization sir. You have to be in the right place at the right time to catch something, but I tend to look for patterns in my work… such as phone calls placed to rare areas. Vienna only has a few phones as of this moment sir, and all of them are screened underneath four different secretaries for phone companies. I’ve been interrogating them sir, and tonight I found a lead.”

“And?” Alden drawled, raising a sandy eyebrow.

“I interrogated a beta woman who had a very interesting transcript an unknown caller and Dr. Kinsey in September. The caller was Barrow-“ the man paused, opening up his folder to rifle through his papers. “He was calling on a phone line that was unregistered. But that’s not the interesting part. This is Dr. Kinsey speaking to Barrow at the very beginning of the conversation. He says: _‘Thomas I’ve been trying to call you for weeks, my man said the apartment caught on fire, and burned down. I couldn’t find a way to get into touch with Moira Furnace. It’s not a registered number_.” The man paused, glancing back up. “Kinsey mentions it later again… he says ‘ _Moira Furnace is strong_ ’.”

Alden stared, at first unsure what to make of this.

So it seemed Kinsey had been trying to get into contact with a furnace to find Barrow, but why? Was the furnace where Barrow was hiding, and if so…

Alden slowly stood up, Fran slipping off of his lap to cower by the legs of his chair.

“It is my belief, sir, that Moira Furnace is either the sanctuary that Barrow has raised against us, or is a link to the sanctuary.” The man continued on. “I’ve done a bit of digging for you. There is, in fact, a Moira Furnace. It’s been abandoned for years, but was recently purchased underneath an anonymous buyer back in July. It’s since undergone renovations but still isn’t open for business. It probably never will be again.”

Alden’s jaw was growing tight with fury.

Bought in July underneath an anonymous name, eh? Why did that sound bloomin’ suspicious? Barrow had claimed under interrogation not to have bought anything for a sanctuary, but Alden already knew the cunt was a liar. It seemed he was also crafty too!

“Maybe it’s not the sanctuary sir, but Kinsey mentioned it twice, and seemed to insist that Barrow was calling him from there. That Barrow is using an unregistered telephone from there. That it’s some kind of stronghold.”

From his chair, Fran looked up hopeful. She’d stopped crying for the moment, though her face was broken with tear tracks. She looked half dead herself.

“I know we’re low in numbers sir,” the man carried on, “But if this place is the sanctuary then we ought to do something now before the government shuts us down.”

Alden threw up a hand to stop the man. No one would be shutting the Brigade down… not even the fucking king.

He thought, and he thought quickly.

Until Barrow was corralled, Alden’s lineage was under threat. Barrow had to be stopped immediately, and if this place was the sanctuary then Alden would not hesitate even for a second to bring it down. His little Poppy might even be inside. If he played his cards right, he could bring Barrow under control, gain another omega, stop the destruction of the Brigade, and save his daughter all in one swing.

Alden was man enough for the job.

“…Get all my men.” He ordered, tone bloodless and cold. “Every last one of them. Tell them that we leave tonight, right this minute, for Moira. That we’re going to hold a siege at dawn, and bring that son of a bitch to the ground. That it’ll be our show of force to prove to England once again how valuable we are by destroying our common enemy.”

The man nodded.

“Do it now, soldier.” Alden ordered. “And do it with haste.”

“Yes sir.” The man said, leaving at once. He shut the door on his way out, bringing Fran and Alden solitude again.

Alden did not hesitate, striding over to his bureau to open up the top shelf. Here, he kept many of his prized weapons for quick access while he slept, and pulled out a hand gun to load it with bullets. He shrugged on a gun strap, buckling it about his chest to stuff his pistol in its holster.

Fran was still slumped by his chair. She was numb to the turning of the tides, too weak as an omega to be able to respond quickly.

Alden glanced in his standing mirror at Fran. He could remember when she’d been young and whole. She’d been his first love, the hardest omega to break, like a wild stallion from Fife. He’d had to take her by force, fucking her in his father’s barn. He’d bit her scent gland with pride, pumping her full of his seed and claiming her as his own before any other man could have the pleasure. She’d hated him at first… as an omega she was fickle and foolish… but in the end she’d given birth to Averill and fallen in love with him.

She would teach Barrow how to behave, he was certain.

“…I’ll be back, Fran.” He murmured, shrugging on his faded leather vest to hide the straps of his gun holster.

Fran said nothing, still slumped by his chair.

Alden walked over to her, taking to one knee to carefully rub her back. Fran bristled at his touch; it was the first time she’d been unreceptive in over twenty years. Alden paused, noting that she was cold and clammy… if only Cal were still alive, he could aid in her in her shock.

“We’ll win this, Fran.” He whispered, “You’ll see-“

“My baby is dead.” She choked out, her voice flat and broken. Her words stung Alden to the core. “There is nothing to win Alden. We have already lost.”

She broke down again, her weak constitution falling short as she slumped all the way to the floor to press her ashen face into the dirty stone.

“Oh god-!” She howled, “Not my baby- no!!”

Alden picked her up as best he could, all but hauling her into his lap. Fran fell against his arms, sobbing pathetically. He scented her as best he could, rocking her like a child.

“I will kill them, Fran.” He whispered savagely in her ear. “I will kill them all. I swear to you— every last man woman and child associated with those bastards-“

But Fran couldn’t be comforted.

Alden had nothing he could offer his omega… nothing besides his rage. He held Fran tight to his breast, till her face was crushed against the holster of his pistol.

“… I’ll kill them all.” He whispered. He doubted she was even hearing his words.

 

“I’ll kill them all, Fran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to reach out to me.  
> The next chapter is going to be explosive finale to the Furnace subplot.  
> Quite literally.


	28. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation leads to devastating losses for both Rob and Thomas.  
> And yet, even in the blackened skies of night, a silver horizon gleams.  
> Dawn is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bet you weren't expecting this to come so early. You're probably wondering why I wrote this so quickly.  
> Well, the truth of the matter is, I didn't get into grad school. I guess I just binged and write to not think. 
> 
> I'm trying not to think about it even now. I'm trying to be positive. Help me out with that. 
> 
> Anyways, trigger warnings for this chapter include **minor character death, extreme violence, attempted strangulation, and... yeah I think that's it.**

_Litigo 29:23: “And when the sun rose over the earth, the Supreme Alpha rained on the city fire and brimstone from out of heaven. He overthrew those that sinned, in His anger and His wrath. And there was not a man without tears, for the Supreme Alpha was without mercy.”_

 

Getting up early was something Thomas hadn’t done since he’d been a servant. It was an odd habit to get back into for a day; he could remember a time when he’d slept barely four hours between extreme work loads. As he’d slackened in his boots, Thomas had begun to sleep up to eight (when the baby let him), and therefore groaned audibly when his alarm clock buzzed at four a.m. He was to wake up early for Daphne’s departure, in order to get her ready to go and meet her adopted parents on the backroads of Moira. It would allow Daphne to slip away unseen, and would give her parents more time to head back to Ireland. They had apparently taken a boat and two trains just to get to Moira; they were delighted and ready to be a family.

The baby was slightly confused at Thomas’ early rise. Generally Thomas woke up to a resounding number of kicks against his swollen bladder. Today, however, the baby was still asleep as Thomas rose and dressed. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, all the while grateful for the quiet morning. The night shift was almost over, with guards slightly sleepy at their posts. They would change over at five in the morning, with a new round of men taking over so that the others could get some sleep. The smell of coffee on a lone bunsen burner filtered through the main hall; Thomas could smell it even on the second floor as he walked around the open aired railing. The hospital was dead quiet, and Thomas did not make to wake the patients sound asleep in their cots. He caught eyes with one nurse packing up washable nappy flats. She’d packed a bag for Daphne, which was quite kind of her as Thomas had been planning to do it himself. Daphne was sound asleep in her crib, on her stomach with her fist shoved in her mouth. She’d drooled in her sleep, and her blonde hair was plastered upon her head in a crown of sweat.

Thomas worked in silence, taking over for the nurse so that she might return to her scheduled duties. Thomas pulled out a whole set of cast off clothes: a jumper, booties, jacket, hat, and knitted shrug that would wrap Daphne up like a little sausage bun. She would likewise need a change of nappy. Thomas shut the door to the nursery, well aware that Daphne would cry as soon as she woke up.

And of course, when Thomas reached into her crib to gently rouse her from sleep, Daphne started howling like he’d attacked her with a brick. She had a hard time waking up even on normal mornings. Thomas assumed this had something to do with being a year old and unable to sleep on a constant schedule. He rocked her against his chest, humming in her ear until her yowls quieted down into soft snivels.

“Shh..” Thomas rocked her back and forth, petting her beautiful hair. “Shh…”

Daphne almost went back to sleep. Thomas didn’t fuss her, letting her lay upon a changing table as he quickly changed her nappy. He was getting to be quite a pro at this. Daphne was offering him excellent practice for diapering his own bairn.

Daphne was in a bleary mood, blinking slowly and sucking on her thumb as Thomas finished changing her nappy and pulled off her night dress. Simple snaps and gentle ties were easy for dressing a child, but he still had to lift her up in order to get the dress over her head. She could stand, more or less, but leaned her head pathetically upon his shoulder as Thomas tied the back of her jumper and shrugged on her coat. He wanted to brush her hair, it would make for the right impression, but Daphne was tender headed and already in a foul mood. Deciding to pick his battles, Thomas let her lay back down on the changing table and slid her booties on her feet. She had tiny toes, like little pink pearls against the arch of her foot. Daphne closed her eyes after a while, warming up in her layers. Her tattoo was hidden beneath her clothes. Thomas noted that she’d fallen back asleep again and smiled.

“…You will be happy.” He whispered, not even a breath upon the wind. “And you will never have to fear him again.”

Daphne said nothing, dead asleep.

Thomas shouldered her pack as best he could, making sure the strap wasn’t digging into his shoulder before pulling Daphne up and laying her against his chest. She rested her head upon his shoulder, snoozing lightly, and Thomas threw her knitted shrug over her shoulders so that she would not feel the biting cold of Moira’s snow.

Thomas left the nursery, using one hand to open and shut the door.

 

Amos was downstairs with his men, which wasn’t that much of a surprise. Amos seemed to have a worse sleep schedule than Daphne; he drank simple coffee from a soldier’s tin cup and gave Thomas a small smile when they met in the foyer.

“Ready?” Amos asked.

“Ready.”

Amos threw back the rest of his coffee, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shrugged on a black leather jacket, and lead the way outside.

Snow was now falling constantly, and it resulted in the village of Moira being painted like a Christmas card. Icicles dripped from the eves of the furnace, and deep grooves in the white showed where a horse and cart might have pushed through. It was on this track that Thomas and Amos made their way through the forests, heading south for their rendezvous point about a mile in. Daphne was fast asleep on Thomas’ shoulder; Thomas kept a hand cupped to the back of her head so that her knitted shawl did not fall off. She was much too small to brave the cold on her own. He heard her yawn in his ear, shifting a bit as the sun slowly began to rise in the East. Birds had all flown south, leaving the forest quiet and bare, but every so often you’d see tracks in the snow… stories of life that still existed. A winter hare seemed to have come along this way. The paws of a fox following it told of a hunter stalking its prey.

It was with great relief that the sight of a horse and buggy pulled into view. The clydesdale was covered in a deep red flannel blanket, his shaggy mane like frosting down his dappled side. The wagonette was piled with hale bales and blankets, but privy to only two: an alpha and her mate.

They were in tears already, and Thomas knew straight away that Amos had made a good choice in screening their candidates. The omega was about Thomas’ age, wistful and graying though her hair was silvery blonde. She wore heavy skirts, trying to keep out the cold, and was the first to clamber off the wagonette as she met Thomas halfway. Her mate was a powerful alpha woman with black ringlets and a sharp red mouth. She seemed the kind of woman who could take a bullet and still keep coming at you… a hard worker and a good protector. She too was wearing many layers: a doe skin jacket lined with rabbit fur kept the cold out. She shook Amos’ hand, beaming nervously.

“Are we ready?” Thomas asked hopefully. The omega was about to start crying, hands feeble as she reached out to take Daphne from Thomas’ arms.

“My god.” her alpha choked, eyes glistening, “Look at her.”  
Their accents were thick brogues; it was obvious the pair of them were Irish.

“Oh… Come to me-“ Thomas handed Daphne over, and was warmed at the site of the omega crushing her face into Daphne’s hair. She kissed Daphne rapidly, already forming a bond as she held her new daughter close. “Come to your mummy.”

Daphne was still fast asleep, but her little hands burrowed in the omega’s hair and coat, latching on tight to keep warm.

“Oh I love you so-“ The omega closed her eyes, and two thick tears fell down her cheeks. She was smiling, blissful, and despite her agony seemed overjoyed. “My sweet bairn.” She kissed Daphne again and again, rocking her to and fro.

“We’ve nursed her through a bit of colic,” Thomas said, handing Daphne’s traveling bag over to the alpha who accepted it at once. “Besides that, she’s in good health.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” The alpha asked, shouldering the bag, “About her birth parents or… anything?”

“The less you know, the better.” Thomas said. “She’s got a tattoo on her leg; her birth father put it there to mark her as an omega. You’ll have to make up some sort of story; say she was kidnapped or something. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

The alpha was stricken at the thought of her baby being marked. “What kind of a sick man would do that?” She demanded.

“Like I said.” Thomas repeated, “The less you know, the better. I’ve been calling her Daphne after her dead mother, but… maybe it would be better if she just had a completely new slate.”

“We’ll have to think on it.” The alpha looked to her mate, still rocking their new baby back and forth. She was blissful.

The alpha reached out, cupping Daphne’s head with her hand, and kissed her brow ever so softly. Thomas knew in that moment that Amos had made a wonderful decision.

These two would be good parents, solid and steady. Ireland was green and sweet, rolling hills and deep streams. Daphne would be able to grow up connected to the land, and never have to fear her father again.

“Thank you.” The alpha shook Thomas’ hand, as well as Amos’, “Thank you so much. You’ve given us the gift of a lifetime. We can’t have children and we thought we’d never be parents. But you’ve given us a second chance.” The alpha’s voice grew strained and nearly broke.

“It was nothing.” Thomas said at once, eager for there to be no more tears.

“You’re a true hero, Thomas Barrow.” The alpha said, looking on him with such reverence that Thomas felt slightly embarrassed, “A solid fuckin’ lad.”

“You’d best get out of town.” Amos said. “You’ve got a long way to go, and it’s getting colder.”

“It’ll be alright.” The alpha grinned, “We’re going to catch a train in Nottingham for Liverpool. We’ll be out of the country by dusk.”

“Good.” Thomas said. The sooner they were gone, the better. “Get her home, and have a wonderful life.”

The omega beamed, her teeth pearly white, “We will. We truly will.”

And they were gone, turning back to their borrowed buggy to load up and head out. Amos and Thomas watched them go, as the alpha climbed up to grab the reins while her omega bundled down in the wagonette surrounded by hay and blankets. The alpha snapped the reigns and they were gone, turned the cart around to head back the way they’d come. As Thomas watched the back of the wagonette slip out of site, the omega waved at him one last time in farewell. Thomas waved back.

When the wagonette finally disappeared around the bend, Amos turned to head back home. Thomas followed him, pulling the lapels of his jacket tight to try and keep out the cold.

“So that’s her done and dusted.” Amos spoke up. As if on cue, the baby woke and began to kick repeatedly at Thomas’ bladder. Thomas groaned cupping his stomach.

“And he’s up.” Thomas grumbled. “Couldn’t he have waited till I was back home? Lord I have to pee-“

“Oh go on then.” Amos gestured to the woods. “Whose going to see you?”

“You!” Thomas said, affronted. To make his point, Amos turned so that his back was to Thomas, and folded his arms over his chest.

Thomas felt horribly embarrassed, but knew that he was either going to wet himself or pee on a bush. Determined to have a bit of privacy, Thomas walked several paces away and hid behind a tree as he relieved himself. Lord, he hadn’t done this since he was ten years old and hunting in the woods with his father.

“I hope you’re happy.” Thomas grumbled to his swollen stomach. The baby rolled, clearly smug at his ability to control Thomas’ bladder functions.

When Thomas was finished, he hurriedly kicked snow over his waste and made sure his dress laid flat before heading back over to Amos.

He’d struck up a cigarette in Thomas’ absence, and was finishing it off. He chucked it, and a tiny hiss hit the air as the cigarette was embedded in the snow.

They continued on their way, now walking at a more leisurely pace. The sun was starting to come up now, staining the snow a light pink. Thomas could hear the far off sounds of farmers going to work: the calls for their mules, and the shouts of their sons.

“I’ve gotten into contact with Sister Leonié of the Convent of Saint Rita.” Amos said, “She’s going to have her nuns search through France for Rob, using mission trips as an excuse. We’ll find him Thomas.”

“Thank you Amos.” Thomas didn’t dare have hope, but it warmed him to know that Amos wasn’t just sitting on his hands. The not knowing was the worst part. The constant wondering of where Robert was and if he was okay.

“She wanted me to tell you not to give up hope.” Amos said, “That God was with you.”

“Do you fall in for that?” Thomas asked; Amos voice left little to the imagination on the subject.

“No.” Amos grumbled, “Hard to believe in God after the things I’ve seen and done.”

“I understand.” Thomas doubted he would believe in God either if Rob was taken from him. He reached out in the cold, and linked arms with Amos so that they were walking side by side. It was pleasant to take a stroll, even if the weather was horribly cold. Amos was clearly comforted by his presence.

The baby rolled again. Thomas winced at the sensation, cupping his stomach with his other hand. “I swear this baby is going to be a ballerina or a marathon runner.”

“Ah, let the little tyke have his fun.” Amos teased.

“Gladly! Just not on my bladder!”

 

They made it back to Moira Furnace with good time. It was only about five thirty in the morning, so Thomas decided he would go back to bed. Amos, of course, was always up. There was no point in trying to kip in when his biology demanded he be moving around the clock. As they parted ways in the foyer, Amos seemed to be in better spirits. Thomas was glad that Amos was starting to come round the bend. He doubted the man would ever truly heal from Sarah’s death, but at least he was talking. At least he was eating and taking care of himself.

As Thomas made it back up to his office, he felt utterly exhausted. He laid down upon his cot, his muscles warmed from the walk and yet drained at the same time. His breathes came slow and deep. His eyes drifted closed.

Even the baby kicking didn’t stop him from going back to sleep.

~*~

Over 1,000 kilometers away, Rob drifted in and out of consciousness.

The train to Oyonnax was unremarkable, save for the event that Galen attempted to do minor surgery. The pain of Galen digging his fingers in Rob’s bullet wound was mind blowing. He’d screamed himself hoarse before fainting, sweating all over even in the frigid cold. When he came to, the brothers were carrying him to another train, with Galen keeping watch as Laurent and Jacque frog marched him behind a loading dock. He could smell coal fumes and hot steam gushing from the train engine. Was this a stop over? Were they switching rides?

Rob couldn’t fathom much besides the fact that the earth was stumbling beneath his feet. He felt fevered, sluggish, and his eyes kept fluttering open and closed.

“C’mon.” Galen was urging Rob, trying to give him courage, “You’re nearly there!”

 

Like the train to Oyonnax, the four of them had to hide in the loading carriage instead of getting an actual seat. Their group was frightened, hiding in the dark like rats as they darted in between railroad workers to sequester themselves behind crates packed with produce. Rob could hear a nun calling for tithes on the train platform, begging for the sake of the poor. No one paid her much mind.

“Just a bit longer, Rob. You’re close.” Jacque murmured in his ear. Night had passed like a haze; when was the last time they’d eaten? Rob felt weak, his stomach slack and empty.

“A bit of drink to give him hope?” Laurent offered a canteen full of cheap wine. Jacque pushed it away from Rob’s lips.

“No drink.” He urged. “We get him to Lyon, that’s the best we can do.”

Galen was hungry too. He pilfered through what crates he could desperately searching for anything that might offer them sustenance. So much of the goods were canned or jarred, but finally Galen was able to unpack a whole crate full of potatoes.

It was meagre, but it would do.

“Here-!” Galen urged, pushing a potato into both his brother’s hands. “It’s not much but it will hold.”

Jacque and Laurent propped Rob against the open crate. The doors to the train compartment had long since closed, plunging them into dusty gloom save for what light drifted through the slats where wall and door hinge met. Galen used what light he could to cut a potato, using Laurent’s fishing knife so that he could offer Rob pieces of raw potato.

It was like biting through wood, but Rob ate it anyways. With a wound in his shoulder, his left arm was limp and dead at his side. His fingers were tingling, going numb. He needed to gain his strength back for the moment when they ran into Averill again.

Because Rob knew that they were. Averill would stop at nothing until Rob was dead.  
He didn’t care if there were casualties either.

“… You gotta run.” Rob whispered. Jacque caught his eyes, sweat and dirt caking his handsome face in the slim ray of light. “Get off the train. Leave me. I’ll make it-“

“Stupid Englishmen.” Jacque muttered. “Why is it that your country cannot come up with a good idea to save its life. All of England’s good ideas came from France, and that includes the food.”

“I’m eatin’ a raw potato.” Rob tried for humor. Jacque quirked an eyebrow.

“A Frenchman knows how to make a meal out of a potato.” Jacque said, “An Englishman just makes complaints.”

“Jacque if he finds you he’ll kill you.” Rob mumbled. “So go-“

“I do not fear death, Robert.” Jacque said. “Only having to eat English food.”

Rob smiled faintly, letting the half-eaten potato drop into his lap. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. The rock of the train signaled the start of the final leg of their journey.

If he could just make it to Lyon…

But as feverish sleep overtook him, Rob dreamed bizarre dreams:

_He was in his mother’s house, tucked beneath warm covers. But instead of being content to lay there, Rob felt a wild sense of panic upon waking. Somehow, he knew that Thomas was in the house. That Thomas was having the baby!_

_Rob clambered out of bed, wearing his mother’s old nightgown, but did not even think to take time to change. Every second he was not by Thomas’ side was a second against him. He could hear Thomas screaming in pain, desperately trying to push their child into the world._

_“Thomas!” Rob shouted as he scaled the stairs to the third floor—_

_But wait, had his mother’s house ever had a third floor?_

_Well, in the dream it did._

_Rob made it to the top, only to find the room packed with people. There was his mother, father, brother, sister-in-law, niece, teachers, and even a few of his favorite students. Alan was beside himself, delighted for the new life._

_Dick was there, in his hospital whites. Rob pushed through the crowd to see Dick beaming with pride from Thomas’ bedside._

_Thomas laid in bed, sweating profusely but smiling blissfully. He held a squirming bundle in his arms, cooing down to it._

_Rob’s heart seemed to stop in that moment. He doubted that he would ever see a more beautiful sight in all his life, than that of his mate holding his newborn child._

_“Thomas…” Rob choked, stumbling to his mate’s side. He’d never felt such pride-!_

_But all his pride fled like a bird to the wind when he leaned over to see his child’s face._   
_It was a potato._

_Rob was taken aback. What-!?_

_“Rob….” Thomas looked up at him, tearful. He was so beautiful, so serene, that he might have been an angel in that moment, “Isn’t he beautiful?”_

_“It’s… it’s a…” Was he going insane?_

_“Congratulations, Robert.” Dick clapped him warmly on the shoulder. “He’s got your eyes.”_

_Did potatoes have sexes? Or eyes?_

_Rob was utterly baffled at the potato, unsure if he was the only one going insane or if everyone else had taken to the twist._

_“Do you want to hold him?” Thomas asked, hopeful._

_“I- …of course-“ Rob decided it must be the bullet wound that was making him mental. There was no way Thomas could have given birth to a potato. He was just hallucinating. He had a son for god’s sake, he needed to pull himself together!_

_Rob stooped forward and gently scooped the p— his son— up. Even as Rob rocked the… thing… against his chest, it did not turn into an infant._

_Instead, like some terrifying drug cocaine trip, the potato rolled in its swaddling clothes to reveal a very human face; rather, a set of eyes nose, and mouth._

_It had yellow teeth and was clenching a lit cigarette between them. It beamed at Rob, its eyes manic._

_“‘Ello pops!” The potato said with a cheery cockney accent, “Care for a smoke?!”_

“JESUS!!”

Rob gasped awake, sagging with horror against the crate on which he’d been leaning.  
The train was heading steadily onward, the sun was higher in the sky. The compartment was warmer in the noon day heat. Rob was terrified, shaking as he recalled the frightening vision-

“What’s wrong?”

Galen was awake. Laurent was asleep by Galen’s side, his head resting against a sack of rice. Jacque was keeping solid watch from the train door, observing the fields flying past in a sea of brown and white.

“Thomas… had a potato… smoking…” Rob panted with each word, unsure if he was solidly back in reality. Dear god, what in the hell had that dream been about? His shoulder bleated with pain and Rob grimaced, clutching it with his other hand. “Had teeth- it wasn’t even a few minutes old- how… how could it speak?”

Galen thought his insane. Perhaps he was.

“Shh-“ Galen pulled Rob down, and Rob fell without grace into the man’s lap. So close to Galen’s body, Rob could smell his scent… it was something close to a soft flower. Like a breath of heather but lighter.

It didn’t sooth him. It didn’t even come close to Thomas. At most, it just made him feel sleepier.

“Hush now.” Galen comforted him softly, “You were dreaming.”

“Potato.” Rob whimpered. How on earth was he going to take care of a potato. What if something happened-? How would his son ever have a normal life?

“Shh.” Galen just stroked his fingers through Rob’s sweaty hair. “Silly alpha.”  
Rob went to sleep again, and this time mercifully dreamed of nothing.

~*~

 

Thomas, in complete contrast to Rob, dreamed of blissful nothings. He fantasized that a beautiful light was above him, colorful and ringing out like a church bell. He was so perplexed by it that he reached out to touch it… but it was too far away.

The ringing just continued, getting louder.

 

Thomas jerked, a sudden breath coming to him. He blinked, baffled, and saw the telephone upon his desk ringing wildly.

That phone was _never_ supposed to ring. _Ever_.  
It was impossible. It didn’t have a direct number!

Shocked, Thomas bounded from bed only to be rewarded with the sharp pain of stubbing his naked toe on the corner of his desk. He grappled with the telephone, almost hanging it up by accident as he jerked the receiver to his ear. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing in his ears. The baby whirled in his womb, confused at the sudden chaos. Whatever had happened to sweet dreams?

“H-hello?” Thomas stuttered, his heart pounding from the head rush.

 _“They know everything!”_ A voice hissed on the other line. Whoever was talking to him sounded absolutely panicked.

But Thomas was confused. Who knew everything? Who was calling him? How on earth had he gotten this number?

“What?” Thomas demanded, “Who is this? How did you-?”

 _“They know about Moira!”_ The man cut across panicked, _“The Brigade is on its way! Alden knows! He’s coming-! Get everyone out of there-!!”_

Thomas heart stopped for a solid second, his eyes flying wide and his mouth falling slack. He suddenly heard the fumbled panics of the man on the other side of the line. Who was he? Where was he? And where was Alden?!

 _“GOD DAMN YOU ALL!”_ the man screamed. Thomas jumped at the sound of several gunshots ripping over the phone.

The phone line went dead.

For a moment Thomas was simply left there, holding a dead phone in his sweaty hands. Words rushed over him, like a wave pounding onto rocks.

The man’s panic, the sound of gunshots. The knowledge that Alden knew everything, that he knew about Moira, and was coming.

And then, Thomas panicked.

Though he wore nothing than his chemise, Thomas fled his office. He broke through a gaggle of nurses upon the second floor, all of whom let out shocked cries at the sight of Thomas running in his underclothes. His feet stumbled and skittered upon the metal steps, sharp edges biting into his skin. He made it to the bottom landing, ankles twanging with pain, but he did not stop as he then ran for the side halls. All through it called out Amos’ name.

“Amos-!” Thomas shouted, as he reached a group of soldiers holding guard at the front of the furnace. “Where is he?!”

“Just outside-! What’s wrong-?” An anonymous soldier asked, but Thomas did not answer him. He pushed through the wall of muscle, reaching the door to the Furnace; when he opened it a foot of snow fell upon his bare toes and he yelped at the sensation.

“Amos!” Thomas screamed out into the sea of white. He saw a blur in the distance turn as if to look in his direction. “Amos help-!!”

“Here now-!” The soldier beseeched, pulling Thomas back. “You can’t go out there like that! You’re almost naked for god’s sake!”

“Let me go-!” Thomas thrashed in the stranger’s hold. “Amos!! Amos, help!!”

And there he was.

Amos burst in from the snow, his jacket dusted white, and almost grabbed the soldier by the neck with blazing fury.

“What are you doing?” Amos snarled. “Let go of him at once!”

The solider did as he was told. Thomas staggered forward, grabbing Amos’ jacket with both hands. By this time, he’d gathered the attention of almost everyone in the hall.

“Sir, he was beside himself!” The soldier protested. “I didn’t think he should go outside in a chemise-!”

“What’s going on?” Amos asked, seeing Thomas’ obvious panic. “What’s happened?”

“They know everything!” Thomas babbled, pointing randomly over his shoulder so that he almost hit a man in the chest with his waving hand, “They’re on their way here! One of your men just got shot! They killed him but he called me-“

“Slow down, Mr. Barrow!” Mr. Belphrey had come up from the tunnels, perhaps summoned by his own men to the sight of Thomas’ panic. His face was blackened with soot as if he’d been working in the blast furnace. “No one can understand what you’re saying.”

“THE BRIGADE KNOWS ABOUT MOIRA!” Thomas screamed at the hundreds of faces. The nurses, the guards, the workers- all of them! Did they not realize they were about to die. “GET EVERYONE OUT OF HERE! THEY’RE COMING-!”

And then, absolute chaos erupted.

Nurses ran for the hospital screaming, frantic to grab their patients and get out while they could. The workers were shouting for rebellion, grabbing up everything from wrenches to hammers and screaming for blood as the guards scattered from their guns. Thomas saw three men break way from the pack, making a mad dash for the higher levels of the furnace where their fellows were still unaware of the panic below. In the terror, Thomas was nearly knocked over. Mr. Belphrey reached out with a hand to steady him, pulling off his own jacket to throw it over Thomas’ shoulders.

“Wait, wait, WAIT-!” Amos tried to grab man after man as they ran in different directions. No one was listening! No one was paying attention! Panic had made them dumb-

Amos let out a feral snarl akin to a wolf, running to jump upon the stairwell where he saddled the railing and stood on its thin ledge. It was incredible that his balance was so sublime. Thomas would have surely fallen if he’d tried to the same!

 **“QUIET!!”** Amos roared, his alpha voice dominating over the fragile screams in the air. So tremendous was his shout, so powerful and supreme, that every single person stopped in their tracks. Thomas heard the bizarre sound of iron clanging against stone as a few men dropped their weapons in shock. Amos huffed and puffed, all eyes upon him as he took action amid the chaos.

“…Now.” Amos spoke at plain volume, but with no one else moving in the foyer his voice was quite loud. “Soldiers, head to your designed stations. Escorts, find your two omegas and take them through the back passageways to the rafts and woods. Suicide Attackers, head to the town. Cover every main road in and out of Moira. Everyone else-?” Amos gestured about. “Bar the doors and get a weapon.”

No one moved. They were too busy staring enraptured at Amos.

“Promptly?” Amos added with a flourish of his hand.  
And then they sprang back into action again.

This time, however, it was with purpose and direction.

Nurses grabbed their patients, each taking two as they headed down the main stairs. A few had to be carried, too weak to walk. The doctors were babbling, holding onto a few particular patients in the attempt to keep them alive. Some had IV’s still attached, most were wrapped up in blankets wearing hand me down boots. They were petrified, and Thomas could not blame them. Despite his notorious reputation, Thomas dared not think what the Brigade would do if they got their hands back on their former victims.

Guards were soldiering up, guns being tossed from one unarmed man to the next. The front doors were slammed shut and barred, with chairs, crates, and iron beams suddenly being propped against the metal and wood so that none could cross through.

Belphrey lead the workers, roaring for their aid.

“BRING THE BARRICADES!” Belphrey shouted, “EVEN THE UNFINISHED ONES! EVERY BIT OF METAL YOU CAN FIND!”

Thomas ran after Amos, who was heading up the stairs against the main flow of harried traffic. Amos extended out a hand, grabbing onto Thomas and pulling him upward so that could push together for Thomas’ office on the third floor.

“What do we do?!” Thomas begged. Amos never strayed in his stride, even as the last of the nurses ran past. Now the hospital was completely bare, all but tipped on its side with the obvious signs of panicked retreat.

“Exactly what we prepared for.” Amos snapped, brave in the face of danger. “We get the omegas out, lure the Brigade into the caves, and blow it the fuck up.”

“But they know about the furnace!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Amos assured him. They reached Thomas’ office, and Thomas at once shed Belphrey’s jacket to start hurriedly putting on his own clothes. His fingers were slippery, faulty on buttons and straps as he pulled on the most sturdy dress he owned and tough leather boots.

“If they smell the omegas, they’ll head for the caves.” Amos declared. “They’ll think they’re hiding. I know how Alden works, remember!”

Alden picked up the phone, rapidly jabbing the receiver dial “Operator-! Get me Master’s Fishing in Southwell!”

Thomas grabbed Robert’s red briefcase from beside his bed, pulling out his pistol. It still had six bullets left, none of them since used. He shoved the gun in the pocket of his winter coat, buttoning it up tight.

“Masters, this is Amos.” Amos said, leaning over Thomas’ desk with white hands bracing the edge. “Call for Sarah!”

He hung up the phone without another word.

“What was that?” Thomas demanded. Amos did not answer him, leaving the office. Thomas followed after him with nothing but his gun and briefcase. They now ran downstairs, finding the man hall packed with men armed to the teeth. A few of them were even holding crude metal bars, looking ready to kill as Belphrey charged them all with violent words.

“These men think they can rule you! Like lords! Are you weak?! Are you cattle?!” Belphrey bellowed to a resounding chorus of angry shouting and ‘no’s.

Irene met them at the base of the stairs.

“The omegas are heading down the river.” Irene declared. “The last of them are being boarded now-“

“Good.” Amos snapped, taking Thomas’ briefcase from him and shoving it into Irene’s hands. “Get your car ready to the North. You know the plan.”

“Right.” Irene said. She squeezed Thomas’ bicep endearingly, then ran back down the passageways to vanish into the gloom.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked. “I need that-!”

“Irene is going to take her motorcar and park it in the North fields.” Amos said, “When the worst happens- and it well-“ Amos warned at Thomas’ resistant plea, “I want you to take that car and drive home to Downton Abbey. D’you understand me? You get the hell out of here-“

“Amos, I’m not leaving you!” Thomas protested.

“Yes, you are.” Amos said. “Because we both know that you’re the real target here… and there’s no point in getting Rob home if you’re going to be dead when he arrives.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say to that.

“But- you-“ Thomas gestured. “What about you?”

“You won’t have to worry about me anymore.” Amos said. The words were disturbingly ominous in Thomas’ ears. “Now get back upstairs and call the abbey. Tell them that you’re coming.”

“But- Amos-“ Thomas reached out to try and touch the man. The glare that Amos gave him stopped him cold.

“Now.” Amos growled, his tone soft with deadly warning.

Thomas didn’t know what else to do but follow Amos’ orders. His sense of independence shriveled in the face of chaos. He knew how to follow orders, how to be a good servant; it was his backbone and saving grace in that moment. Back up the stairs Thomas went, and when he arrived at his office he took up the phone at once.

His hands were slick upon the receiver. He was sweating profusely. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest.

His lips were numb as he asked for the operator.  
He fell into his desk chair as he waited, all the energy fleeing from his legs.  
He hadn’t felt this afraid in a long time.

Where was Alden MacNaire now? Was he close or far? Was he already in the town? Would Thomas live past this day. He found his gaze drifting downward, to his swollen stomach. He reached out and touched his skin, finding it taut and hot beneath his fingers.

He could not live through the pain of seeing his child die twice.  
He decided in that moment that if he was captured, and if Alden did manage to win, Thomas would have no choice but to kill himself. He would save one bullet in his gun as a backup plan… and would only use it if there was no way out.

Stricken with the thought that he might die that very day, Thomas’ heart began to pound faster in his chest.

_“Downton Abbey, this is Mr. Carson-“_

“It’s me.” Thomas rambled, his voice monotone and yet shaking. Panic was a peculiar thing. “Don’t say anything just listen. The Brigade knows everything. They’re on their way to my location. We’ve barred the doors and sent out our men for attack, but we may not win this fight. My alpha wanted me to use Downton as a sanctuary, and my men are telling me to run. I know you hate me and I know you want me dead, but I’m six months pregnant. Please let me find sanctuary in Downton for the sake of my baby. That’s all I ask of you—“

 _“Get out now!”_ Carson cut across him, _“For god’s sake, run for you life before it’s too late! Come here at once!”_

Thomas was shocked at the panic in Carson’s voice. He had not expected Carson to be so receptive to his cause, to care about what happened to him-

“I cannot abandon my men. Not yet.” Thomas said. For some reason he was bound and determined to give this one last shot. To try to kill Alden, even if it cost him his life. He owed it to his unborn child. To every omega he knew, and every omega he did not. To Daphne. To Anthea. To Baxter, Daisy, Mrs. Hughes, and Anna… To Sybil.

 _“Thomas, these men are not your family.”_ Mr. Carson snapped, _“We are your family! You belong at Downton Abbey, not in the middle of this ghastly war. I was wrong to insist otherwise before. We can hash it out later all you like, but while you still have a chance I urge you to run! Don’t wait another minute!”_

“… I’m sorry Mr. Carson.” Thomas mumbled. “But I have to try. I’ll… I’ll call you if anything changes but otherwise expect me to show up by tonight. If I don’t…”

Thomas looked down at his stomach again.

“It was an honor to learn from you.” Thomas said. “Though you may not believe it.”

 _“Please, Thomas.”_ He’d never heard Carson sound so frightened before. This was hardly the butler he remembered, _“I fear you won’t be able to win this war. MacNaire is ruthless. His Lordship has made it clear that MacNaire has devious intentions for you. Don’t give him the chance to enact them.”_

“He won’t get the chance.” Thomas said. “Because if he wins, I will kill myself. I have a gun-“

_“Don’t say such awful things! Think of your child!”_

But that was the saddest part of all.  
“I am.” Thomas said simply. Carson seemed dumbstruck by the fact.

 _“…Come home to us as soon as you can.”_ Mr. Carson said. He seemed frightened to consider the alternative. _“If we do not hear from you by tonight, I will be calling the police.”_

“Thank you Mr. Carson.” Thomas said. He felt detached from his own body in that moment, hand lowering so that he hung up the phone even while he could hear Mr. Carson talking.  
He stared at the downed phone for a moment, quiet.

He pulled out his gun, and sat it cautiously upon his desk. His day planner was open to reveal that he was going to sort through the nursery today to clean it out after Daphne.

There would be no need for that anymore.  
Thomas relaxed in his chair, his heart pounding.  
He crossed one leg over the other knee, eyes locked on the door to his office which lay open. The Furnace was unnervingly quiet below, as if all the fighters had fallen into position and were now waiting for the chaos to begin.

 

Waiting, waiting, waiting… everyone was waiting.  
His gun gleamed in the light streaming in from the windows high above the foyer.

~*~

_Sleep was like a drug for Rob in his pain, but even its dark and dreary depths could not cut across the terrible pain in his shoulder._

_Rob woke as if from beneath a deep wave, his head breaking through consciousness only to find that he was still in the land of dreams._

_He saw his father sitting upon a crate of potatoes, looking forlorn in the direction of the carriage link of the next compartment. He was lost in thought, smoking his favorite pipe. Rob thought he could even smell his father’s tobacco. Wilde Country… his favorite._

_“Dad?” Rob whispered. Was it a dream, a hallucination, or a vision from god-?_

_Rupert Kinsey turned to look his oldest son square in the eye. He was clearly displeased._

_“What the hell are you doin’ here, boy?” He murmured._

_“I’m…” Rob struggled with the realities of the situation, “I’m trying to get to Lyon. I had a potato—“_

_“Wouldn’t have had to do all of this if you’d just behaved like a normal lad and stayed put with your omega.” Rupert grumbled, fishing into his vest pocket for a fresh wad of tobacco. He stuffed his pipe, before striking a match on the heel of his oxford flats so that he could take another whiff. Fresh smoke spilled around his head, concealing his face from view._

_“I know.” Rob felt a fool in front of his father. His father had always been so wise in life… so sure. Nothing had ever been able to rattle him._

_“Something’s not right.” Rupert Kinsey warned._

_“What?” Rob asked._

_“Pay attention.” Were his father’s final words, pointing towards the door that linked to the next carriage, “Something’s not right.”_

 

Rob sucked in a breath, coming back to the land of the living to find the Rosier brothers playing a game of cards by the feeble light of the compartment door. Rob rolled his head upon the dirty floor, looking towards the carriage link just like his father had done.

 _“Pay attention.”_ Rupert Kinsey had said, _“Something’s not right.”_

Determined to follow his father’s advice, be it madness or genius, Rob rolled onto his good shoulder and staggered to his feet. It was difficult to walk in a moving train compartment, particularly one that wasn’t stabilized with comforts like seats or guiding posts. Still, Rob was determined to make it to the carriage link even if it was on wobbly legs.

“What are you doing?” Jacque asked, watching Rob weave too and fro.

“Something’s not right.” Rob muttered. He reached the carriage link and wiped the grimy round window glass clean to see outside. It was snowing, with the glass dirtied around the edges by coal smoke wafting from the front of the train.

In the next compartment, Rob could see nothing but a rack full of coats and hats.

“My brother-“ Jacque came to his aid, attempting to pull him away from the window, “We are safe. Relax-“

But even as Jacque said the word, the coats and hats in the next compartment were roughly pushed aside to reveal Averill MacNaire.

Rob’s heart leapt into his throat, the anxiety clearing his head of pain and the traces of sleep.

He had no time to hide or duck down. Averill was clearly looking through the coats for them. The circular window on Averill’s side was the perfect viewing portal across the carriage link, and there Rob was in perfect site.

Averill’s nostril’s flared with rage. He shoved all the coats aside, ducking down as if to fumble with the door latch holding the carriage shut.

“Fuck!” Rob hissed, backing up. Jacque went with him, just as shocked as he. “Fuck he’s on the train! MacNaire’s found us-!”

The card game was forgotten at once. Laurent was on his feet, grabbing for his rucksack where his rifle lay. He began to load a charge at once, determined to get one shot in. Galen was panicking, looking about at the crates of canned goods and jars of jam.

“What do we do?” Galen begged.

“I—“ Jacque was just as lost as his little brother, “We hide-!”

“No good.” Rob said. Hiding would do nothing for them. The compartment was too small, too open. Even if they managed to find a good spot behind the crates, it wouldn’t take long for MacNaire to sniff them out.

Determined to get out alive, to get back to Thomas, Rob staggered over to the side carriage door that was used to load cargo while the train was docked. It took all his strength to shift the heavy iron lock, but the force of the train’s movement and the wind did the rest. The cargo door slid all the way open, throwing the whole compartment into a blinding light. Rob could see Lyon, quite close, and a massive nunnery at its edge. A large cathedral dominated the skylight; around its base was a smattering of farms. Maybe it belonged to the nunnery, maybe not, but Rob knew instinctively that he was staring at the Convent of Saint Rita.

And that the only way he was going to make it was jumping off the train.

“Oh for god’s sake!” Jacque roared against the blinding light and howling wind; snow was whipping with gale force into their cabin now, forcing all three brothers to hide their eyes. “You can’t be serious!”

But even as Rob made to defend his stance, a sudden explosion rocked the train.

Metal screamed in protest, wood and glass shattered!

Rob nearly fell out the compartment door, holding tight to the edge. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw the carriage link holding them to the rest of the train collapse. Dear god, had Averill actually blown up the carriage train in front of them?

This man was solidly insane. A fucking psychopath!

Jacque gaped, open mouthed. Averill was now pounding on the door to the cargo compartment, flames licking the sides of the carriage as he tried to bring the door down. Rob could hear people screaming from the compartment ahead. Chaos was breaking out!

“Fine! That’s serious enough for me!” Jacque agreed without a second thought, grabbing Galen up and forcing him towards the open side door. Galen clung to his brother, panicking.

“We can’t do this!” Galen screamed, petrified of what Rob was asking. “We’ll die!”

“We have to try to fight!” Laurent agreed. “It’s suicide, Jacque! No one could survive that!”

“We have to try-!” Rob shouted.

But even as they argued, the compartment door came crashing down and Averill stepped through.

Laurent was ready, his rifle aimed. He fired a shot, the noise like a whip crack in the air. The bullet hit Averill square in the chest, but instead of falling down dead Averill just charged forward. Galen screamed as Laurent and Averill butted heads. Jacque ran to his brother’s aid, but it was too late. With one hand, Averill knocked Jacque aside like he were nothing more than a coat or a broom. With the other, he grabbed Laurent by the neck and twisted hard.

Laurent crumpled to the floor of the compartment, dead.

“Jesus!!” Rob howled, terror filling him up.

“Laurent!” Galen screamed, diving for his older brother. He cradled Laurent’s face in his arms, trying to rouse him.

It was no use. Laurent’s neck was broken.

Blinded with rage for the loss of his companion, Rob let out an almighty roar and charged forward. He was not alone; Jacque was there as well! The pair of them kicked and punched, desperate to maim every inch of skin possible upon Averill’s devilish hide. But it was Galen who made the most fuss, picking up Laurent’s fallen rifle to turn it around so that the butt was sticking up in the air. He swung, like a cricket bat, and hit Averill on the side of the head.

Averill did not take kindly to that.

Averill reared back, punching hard. The blow landed on Jacque’s neck, and suddenly Jacque flew backward into Rob so that the pair of them went crashing down. Furious at being attacked by an omega, Averill reached out and grabbed Galen tight by the neck.

He took a deep, obscene whiff.

“Omega.” Averill deduced with ease. “Wild Freesia… that’s what you smell like. I admit your cunt’s appealing.”

Galen could barely breath. He was trying to peel Averill’s hands away from his neck.

Averill lifted Galen up as if he weighed less than a feather; suddenly Galen’s feet were dangling in mid air as Averill hung him out over the edge of the train compartment. Now Galen was left to the wind— if he were to fall now he’d fall into the fields!

“Let him go!” Rob screamed. “I’m the one you want! Take me! Let him be-!!”

Averill looked back over his shoulder, a wicked grin curving his bloodied lips.

“If you insist.” Averill said.

He let go.  
Galen plummeted to earth, screaming as he was forcibly ejected from the train. He bounced into a snowy field, rolling out of sight, and was immediately swallowed up. Whether he lived or died, it was impossible to say.

“YOU BASTARD!” Jacque screamed, scrambling to his feet and shoving Rob out of the way as he ran forward and collided with Averill head on.

Jacque struggled, trying to push Averill outside the train as well, but Averill would not budge. The pair of them were fighting now, tearing at one another as smoke from the next train compartment came billowing into the cargo carriage.

Fire was spreading. If it reached the bulk head there would be disaster! The oil and coal would catch! Rob coughed, staggering forward through the waves of smoke and reaching for Jacque. If he could just find him, he’d help-!!

But he could hear Jacque’s voice screaming at him.

“Go!!” Jacque roared. “Just go, Robert!”

Rob looked from the twisting forms of Jacque and Averill, to the white fields of Lyon and the nearing structure of Saint Rita.

He looked at Laurent, dead upon the floor.

“GO!!” Jacque bellowed.

Rob sucked in a deep breath, and threw all caution to the wind, running head long to leap from the train compartment into the fields!

For a moment he soared through the air, going higher than he’d ever dared go before; higher than was sane or advisable!

And then Rob was coming back down to earth, only to crash in a snowy farmer’s field.

All the air was knocked out of his lungs as he rolled down the steep embankment. Snow got in his mouth, ears, nose, and eyes. He coughed, blinded, choking as he desperately tried to gain his sense of surroundings back.

He could hear the screeching protest of metal against metal. He lifted his head up to see the train skittering upon its track. The driver was clearly trying to stop, unaware that the cargo was detached from the main train. A dark shape flitted from the cargo train just in time; someone had clearly jumped after Rob into the field and was now rolling down the snowy embankment. The two carriages collided into one another, and the force of the blast sent the cargo carriage careening onto its side!

“JACQUE!” Rob screamed, dread filling him up as the cargo carriage continue to move along the track even on its side. The inertia of the train was so strong that the carriage could not stop. It began to force up underneath the travel carriage’s wheels.

The train was starting to tilt-!

But it didn’t crash, at least not completely. The two back compartments slid off the tracks, so that suddenly a massive swath of land was torn to hell and back as the wheels ground against the snow and earth. The train turned into a massive ‘C’, but did not fall on its side nor crash into any house or farm.

It finally came to a stop miles ahead of where Rob had jumped. Smoke billowed from all compartments; fires had surely caught… but it seemed that no one was dead.

At least… no one in the upper compartments.

“Jacque!” Rob shouted at the figure staggering through the fields towards him. He prayed the man had landed unharmed.

He ran through the fields, drawing closer—

He halted, skidding to a stop.

Averill MacNaire was covered in blood, murderous as he beheld Rob in the field.  
It had not been Jacque to jump from the train.

“…Fuck me.” Rob whimpered, before turning tail and running for his life.

Averill was right behind him. Rob knew that one trip would spell the end. Jacque was gone, Laurent was dead, Galen was god knows where. At this point, the survival of Rob’s entire golden future lay on his shoulders alone.

He had to win. He had to get back to England. He had to see Thomas again. He had to!!

The Convent of Saint Rita loomed overhead, dominating the skyline even as Rob passed through farmer’s fields. Cows mooed irritably in their stalls as Rob intruded upon their privacy. Chickens scattered, confused as to the chaos.

Rob could see nuns working the fields up ahead, tending to winter crops and stuffing scarecrows to keep birds at bay. The bells of the church were peeling out loud and clear in the winter morning, perhaps warning of the train collision that had just occurred on the town’s fringe.

Rob looked over his shoulder, only to gasp in horror as he realized that MacNaire was only feet from closing in on him!

Rob rounded the winter garden, passing by two nuns who screamed at the sight of him, but didn’t make it much farther than that.

Averill grabbed him hard about the waist, bringing them both down to earth.

They crashed against the mud, the pair of them rolling in the dirt as Rob tried to scramble away and AVerill dragged him back. His fingers tore like the claws of a wolf, stinging Rob’s skin. He grabbed onto Rob’s neck, pushing him hard into the dirt with all his gusto!

Rob gasped and choked, his airway completely closed off. He desperately swung at Averill’s face, punching him twice but making no headway. Averill was covered in blood, completely out of his mind as he bared his teeth down at Rob.

“No.. more… running…” Averill spat. His fingers were like iron squeezing tighter and tighter!

Lights were beginning to dance before Rob’s eyes.

Images were flashing past him. Voices were in his ear.  
He could hear Thomas’ laughter, so beautiful and crips.

“It’s you- and- me-!” Averill seized.

 _God, don’t let it end like this_. Was Rob’s last conscious thought. _Let me see him one last time. Thomas..._

But before he could even finish his prayer, a gunshot went off so close to his face that it left burn marks on his cheek.

The pressure of Averill’s fingers relented, and Rob sucked in a desperate wheezing breath as his bruised airway finally cleared. He was dancing on the edge of fainting, too weak and numb to get up as Averill collapsed atop him.

Blood dripped onto Rob’s neck and cheek.  
The back of Averill’s head was missing, a massive gaping open wound.

Above them both stood a nun holding a shotgun.

She was a large woman, with an ornate cornet and blue scapular that denoted a higher status than her status. She looked quite sour, as if Rob was being a clear nuisance to her otherwise peaceful day following the teachings of Christ.

How irritating, when one had to stop praying in order to violently murder someone in the back yard.

“S…Sain..t… Ri…ta…” Rob could barely speak through his bruised throat.

The nun raised a gray eyebrow. She was as old, perhaps, as his mother.

“Not even close.” She said, speaking in excellent English despite living in the French countryside. “Sister Leonié. And if I’m right, you’re the good Doctor Robert Kinsey. Yes?”

Had he made it?  
Was he safe?

“…Please…” Rob whispered, praying for a sense of compassion and mercy in his desperate hour.

If a nun with a shotgun couldn’t give it to him, he doubted anyone else would.

 

~*~

It was 12:34 when it happened.

Thomas was still sitting at his desk, still waiting with the gun before him when he heard a man running up the stairs. He picked up his gun at once, pulling back the safety latch with surprisingly steady hands. But it was just a soldier, looking grave and ashen.

“They’re here.” He said to Thomas. “Amos is heading up to the caves. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.” Thomas said.  
So it seemed the time for waiting was over.

Thomas rose from his chair, and headed out to the foyer. Just as he’d imagined, the area was packed with workers waiting for the violence to break out. Thomas cut through them, careful not to step on anyone’s hands or feet as he made his way through the side passage which was now heavily barred with two iron barricades and twelve soldiers. Each of their guns were trained forward, eyes never wavering.

“Move please.” Thomas said. “I’m going after Amos.”

“God be with you.” A random soldier said. Two alpha women stepped forward, each of them carefully moving the barricades out of the way so that Thomas could slip through the side door and out onto the field.

It was completely barren of life. Not even a bird was stirring. Thomas did not waste a moment, running for his life across the field towards the mountains ahead of him. The forests were dark and deep, coated in white, and offered him refuge from the harsh light of day. He could hear far off screams and the popping sound of guns being fired. He did not know how far off the Brigade was; maybe three or two miles at most.

They were meeting the first wall of resistance: suicide soldiers that had been sent out to give their lives for the cause in order to bring the numbers down.

Thomas reached the caves, only to find that Amos was out front smoking a cigarette. When he saw Thomas coming around the bed, he had a shotgun out and pointed ready to fire. Thomas held up his hands in caution. Amos cursed, letting the gauge drop.

“Are you insane?” Amos spat. “Get out of here! Go to the river now-!”

“Too late.” Thomas said, joining Amos at the mouth of the cave, “They’re here. They’re in the valley. Even if I ran now I wouldn’t make it in time.”

Amos was grave. “You’re a fool.” Amos said. But at the turn of a pin he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Get inside. Check the charges. Set the fuse wire and get back.”

Thomas did as he was told. He found the charges inside the crates and old mining carts. Each of them were wired like bundles of twigs, chorded with braids of fuse wiring that fell down the side of the carts to trail along the side of the wall. Thomas followed each charge with care, hastily checking each cap for any leaks or damages.

But nothing was wrong with the charges. Amos and Thomas both had been meticulous in their preparations—

Thomas could hear men shouting; their voices were growing louder.

Amos stumbled into the cave, grabbing Thomas by the collar and shoving a lighter into his hands.

“Go, go, go-!!” Amos hissed. There was no time for goodbyes. No time for ‘be careful’s or ‘I’m proud of you’s. The Brigade was too close, and Thomas was in too much danger!

His heart pounded wildly, but Thomas did not falter in his step. He ran out of the cave and into a gully between two large boulders, ducking down amongst the snow and bushes where a twine of fusing wire sat hidden.

He’d only just crouched down when the baying of men came closer. He hid in the shadows of the rocks and crags, terrified, as dark shapes darted past him.

It was the Brigade.

They were dressed in black leather, each of them armed with a gun. Alden was at the front, furious, Thomas saw there was blood already on his face and hands as if he’d made a prior kill.

“I can smell them!” Alden snarled. “They’re just up ahead! Cut them off in the cave!”

Thomas’ heart pounded in his throat, his mouth bone dry. His hands were shaking, and not from the cold. Thomas held onto the twine and lighter with one hand, his other resolutely armed with his pistol.

 _Save one bullet._ He told himself, _Fire only five._

He looked down at his bulging stomach, now slightly dusted in snow and dirt.  
The baby within was still; it was as if he sensed the chaos just outside the watery walls of his womb.

 _I’m so sorry._ Thomas thought. In that moment he was stricken with grief at the thought of dying, at the thought of having to kill his own child to save it from Alden’s murderous hands. He felt his eyes welling up with tears-

“ALDEN!” Amos roared.

Thomas’ head snapped up.

The entire Brigade was now clustered around the mouth of the cave. Each of them trained with their guns and eyes upon Amos. Alden had a hand up, warning his men not to fire. The two alphas were staring off, Amos equipped with a shotgun… Alden holding nothing.

“So…” Alden sounded just as murderous as he looked, “You’ve shown yourself.”

“Well, I do what I can.” Amos spoke with such bizarre calm, but Thomas knew his tone was actually close to that of wild violence. All it would take would be a small step, and a gun battle would erupt.

Amos would not win. Thomas knew that now. He’d gone into the cave to die, in doing so, every other man would die with him.

The shotgun was right in Alden’s face. If Amos pulled the trigger, Alden would not survive.

“Where is my daughter?” Alden growled.

“Gone.” Amos said. “Left this morning with her new parents.”

Alden was stunned.

“…You… How could you?” Alden gaped, “When we were brothers?”

“An eye for an eye, friend.” Amos replied. “You take my Sarah, I take your Poppy. Now we’ve both lost an omega to the other. Fitting, I think.”

Poppy… Daphne’s real name had been Poppy. Amos had known the whole time but had said nothing… Why? Thomas had so many questions he still wanted to ask the man. What had it meant when he’d called for ‘Sarah’? Was there another Sarah? Or was Sarah a code name for some ‘last resort’ plan? How many connections did he have?

Would they be able to help Thomas after Amos was dead?

“… Where’s Thomas?” Alden asked.

“Gone.” Amos lied.

“You’re lying.” Alden called him in his bluff. “I can smell him. I know he’s close by.”

“Alright, yeah I’m laying.” Amos shrugged. But there was a disturbingly playful grin upon his face. “What can I say, it’s fun leading you in circles. He’s in the cave.”

Alden sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “They’re all in the cave. I can smell them. And now they’re trapped with only you to bar the way. Pity.”

“Eh-“ Amos shrugged. “I could think of worse ways to die. Like your Daphne, pushin’ out your babe and dyin’ of blood loss. She was only fifteen after all-“

“Shut your mouth!” Alden snarled, furious. “How dare you speak of my omega-!”

“Or maybe I could die like your stupid son, Amber?” Amos just kept pushing, gun trained on Alden’s face. “Bleeding to death on a cold dirty floor among my enemies-“

“No, I’ve a much more involved plan for you.” Alden cut across. His temper had been piked by Amos’ cruel words, but Alden seemed to be forgetting there was still a shotgun in his face.

Amos pointed it higher, just to make it clear who held the real cards.

“…Sorry chum.” Amos growled. “But I’m through being a pawn in your twisted games.”

If they just stepped a little bit farther in- a little bit farther-!

Amos started to retreat back into the cave. At once the men followed. Each of them had their guns trained on Amos’ face, but Amos was still the one holding the dice with Alden in such close range. A sawed off shotgun would kill Alden instantly- but-

“Let’s not pretend you’re actually strong enough to kill me.” Alden sneered. His voice was growing faint as he vanished into the cave.

Thomas watched the last man slip into the cave-! Now!

He fumbled with the fuse twin, repeatedly flicking the lighter trying to get it to spark. It was too cold and too wet- the fuse wouldn’t spark!

“Come on…” Thomas hissed, desperate, “Come on!”

It finally lit, and Thomas immediately held the flame to the twine so that a sudden shooting of sparks hissed and popped in the air. The twine moved fast, flying between his fingers and out from his cover to be seen among the snow.

Thomas watched it go, praying with every inch it crossed. The fuse rounded the corner, but just as it was about to slip into the cave, it hit a patch of dense snow-!

The fuse went out. Thomas cursed, his head in his hands.  
How on earth would he spark the fuse now?!

He looked down at his stomach again, at his gun… and a terrible plan dawned on him.

He could shoot the mine carts. If he aimed just right, he could set off the dynamite. He would only have five shots to make it work, and it would blow his cover. He was pregnant and weak… and would not be able to run from the Brigade.

It was do or die.  
It was his own life or the life of every other omega in England.

“SHOOT ME!” Amos was screaming at the men from within the cave, “SHOOT ME IF YOU DARE, YOU DOGS!”

 

Thomas took a deep breath, saying an internal goodbye to the glowing life he’d imagined come March with his baby’s birth, and bolted from his cover.

He dashed out into the clearing, his pistol up; everyone’s back was to him but Amos. Amos saw Thomas and looked panic stricken, all the blood draining from his face.

Amos pointed the shotgun at Alden and fired.

Alden had been waiting for the moment, and before Amos could block Alden brought up a hand to knock the barrel of the shotgun away from his face. It caused the shotgun to fire into the ceiling, sending a shower of rocks and powder down onto the men. In the resounding dust, Thomas could not see well, but aimed where he instinctively knew the carts would be. The men were all firing now. Thomas could not hear Alden or Amos anymore; could not see either of them.

He fired.  
Nothing lit.

“Come on-!” Thomas begged, tearful, “Come on!”

He fired again, still nothing.

“There’s no omegas in here!” Thomas heard over the din. Suddenly the dust parted by a sweeping of wild hands to show the Brigade searching from cart to cart. Alden was amid them all, towering over a crumpled figure on the floor.

Amos lay bleeding in the mouth of the cave.  
He was surely dead.

Thomas hitched a breath, suddenly unable to fire at the sight of his friend gone. Amos had been the one sure factor against the Brigade… the strong one. The one with a plan.

But Alden had taken him down, and the fuse twine wouldn’t light.

Alden looked around, eyes blazing. Thomas could see wounds from Amos’ shotgun on his shoulder and chest. At the sight of Thomas standing alone in the clearing, Alden was incensed.

Alden barreled down, and began to run towards Thomas. Thomas held up his gun and fired at the revealed mine crate near the entrance.

And again.

And again with his last shot. But still the crate did not strike and Thomas knew he was doomed. The sixth bullet was to be a reserve for his own brains should this one fail.

He put the gun to his head, ready to pull the trigger.

He thought in flashes of his life. Of his mother washing and doing laundry in the backyard of their humble flat. Of Mrs. Patmore’s salted cod cakes and the way Carson had decanted wine every day at noon. Of Jimmy’s talented flair at the piano and O’Brien’s cigarettes— of Robert.

Of the night they’d first kissed.  
Of the night they’d bonded and made love.  
Of the day Robert had been taken-

 

But just as Alden made it to the entrance of the cave, Amos’ shotgun discharged.

It hit a mine cart, and triggered the explosive reaction of the dynamite.

 

Thomas saw a bright flash a light, and suddenly everything seemed to slow down in gross time. Alden froze, one foot out of the cave but too close to the blast to make it out safe. The cave seemed to expand at the mouth, shooting outward as if to grow. The sound of crackling rock and shifting earth was deafening, and every time Thomas thought it was done another blast of light would pop and another dynamite pack would go. Dust went shooting up into the air, high like a javelin over Thomas’ head. It clouded the sky, turned everything dark! White, gray, brown, and black merged and pushed, going higher and higher!

But then another bright orange flash resounded in the center, and suddenly an enormous wave of heat blasted out from the mouth of the cave. Flames, brilliant and white, exploded-!!!

 

Thomas was caught in the blast, and knocked backward off his feet. He went flying, surely more than fifty feet, and crashed hard into the snow.

He covered his belly on instinct, curling his knees up and his arms down so that he was almost in a tuck and roll position. It ended up saving the life of his baby as Thomas slammed down onto his knees and elbows. It was jarring, terrifying, but it wasn’t lethal. Thomas rolled several paces before landing on his back in the snow.

For a moment he could think of nothing, do nothing, save breath.  
He could hear the crackling of flames, the shifting of smoke and rubble.  
His breathes were shallow and loud in his ears.

 

 _I’ve done it again._ he thought weakly. _I’ve killed my baby—_

But then?

The baby gave a resounding kick, absolutely furious at Thomas’ pandering about.

 _Excuse me?!_ the baby seemed to be saying, _Did you forget that I’m in here?!_

Weak, Thomas reached out to cup the underside of his swollen stomach. He lay there for a moment in the snow, shaking from cold, nerves, and relief as the baby continued to kick.

There was no blood between his legs, no sharp pain in his womb.  
The baby just kept rolling and kicking, as strong and indignant as ever.

Thomas gave a weak laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching into an abysmal smile.  
There were tears upon his cheeks. They were of relief. 

 _It’s over,_ he thought, in a daze. _Alden is dead. My baby is alive. It’s over._

Aching, Thomas rolled from his back onto his hands and knees. He was timid with every inch as he righted himself, quite nervous that any step would be the baby’s doom.

But he got to his feet, dizzy and slightly deaf, to discover his baby was quite fine thank you very much. If anything he seemed utterly irritated that his mother should have so little regard for his own safety.

Despite the dangers, Thomas stumbled back to the mouth of the cave. It was utterly collapsed, nothing now save for a pile of rubble and large boulders. He desperately wanted to dig Amos out but doubted he had the strength. Fires were jetting out every so often, with smoke clouding the air. Thomas coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. His eyes burned, his skin stung from the heat.

The baby kicked again.

 _C’mon, mum,_ he seemed to be saying,  _Let’s get out of here._

“Right…” Thomas said weakly, picking his gun back up. There was still one bullet left in the chamber. “Right.”

He just kept walking, almost too numb to truly comprehend what was happening.  
Even now, he expected Alden to burst through the rubble and chase after him.

He didn’t.

Thomas kept looking over his shoulder, picking up his face as he walked faster and faster. He could hear screaming, the sounds of more explosions; through the veil of thinning trees, Thomas saw fire jetting from every window in the furnace.

The furnace!!

Thomas burst from the mountain clearing into the Moira Valley, horrified at the black plumes that were now bathing the sky in fire. It seemed that the battle was only half won, with Moira Furnace now being licked in flames till brick turned black and wood fell like ash.

There were dead men everywhere; Brigade, and Sanctuary alike. Blood coated the field dark red, the snow providing an eerie canvas.

It was almost like a flashback to the war.

Thomas ran through the fallen soldiers, desperately searching for life. But each man he came upon was long since dead, with a bullet to the head or worse. Some did not have faces anymore. Some looked like they’d been mauled by dogs— a woman caught Thomas’ eye.

A very familiar woman.

“Oh god-!!” Thomas stuttered, running to Irene’s side. She lay with a hand outstretched, the tips of her fingers still touching a pistol that had probably been her last defense. Irene had been shot in the stomach; blood was pooling from her mouth and open wound. Thomas pressed his hands tight over the bullet, desperate to keep Irene alive.

She was coughing, gagging. Her eyes were glassy and vacant.

“Irene, stay with me!” Thomas begged.

He looked up for help, to call to someone- anyone-!  
But no one was there.

and he knew in that moment that Irene was going to die. That whatever aid to be given was long since gone on a raft headed south.

the omegas had left with the nurses and doctors.  
Irene had known this as much as he. Maybe she’d reasoned that it wasn’t worth the fuss.

 

“P…” Irene could barely talk, “Pocket.”

Her left hand was twitching at her side, trying to reach for her coat pocket. Thomas went to her aid, slipping his hand inside to pull out a the key to a motorcar.

Irene was smiling, weak.

“…Abbey.” She whispered. “R…Run. Abbey. Car is… yours. Field. Go.”

Thomas was horror struck, too weak and in shock to move.

 

The awful silence was broken by the sound of smashing glass and wood. Thomas looked up, frightened but only saw it was Belphrey escaping the remains of the furnace. He was absolutely covered in soot, gasping for clean air; he was mercifully unharmed beside that.

He came to Irene’s side even as he wiped soot from his brow, stumbling to his knees as he pressed his own blackened hands against her stomach.

“Irene hold on.” Thomas begged. “Mr- Mr. Belphrey’s here, I’m going to go get help!”

But Irene didn’t answer.  
Her eyes were closed.

“Irene?” Thomas called out, as loud as he dared. “Irene can you hear me?”

She could not. Belphrey took her pulse at her neck, only to pull back with a somber sigh.

“…She’s past help, lad.” Belphrey said, “She’s gone to the Supreme Alpha’s side now. She was a brilliant woman, an incredible asset to England.”

Thomas was numb.  
He crouched, feeble and small in the snow as he wrapped his coat tighter around his shoulders. He was covered in soot from the explosion.

“What happened?” Thomas asked, feeble.

“They got in through the South door.” Mr. Belphrey said; it was the same door Thomas had exited out of. “I had my men set off a charge in the blast furnace. Nearly killed us all but…well… it had to be done. We had no choice.”

“So everyone’s dead?” Thomas choked, thinking of all the nameless faces that had smiled at him everyday. Why hadn’t he made to get to know his men better? Why had he been so wrapped up in his own miseries?

“I can’t say. Where’s Amos?”

But Thomas couldn’t answer. His shook his head, sniveling. Tears cut tracks through the soot and ash on his cheeks.

Belphrey put a solid hand upon his shoulder, consoling him as best he could.

“Amos knew what he was willing to sacrifice for this cause.” Belphrey whispered after a moment. “You’re all that matters now, Thomas. You have to get out of here; get as far away as you can before the authorities arrive.”

“But…” Thomas sniffed, looking up to Belphrey. His ruddy face was so warm and heartening in that awful moment; Thomas was incredibly grateful that he was not alone in his misery. “But what about you.”

Belphrey just gave him a small, timid smile.

“I’ll handle things here.” Belphrey said. “There were plans even you didn’t know about. Amos made sure to have his tracks covered if this ever happened. I still have work to do.”

Thomas shook his head. He ought to stay; he ought to help-!  
But he’d already given so much, and he was horribly weak.

Belphrey’s enormous hands suddenly reached up, cupping Thomas’ ashen cheeks. He brushed them free of tears with his thumbs, smiling at Thomas the way a father might.

“Lad, listen to me.” Belphrey whispered. “You’re made of stronger stuff than us all. So get back to your abbey and live your life. You did something incredible here.”

A funny thing to say when the whole place was on fire. Still, Belphrey seemed content.

“You showed the world that evil should not be allowed to win. Now let good do its work. The Brigade is finished after today. You and Amos… Irene and I… we all came together and put a stop to them. So it’s time for you to accept that and go home.”

Home. The abbey.  
They weren’t the same, but they’d do for now.

Belphrey regarded him after a moment, his eyes softening.

“…You know-“ Belphrey was swept up in a memory at that moment, thick fingers pushing Thomas’ hair back from his sooty face. “I once had a son. He was an omega.”

Thomas was amazed. He’d never known that about Mr. Belphrey. But where was his son now-?

Mr. Belphrey seemed as wounded as Thomas felt. “They took him from me.” Belphrey croaked. There were tears in his own aging eyes.

“S’why I joined you.” Belphrey said with a small laugh. “Made me feel like I could save my son again. But now it’s time for me to save you.”

He pulled Thomas up to his feet. Thomas stumbled, in shock. But Belphrey just kept him moving.

“Go!” Belphrey pushed him towards the southern fields, a pristine expanse of flat white. “Go now! Get out of here.”

He nearly fell over the body of a fallen Brigade soldier, but he kept walking. He had no idea what he sense of direction was, merely knowing that the wide flat white area before him was his destination. He kept looking over his shoulder back at Belphrey. He was watching Thomas leave with a terrible expression of ennui; clearly Thomas had made more of an impression upon the man than he thought.

There was a wooden fence bordering the southern field of Moira village which lead out into open untamed pastures. Thomas had to climb over it, no easy task at six months pregnant, and started on the steep downward slope that lead out into prairie fields. A wide arc of trees covered the western edge, with steep hills rolling to eventually turn into the small mountains that formed Moira’s ore base. From a distance, Thomas could see smoke and flames upon the horizon, marking where the cave and the furnace were separately burning.

Ashby road was just up ahead. Thomas knew he could take it and travel all the way through Sheffield, which would be the way to go if he were to make it to Yorkshire before nightfall.

 

The grass was waist high but covered in snow; Thomas waded through the thicket, unsure of where Irene’s car would be but knowing it was close. As he walked, he rejoiced in the feeling of his baby kicking merrily in his stomach. He felt like a man cleansed of sin. Like a man given a second chance. The world seemed pure, bathed in white, with the sun high above him and shining down. It was like God had won out over the devil… like the justification for suffering had finally arrived.

As Thomas finally made it to the road, he was greeted by the sight of a black Marmon, gleaming with snow dusting its hood and mahogany leather seats.

This was a very nice car; and to think Irene had given it to him!

Shocked, Thomas came around to open up the driver door and slide in. He fumbled for the key in his coat pocket, pulling it out with bloody and sooty hands.

It suddenly hit him that he did not know how to drive, save for what he’d done during the war.

Unsure of where to begin, Thomas put the key in the engine and turned.  
The car revved but didn’t start.

He realized he’d forgotten to put the car into first gear, and did so at once. He started the car again, and this time the motor clicked. His heart leapt at the feeling of the engine thrumming to life beneath him. He pressed down on the gas pedal. He dare not accelerate too fast lest he damn himself.

As the car slowly began to mount in speed, Thomas grabbed the clutch and put the car into second gear. The car jetted off, gaining speed, and Thomas let go of the clutch to continue driving.

He had no idea how he was going to get home. He had no way of knowing where the road would turn left or right…

But he knew that, come nightfall, he would find his way to Yorkshire.  
Mr. Carson’s sanity was depending upon it.

 

~*~

 

When Rob came to, it was to the peculiar sight of a nun tending to his naked chest while a shotgun sat propped at the end of his bed.

It was dark; surely nighttime. Rob could smell the far off scent of supper being laid on a table… was he right in thinking it was roasted chicken? Perhaps it was one of the chickens from the yard he’d run through.

_A bright flash of light; a terrifying train crash!_

Rob hissed, jerking beneath Sister Leonié’s touch as the memory slammed into him and shook him to the core. He blinked, dazed, and saw her watching him carefully.

His shoulder was bandaged. She’d clearly taken the bullet out and stitched him up.  
Was he safe, he wondered? Was he finally at the Convent?

“… I’ve never known a nun to carry a shotgun.” Rob whispered. Sister Leonié gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, using a moist towelette to wipe the grime from his face. The burns from the shotgun stung beneath her ointment.

“Desperate times, Doctor.” Sister Leonié said. She fished upon a tray for simple medical tape, which she tore into tiny fragments. She began to take up Rob’s burns, carefully covering his cheek so that he would not infect the scalded skin.

“We’ve been expecting you for many months now.” Sister Leonié said. “Took the scenic route, did you? You could have picked a better season. Switzerland is heavenly in the spring.”

“… Is this the Convent of Saint Rita?” Rob whispered.

“Yes.” Sister Leonié said.

Rob let out a breath, relieved. And yet, there was still more work to be done even in this dim hour: “The train… survivors-?”

“If you’re referring to Galen Rosier, he sought refuge in our house.” Sister Leonié was calm as she tended to the bruises on his chest. She applied a paste that smelt strongly of menthol and caused Rob to cough. The sensation stung at his sensitive nose.

“MacNaire-?”

“Dead.” Sister Leonié said. “The Supreme Alpha is swift in all matters, but even he could not spare a man from a shotgun blast to the back of the head.”

That made sense. At least Galen was safe. But what of Jacque? Had he survived?

“…Who else lived?” Rob whispered.

“Quite a few from what I’ve been told.” Sister Leonié said, pausing as she slid her fingers against the rim of the menthol jar to save what paste she had not used, “They’re being treated at the hospital. Galen was the only one to seek shelter here. He seemed convinced that you were being hunted. We’ve called his family… they’ll be here to collect him in the morning.”

Sister Leonié caught his eyes.

Rob tried not to blubber, to remain strong, but it was difficult.

He had not wanted Jacque to die. He had not wanted Laurent to die either.  
And yet, here they were.

“…They were my friends.” Rob choked out, eyes pinched shut. “They were good men.”

“The Rosier brother’s will suffer no more.” Sister Leonié said after a moment of quiet, “And neither will you.”

She carefully pulled his bed linens up, covering his chest. Rob supposed he was in a hospital ward of some type. There were more beds on either side of him, but his was the only one occupied.

Rob didn’t want to think anymore. Sister Leonié did not force him to.

“… I…” Rob was so drowsy from medicine and pain that he could not finish his sentences.

Sister Leonié said nothing, watching him slip lower and lower into sleep.

The shotgun at the end of his bed gleamed dully in the soft candlelight. The thin silver line slowly faded out, swallowed up into black as Rob closed his eyes.

~*~

As the day wore on, Thomas pressed hard for York.

He traveled up through Ashby-de-la-Zouch and Long Eaton, passing by Nottingham without ever truly straying through town. He carved a path north, the Marmon’s motor burning hot beneath him as he passed between Sheffield and Rotherham. By the time that the sun was falling again, Thomas was up to Leeds. He had to swing a sharp left at Aberford… and by the time he reached Rainton it was pitch black.

Thomas had only just reached the outskirts of Downton, still technically closer to Rippon, when the car broke down.

It was completely out of gas, even though he’d started on a full tank. He’d pushed the engine too hard, had gone without stopping for hours; the car sputtered flat, and Thomas had to steer her to the side of the road lest he cause an accident for another passing motorist. It was by sheer bad luck that he crapped out with no one around. The road that he was on was made of dirt, completely covered in snow, but would soon pass by the Downton train station and turn to cobblestone as he made it through the center of town.

Bitter, cursing his luck, Thomas pulled out Rob’s burned briefcase from the backseat of Irene’s car and headed off on foot for Downton.

As he walked, Thomas’ feet grow progressively colder. In his coat and boots, he was made for hard walking but it was still late at night in the middle of December. It did not help that he was pregnant, with his belly aching. The baby rolled in his womb, excited by all the movement.

But the baby’s curiosity only made Thomas feel more drained. He pulled his coat closer to his body, determined to keep out the cold as he staggered on.

He reached Howefield Farm at eight, and knew that he was now surely less than an hour away from Downton Abbey.

He was utterly starving, his belly aching for lack of food. The day had been wild, with Thomas unable to eat given the Brigade’s attack and his constant trek back to Yorkshire. Now that he was finally able to stop and take account for the state of his body, Thomas was horrified to find that he was weak and feeble.

As he reached Downton village, and began to push along the main road towards Downton Abbey, Thomas bleakly wondered if he would be able to make it. He kept having to stop and pant against trees or fences.

His vision was rolling; he was woozy. Exhausted.

 

Amos was dead.

Irene was dead.

Alden was dead.

And Rob…? Who could say anymore.

Thomas staggered, collapsing on the side of the road to land in a pile of soft snow. He leaned up against an aging farmer’s post, the emotions of the day suddenly slamming into him as if he were experiencing them all afresh.

Thomas burst into tears, suddenly feeling horribly weak and alone.

He’d never meant for those men to die for him. He’d never wanted them to sacrifice themselves— that had never been necessary! Why had it boiled down to death? Why hadn’t Alden just accepted the changing of the tides? Why had Amos refused a more safe standoff? Why…?

Why had this happened?

He took one staggering breath, then another.  
His chest ached. His lips were growing numb again.

Terrified of dying in the snow from cold or shock, Thomas staggered back to his feet with a great show of strength. He had to use the fence as a guide post, trudging through piled snow as he moved linked by link. He could see the glowing lights of Downton Abbey ahead of him, but was unsure if it was a mirage or reality.

The baby was beginning to kick again. It was like it could finally experience the panic Thomas was feeling. Maybe it understood that Thomas was in danger of falling ill. Maybe it was trying to push Thomas forward.

 _Hurry, mummy,_ it seemed to be saying. _You’re almost there._

“Door…” Thomas whispered. Snow was falling, but for whatever reason he couldn’t feel it anymore. It was like he’d grown so cold the snow couldn’t touch him.

It scared him to death.

But he was almost there.

Thomas stumbled and fell along the pebbled walk of the front drive.

For a moment he simply lay there, sucking in one breath after another.

The baby kicked again.

_Get up. Move. Now._

Thomas groaned, pushing back up onto his palms and knees. He tried to get to his feet only to fall again.

It seemed he’d have to do the rest on his hands and knees.

Thomas crawled, like an insect as he pushed for the front door. If he could just make it to the steps…

And when the concrete bit beneath his fingers, Thomas groped blindly for the door in front of him. His vision was blurry. His breathes were ragged.

He could go no further. Like Irene’s car, he’d broken down.

Thomas could not knock loudly, at most he could drum his fingers, chin, and elbow against the door. He kept praying that someone would open it.

Andy. Moseley. Carson. Anyone.

He could hear the whining of a dog on the other side of the door— Tiaa!

Thomas was too weak to continue on. He lay slumped against the door, snow collecting upon his shoulder and legs. He closed his eyes, drawing in one shuddering breath after another.

The baby was still kicking, still begging him to continue.

 _I’m so sorry._ Thomas thought, miserably. _I’ve failed you. But your mummy loves you so._

 

 

That was how Carson found him five minutes later when he opened the door to let the dog out.

Half frozen, lips blue, covered in soot and foreign blood, with a burnt briefcase and loaded gun clutched in his gloved hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I know you lot are gonna throw rotten fruit at me for killing the Rosier brother's (or at least two of them) and Amos... but don't get mad just yet. I think you might find that I still have a good surprise in store in regards to one of those men. Good men are hard to kill. 
> 
> If you have any other comments or concerns, feel free to let me know. The next chapter will be the last to feature any type of violence. We are almost out of the woods friends... and Thomas is close to his due date.


	29. Hark the Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas finds Thomas in yet another slump, but joy is soon to come to the world... that is, if he can survive the final encounter with the very last MacNaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here's the newest chapter, complete with the very last bit of violence in this fic. Squick warning for an **attack with an axe**! And I can hear you gnashing your teeth, but do you honestly think I'd do you wrong by this point? 
> 
> Also, massive shout out to Arkquill, one of my most lovely reviewers, who in her despondency as Laurent's death drew a [picture](http://arkquill.tumblr.com/post/158961013545/a-hunter-and-his-gun-based-on-an-original) of him with his rifle. I was at first going to revive him, but then I remembered he's pretty much dead as a doornail and it would be tactless to revive _two_ dead people, now wouldn't it. 
> 
> *waggles eyebrows*
> 
> I'm so sorry Arkquill. I wish I had left myself some wiggle room with Laurent but I'm afraid I didn't. I always appreciate what you have to say, and I adored your artwork.

_Litigo 107: 19-21: “Then they cried to the Supreme Alpha in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He sent out his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave. Let them give thanks to the Supreme Alpha for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind.”_

Thomas’ first thought upon regaining conciseness was that he was warm and laying somewhere soft.

It was difficult for him to move or to fully figure out where he was. He was so comfortable that he didn’t want to open his eyes but people were calling his name.

“Thomas?” That was Dr. Clarkson, Thomas knew his voice anywhere, “Thomas can you hear me?”

Thomas sucked in a breath through his mouth. He was rewarded with a tiny groan when he exhaled, and the sensation of his baby thumping irritably in the womb.

 _Mummy, get up!_ he seemed to be saying.

“Babe…” Thomas managed to get out. “Please-“ He was too weak, too disorientated to say much more.

“We’ll have to work here— he can’t be in the public eye until we know what’s happened.” Dr. Clarkson was talking to someone.

“Do whatever you have to to save him.” Oh, but that was Lord Grantham— Robert! So it seemed he was surely laying somewhere within Downton Abbey.

Thank fucking god. That walk through the snow had almost done him in.

“The baby-?” Was that Carson?

“I will do everything it takes.” Dr. Clarkson said.

Something sweet was pressed over Thomas’ nose and mouth; a sedative. He slipped into the gray once more, and was happy to give up. He was in the hands of friends. He was quite safe.

 

 

 

 

 

When Thomas came around, it was through a pleasant fog into a warm and well lit room.

He opened his eyes to see Sybil Crawley’s old vanity, and knew that he was in her heat suite. There was a fresh vase of flowers sitting on the edge, and a stream of light coming in through the rafters lit up the petals like an explosion of white and lilac.

He was laying beneath the covers, warm and safe. He was wearing a night dress, clearly someone had changed him. Thomas rolled his head upon his pillow, only to be confronted by the sight of Dr. Clarkson who, for whatever reason, was sitting at his bedside reading a book. He wasn’t even in his hospital whites, instead wearing a tweed suit with his jacket off. Why was he keeping Thomas company?

Dr. Clarkson noticed Thomas was awake and set his book down. Thomas saw that it was a medical journal from the London Medical School by a Dr. Nathan Reyes… It was a curious thing, to know that friends of Robbie’s were also published authors and doctors.

“Hello, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson said. His voice was warm; he was clearly grateful to see Thomas alive.

Letting out a deep breath, Thomas began to sit up in bed. Dr. Clarkson helped him, stuffing pillows behind his back and offering him an arm. His stomach was very swollen now, and it was difficult not to slouch beneath the weight.

Dr. Clarkson pulled the tapestry bell, perhaps for a maid, and then sat back down on his chair. He seemed exhausted, but not from lack of energy. It was as if Dr. Clarkson had played all his cards and was finally cashing out the chips. He had no more strength to fight against the tides that threatened his oldest friend.

“I suppose they called you in when they found me on the doorstep.” Thomas mumbled. “Did it shock Mr. Carson too much? To see me like this?” He gestured to his swollen stomach.

Dr. Clarkson shook his head. “We were under no illusions as to what you’d look like.”

Well that was good to hear, at least. “What’s happened?” Thomas asked, “Have the police come calling?”

Before Dr. Clarkson could answer, the door to the hallway opened to reveal Mrs. Hughes. She was just the same as Thomas remembered, with her hair piled atop her head and her keys clinking upon her hip. She broke into a beaming smile when she saw Thomas sitting up in bed. Surely his appearance didn’t warrant such delight. Thomas was unfamiliar with the sensation of people being happy to see him.

“Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes propped herself on the side of his bed, and in a bizarre gesture took up his hand to clasp it in both her own. His engagement ring was cold between her two warm hands.

“Mrs. Hughes, I’m so glad to see you again,” And he meant it, truly.

“Wait one moment, I’m going to get Mr. Carson and his Lordship. They wanted to be fetched when you woke.” She left without another word, clearly on a mission.

Good lord, he’d forgotten how ridiculous this whole house was. One person couldn’t be called without five other people responding. There was no such thing as privacy in Downton Abbey.

Suddenly, a very sharp kick cause Thomas to suck in a breath. He cupped his lower stomach, grimacing at the sensation. Good god that had been strong!

“What happened to you?” Dr. Clarkson asked. “The Kinsey’s have been searching London desperately. I’ve called Melvina and George to let them know we’ve found you. They were overjoyed. They thought you were dead-“

“No, not dead.” Thomas grumbled, “But that wasn’t for lack of trying, I can tell you.”  
Even now, the flash of the explosion which had damned Amos and Alden both made him shudder.

The baby kicked again. Thomas winced.

“I… I’ve had a sanctuary for omegas, for months now. I built it on the old location of Moira Furnace. It use to burn ore into steel back in the ‘50s. We were able to save omegas from the Brigade. The sixty that went missing actually were freed by my men… and we nursed them back to health and sent them home.”

Thomas did not know why he was feeling emotional. He blamed the rush of hormones from the baby.

“I thought the Brigade would never find us… but somehow they found out.” Thomas chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to find the right words. “They came after us, and set the sanctuary on fire.”

The door opened again.

Mrs. Hughes was back, this time the last to enter as Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson went first. Both men seemed haggard, as if they’d been run ragged though Thomas had a feeling only Carson was under the real strain. It was shocking, to see both men again after all that had transpired since April. The last time he’d seen Robert face to face, they’d been at Wyck Hall and nearly had a spat. Robert seemed just as tense as Thomas felt. Mr. Carson was worse, stiff backed and proud but sulking. It was incredible how grown men could behave like such children.

“… Lord Grantham.” Thomas addressed his Lordship first. He knew no other way after a lifetime of servitude.

“Thomas.” Lord Grantham did not seem angry or bitter, which was better than Mr. Carson at any rate. “Mrs. Hughes said that you were up for conversation. Please don’t feel like you must talk if you would rather sleep-“

“I think it best if we spoke, M’lord.” Thomas said. “There’s much to say, after all.”

Lord Grantham seemed mildly impressed, “I quite agree.”

Mr. Carson shifted uncomfortably behind him. Lord Grantham looked over his shoulder, catching his butler’s eyes. “Carson?”

“By your leave, M’lord.” Carson said.

“I’d rather you stay.” Lord Grantham grumbled. Clearly the sight of Thomas pregnant was making Carson nervous. He didn’t even seen to want to meet Thomas’ eyes.

“I suppose you want to know what happened, M’lord?” Thomas asked.

“I would appreciate the full story, yes.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Thomas said, though the truth could not be farther from. Where to start? At least Clarkson had some kind of reference.

“Where is Amos Dorsette?” Lord Grantham asked.

Thomas closed his eyes and looked away. It hurt to mention even now. “…Dead. He killed the Brigade. Alden.”

“My god.” Mrs. Hughes was taken aback, “You mean to say they’re all dead?”

Thomas nodded. Dr. Clarkson was as silent as he was grave, having already heard most of the story.

“Dorsette was a man of character.” Lord Grantham said, “But he knew what the consequences were. I spoke with him several times during your quest; he never mentioned where the sanctuary was.”

“It was a Furnace in Moira.” Thomas said.  
He tried to not be emotional about it, but even now it shocked him to realize that this time yesterday the Furnace had still been pumping with life.

It had stopped so suddenly. Thomas had been given no time to prepare.

He choked up, remembering how beautiful sanctuary and all the hard work he’d put into it. Irene, Belphrey, Amos and others— the faces of men who had died for him.

The panicked omegas, being carried away in the arms of doctors and nurses, terrified of having to go back to the Brigade. How could any of it have been allowed to continue on for so long? How could the Brigade have been sanctified by the government? Given property? Raised up and kept solid?

Mrs. Hughes patted him tenderly on the back. Dr. Clarkson offered his handkerchief. Thomas took it, dabbing at the underside of his eyes.

“They were going to kill us all.” Thomas’ voice was thick with emotion, “But we had a plan. We’d been packing a cave nearby with clothes from the omegas, hand me downs that were covered in their scents, and dynamite charges. The Brigade thought that the omegas were hiding in the cave because they could smell them… but in truth the omegas were already gone. We got them out of there as soon as we heard. They were taken on rafts down river. I don’t know where they are now but they’re with nurses and doctors. I’m so worried—“ Thomas shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell in the ‘what if’s.

Thomas wiped his eyes, taking a long breath to calm himself.  
Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson were patient with him, both men enraptured by his story.

“How did the Brigade end?” Lord Grantham asked, cautiously. “How did Alden MacNaire die?”

“Amos lead the Brigade into the cave and… I tried to set off the charges but the twine failed so I had to shoot it with my gun. And even that didn’t work!” Thomas could feel a headache coming on. He rubbed his temple. “And I thought I was going to die. Alden MacNaire, that bastard, he just charged me down… but… Amos’ shotgun discharged. And the whole thing went up. God, I thought—“

Thomas was about to cry properly now. “I thought I’d killed my baby. I thought when I fell that it would kill him-“

“I’ve done an in-depth examination while you were sleeping.” Dr. Clarkson cut in at once, “The baby is perfectly fine. Your blood pressure is low, though, which I’m sure has been bothering you with lack of energy. Have you felt dizzy?”

Thomas nodded. He swallowed several times, recovering and keeping tears back.

“He’s been kicking, constantly.” Thomas mumbled, “Can’t you get him to stop?”

Dr. Clarkson laughed, seemingly relieved to find Thomas’ spirits recovering. “I’m afraid even I cannot do that, Thomas.”

“It’s a gift from Heaven.” Mrs. Hughes declared with a watery smile.

Thomas didn’t know about all that, but it sure was nice to have Mrs. Hughes say as much. Thomas did not make to stop her when she timidly reached out and lay her withered hand upon his swollen belly. The baby seemed to sense she was near, and kicked out instinctively as if to say ‘hello’. Mrs. Hughes eyes gleamed; she might weep at any moment.

“I had to walk from my car; it broke down.” Thomas admitted to them both, “I don’t think he liked it.” He wiped his eyes again until his face was dry.

“He?”

“It’s a boy.” Thomas said. “I’m almost certain… but I’m afraid I hurt him yesterday. The violence and the walk-?”

“The walk was fine, but your blood pressure went wild and that he did not appreciate.” Dr. Clarkson said. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”

But as Dr. Clarkson and Mrs. Hughes moved forward, Thomas stopped them. He did not want to lay down. He had to work. Now was not the moment for rest. There was still too much work to be done; for god’s sake, he’d left the Furnace on fire!

“Dr. Clarkson-“ Thomas spoke up, “Alden’s been killed in a mine explosion. The furnace is on fire. I can’t just lay in bed. I have to continue my work.” He sat up, as best he could, only to be tutted at from both sides.

“You need to stay in bed and rest.” Dr. Clarkson advised. “You’ve been overworking your body to the point of insanity, Thomas. You’re nearly seven months pregnant. You realize that you could go into a forced labor if you act too foolishly?”

“You’ve taken on far too much strain and it’s beginning to show.” Mr. Carson agreed. Lord, the pair of them were teaming up on him properly now. “You need to put your child first, and stop this nonsense with the Brigade.”

But Thomas didn’t want to be told that. For months now, he’d been acting as the sole lead of his little motley crew, pushing himself to the edge and back in order to try and make a better world for omegas. To be made to get back in bed after being on his feet for so long just seemed alien.

Thomas pulled back his covers, revealing his body to be covered in a modest long nightdress. He hadn’t worn something so frilly since his relationship with Lawrence Gray. It irritated him heavily that he’d been essentially put in a woman’s gown.

He got to his feet, rubbing at the underside of his swollen stomach. At once, everyone made to berate him.

“Oh Thomas, please lay back down!” Mrs. Hughes said.

“Don’t get up-“ Dr. Clarkson urged. Thomas waved them all off, highly irritated.

“I can get up I’m not going to collapse!” He snapped. Dr. Clarkson looked ready to scold him.

Thomas kept on, still determined to get his point across. He looked about the room, searching for his clothes, but came up short. Where was his smock? His boots? Were they downstairs being mended or had they been thrown out?

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through?” Thomas asked of them all, “Any idea? Or are you just content to imagine that I’m a silly little boy playing in a game meant for men?”

“That’s not what we’re saying-“ Dr. Clarkson objected, but Thomas cut him off.

“Sixty omegas were brought to me initially, so broken and beaten they hardly resembled human beings! One was an infant less than a year old, that had been kept in a cage all her life. We gave these women a chance to breathe, a chance to be! And do you know what Alden did in response?” Thomas was off on a tangent. “He tried to kill me, several times. He set my house on fire, he tried to kill my alpha—“

But that was the straw to his back. Mentioning Robert before these men, particularly Dr. Clarkson who was Rob’s oldest friend.

Dr. Clarkson was as somber as Thomas. It was a bizarre sense of satisfaction, to know that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

“Robert’s still missing. God only knows where.” Thomas pursed his lips. When tears fell down his cheeks he did not make to hide them. Let them all his see his agony. Let them know how exhausted he was.

“And even then, Alden threatens to sell me into a whore house. To breed me like a machine. To rip my baby out of me and to… to make me watch it die.”

God even now the thought made Thomas shudder. Even with Alden dead the threat still seemed real.

“All because I didn’t roll over and beg for him to be my alpha.” Thomas shook his head.

He opened the doors of Sybil’s old wardrobe to find his dress hanging. It seemed that the maids had washed it, for which he was grateful. He pulled the dress off its hanger, determined to put it on and get back to work.

“So maybe he’s dead.” Thomas shrugged, “But there’s still work to be done. I have to get back to the Furnace. Most of my men are dead but there could be survivors. For god’s sake, I left it on fire! I have to-“

Thomas felt slightly dizzy, he paused, rubbing his temple.

“God I feel so tired,” He mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. How on earth was he going to walk back to his car?

In the awkward silence that had fallen, Lord Grantham seemed to be holding something back. As Thomas made to head to the lavatory in order to change, he was stopped by Lord Grantham who put his hand on his shoulder.

Thomas gritted his teeth, unable to keep from lashing out: “Robert if you scent me again, I swear to God I’m going to scream—“

“I know where Kinsey is.”

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks.

He looked about, eyes wide; Lord Grantham was determined and stoic, his face betraying no emotion. Thomas could not claim the same, for where before the bitterness had been boiling up inside him now he only felt shock if not the tiniest pin prick of joy.

If Lord Grantham knew… did that mean…?

“How?” Thomas asked. His voice came out in a croak.

“Dorsette sent men abroad to try and find him. They’ve combed France, in particular a county called Lyon.” Robert explained. “I received a call yesterday afternoon from a Convent of Saint Rita in Lyon… apparently Dorsette had enacted a plan that, in his death, all information regarding Kinsey should be forwarded to me.”

 

_“Masters, this is Amos.” Amos said, leaning over Thomas’ desk with white hands bracing the edge. “Call for Sarah!”_

 

Thomas wondered if Sarah hadn’t been a person but a plan… and who had the Masters been? Was it someone named Masters, or-?

“There was a train accident, on a locomotive traveling from Oyonnax to Lyon three days ago. There were apparently no survivors, or so it seemed at first, but it turns out that several people survived, including an Englishman.”

Thomas’ heart was pounding wildly in his breast.

“He woke, briefly, and identified himself.” Robert said. “He said his name was Dr. Robert Kinsey.”

He’d made it to Lyon.  
He’d made it to the convent.  
He was safe.

Thomas broke down, overjoyed but unable to contain his grief and exhaustion. For so many months, he’d feared he would never see Robert again. The concept of him traveling on foot over the Swiss alps was unthinkable but it seemed that somehow, someway Robert had done it. He’d managed to survive everything: the MacNaires, the elements… and even a train crash.

On his knees, with his head buried in his hands, Thomas wept for joy. Mrs. Hughes’ arms were around him shoulders.

“You mustn’t upset yourself, you’ll shock the baby-“ She protested.

“Here-“ Dr. Clarkson took Thomas beneath one armpit; Mr. Carson took the other. Together, the two men hoisted Thomas back up onto his feet and helped him to sit at the foot of his bed. Dr. Clarkson handed back his handkerchief; Thomas hid his face behind the damp cloth.

“He is alive, Thomas.” Lord Grantham urged, a sudden passion in his voice. “He is at the Convent of Saint Rita in Lyon. He’s recovering from a few injuries, and when he’s well we can help him to get home. His attacker, Averill MacNaire, is dead. He is safe. None will be able to harm him within the convent.”

“Thank you-“ Thomas did not know what else to say. “Thank you so much!”

He did not even know who he was thanking… Lord Grantham? God?

The universe?

Lord Grantham braced his shoulder, trying to lend him support. After a few seconds of Thomas huffing and puffing, he was finally able to wipe his face clean again.

He couldn’t believe it at first; Robert—found! It just didn’t seem plausible after so many months in hiding and seclusion.

But if this were so, Thomas needed to leave for France, immediately!

“I have to go to France-“ Thomas said at once. “I have to leave— today!”

“No!”

It came from all corners, with Dr. Clarkson, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson, and Lord Grantham all of whom were determined to get him to stay still.

“You’re too ill to travel oversees.” Dr. Clarkson said. “As your doctor, I cannot allow you to go to France.”

“Dr. Clarkson is right, Thomas.” Lord Grantham said. “Kinsey is not the only one in need of healing. You too are ill, and what is more you are carrying his child. If he were here, I’m sure Kinsey would want you to stay in bed rather than make a fuss.”

Thomas wished that he could prove them all wrong; that he could yank on his clothes and stride onto the first boat bound for Normandy… but the fact of the matter was that he was too weak to pull his dress over his head.

He was stumped, and squarely defeated.

“I don’t know what to do.” Thomas whispered. How could he get to Robert if he had to get across the ocean first?

“Thomas,” Lord Grantham made the shocking move of taking to a knee before him, as if he were about to propose. What was more, he clasped Thomas’ hands between his own, in an act that was slightly too intimate for Thomas’ liking when he was wearing a night dress.

“I know you have done so much in the name of helping omegas, but now it’s time to let us help you.” Lord Grantham said, “Tell me what to do, and let me do it while you rest. I can help your men, I can rally for your cause. I can travel to Moira Furnace and take account of what must be done. What is more, I can do it within the aid of the law, and I can inform Lieutenant Colonel Turnbull about MacNaire’s death in a way that will put your organization in a good light.”

Lord Grantham did not stop there, “On another note, I want you to stay here through the birth and until Kinsey comes home. You need aid, to have your baby in a healthy and safe environment. Dr. Clarkson has told me the process will be unusual, and that the infant mortality rate for omega males is higher than that of omega females. You deserve to be happy, Thomas. Allow me to make that a possibility.”

Thomas hadn’t realized that he’d been afraid for the birth until Lord Grantham had mentioned it. Now that the subject was in the open, Thomas realized that he’d been frightened the whole time, unsure of what to do or where to go. The comforts of Downton Abbey could be smothering if you wanted freedom… but when you were frightened and injured they were like a soft bed to fall into.

Speaking of…

Thomas looked over his shoulder at the bed on which he sat. He reached out, spreading a hand to feel at the individual threads of the comforter.

But there was just one question that Thomas had, particular after all the history that had passed between them.

“…Why are you helping me like this?” Thomas asked, looking back around. “When, when—“

Lord Grantham cut him off, “Because I made a mistake.”

It was shocking to hear the man admit as such, “Because I do care for you. Because you are one of our crowd, and you belong here… and I am relieved to have you home in whatever capacity you wish to stay.”

He didn’t know whether to believe it or not. Thomas looked from Lord Grantham, still contrite upon his knees, to Carson who would still not meet his eyes.

Thomas tried to make Carson shift; it was hard to do.

“And you, Mr. Carson?” Thomas asked.

Mr. Carson looked out the window of Thomas’ bedroom, which offered a view onto the eastern lawns.

“I am unhappy that you have chosen a stranger over his Lordship, when his Lordship was so generous to your position over the years… but his Lordship has asked me to remember that we cannot choose who we fall in love with.”

Pleased with his supportive stance, Mrs. Hughes reached out to touch Mr. Carson’s arm.  
Mr. Carson let his fingers interlace with her own.

“Whether you choose to believe it or not, after the carnage you have faced I am pleased to have you home.”

Thomas didn’t know if he could swallow that. He looked down to his stomach, massive beneath his borrowed night dress. The baby was abnormally still, perhaps settling down again after all the movement and confusion.

“Because I’m pregnant no doubt.” Thomas said reproachfully, “No longer the disobedient omega you switched with a cane.”

Carson dared to ask the obvious question, “But are you not happier as well? To have an omega and a babe on the way?”

That was a double edged sword. Thomas loved Robert but he was a million miles away. Thomas loved his baby too… but he was terrified of giving birth.

“I’m dizzy.” Thomas said, in a way of avoiding the question.

“Your blood pressure is low.” Dr. Clarkson said. “You need to lay down.”

He offered his arm. Thomas accepted it.

Together, Dr. Clarkson and Mrs. Hughes put Thomas back in bed. This time, he laid down without fuss and did not seek to rise again. Mrs. Hughes even closed his shutters so that he could have some quiet and dark despite it being the middle of the day.

“We’ll leave you in peace.” Dr. Clarkson said. “I’ve several medicines that I want to start you on tonight, but for now above all you need rest. Should anything occur, and I do mean anything no matter how small, you’re to ring for Mrs. Hughes and tell her promptly.”

Thomas nodded, sighing. Amazing how he was exhausted after having done so little.

As Lord Grantham got back to his feet and dusted off his knees, Thomas suddenly realized that he had an apology of his own to make. He called out to his retreating back.

“Lord Grantham-“ Lord Grantham paused, looking back at him, “If I might have a word with you alone?”

“As you wish.” Lord Grantham said. So it was that Dr. Clarkson, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Carson all left while Lord Grantham remained behind to sit on the edge of Thomas’ bed.

Lord Grantham gave him a timid smile which Thomas slowly returned. The bond between them was incredibly fragile; even the slightest mishaps might cause it to shatter at this point.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done.” Thomas said. “You’ve saved me.”

“I confess when I realized what I’d done, I was instantly regretful.” Lord Grantham admitted, “I knew that I’d have to work to regain your forgiveness.” Thomas nodded, letting Lord Grantham continue, “Even now I have to remind myself that you’re not mine. That you never well be.”

And suddenly, Thomas felt horribly sorry for Lord Grantham, for the man that had wanted so badly to seize the past once again. For a man that felt out of place in the changing world.

“You don’t want me, Robert.” Thomas whispered. It needed to be said, “You want to be young again.”

Robert gave him a crinkling smile, “You are astute, my dear.” He said.

But his eyes drifted longingly to Thomas’ stomach, bulging out even beneath the covers.

“…Robert, you have to help me.” Thomas pleaded. There was so much work to be done, but he couldn’t do it anymore, “I’ve fought as hard as I can, but I can’t do it anymore. I’m too tired.”

“I understand.” Robert squeezed his hand atop the covers, “And I will. But you have to trust me, Thomas. Can you do that, after all I’ve done to you?”

“I think I can.” Thomas said. “If you promise to never ever scent me again.”

Robert laughed in spite of the bitter history between them. “I believe I can do that.”  
He squeezed Thomas’ hand again. This time Thomas squeezed back.

~*~

 

It was incredibly fulfilling, to go back to sleep despite it being the middle of the day, and to not wake up save for meals. True to Dr. Clarkson’s word, Thomas supper (a glorious serving of meat and potatoes alongside grilled veg) was likewise followed with tonics for his blood pressure, vitamin levels, and all around health. It resulted in him being incredibly sleepy, and as soon as Emma the housemaid had whisked his supper off Thomas had promptly passed out in bed again. He dreamed without visions, resting deeply, and the next morning when he rose again it was to the knocking of Emma, again, who brought him a breakfast platter that surely fitted Lady Mary better than himself. With it came another round of vitamins, and tonics for his blood pressure.

As soon as he was finished, Thomas attempted to read the paper which Emma had brought.

But even as he sat there, trying to get comfortable, Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being horribly lazy and foolish for not going to the aid of Moira Furnace. He was too weak to travel, so that meant he would have to go with someone else.

But he’d have to start with putting on some clothes first.

Thomas rose and washed, taking his first bath in months. Bathing at the Furnace had meant using communal showers with the other omegas, and while the water had always been perfectly warm Thomas had missed being submerged in water. Now able to bath in a gilded foot tub, Thomas washed himself off as best he could and shaved his legs and arms. Having to wear a dress meant having to comply with the standards of showing bare skin. When he was decent (or as decent as he could get with a stomach like a melon), Thomas dried himself off and re-dressed in his dress.

The baby was absolutely giddy at the debacle. Around the time that Thomas started to bathe, the baby woke and began to role in his watery womb. As Thomas dressed, the baby stretched. When Thomas began to make his way downstairs, the baby was back to kicking on his kidneys again. This child was going to be the death of him.

Descending the main stairs was a disturbing concept after a lifetime of going down the servant’s passageway, so Thomas took the green baize door. The hour was past the moment for dressing ladies or fetching trays, so the passage was clear. Entering the main hall, Thomas wondered where he might find Lord Grantham; he supposed the best place to start was the library.

But as Thomas crossed the main hall, he had to pause and sit down upon a sofa. A sudden wave of dizziness had slammed against him so hard that he thought he might faint.

“Thomas-?”

And right on cue, sniffing out any abnormalities to be found in his precious abbey, Mr. Carson found him in the main hall.

“Why are you out of bed?” Mr. Carson demanded; Thomas rose up off the couch again, fighting the dizziness that was tossing his brain too and fro. “Your under doctor’s orders to rest-“

“I know, I know.” Thomas groaned. He felt like a child being scolded; a familiar sensation when it came to Carson, “But I have to head back to the Furnace today—“

“Thomas!” Mr. Carson didn’t seem capable of getting out a full sentence, he was so irritated.

“Please, listen to me!” Thomas protested. Mr. Carson’s lips were pursed into a thin white line, “There are men dead, and the furnace was on fire when I last saw it. I deserve the right to view my property when it’s under damage-“

“His Lordship will handle those affairs.” Carson said, “It is your affair to rest and recuperate. Your child matters more than a furnace.”

“I know that, but-!”

“To bed!” Mr. Carson pointed to the stairs, “Now!”

Another wave of dizziness hit him. Thomas sat back down on the sofa, needing a moment to recollect himself. Mr. Carson took it for a symbol of the end of the world.

“I shall ring for Dr. Clarkson-“

“No!” Thomas bemoaned. “Just let me be still!”

“Carson—“ And now their party included Lord Grantham, who’d no doubt been walking to and from the library with some odd errand or the other. The snuffling of a dog alerted Thomas to the presence of Tiaa, who liked at his bare shins, delighted.

“Thomas? What are you doing out of bed? You ought to be resting-“

His head was spinning.

“I’ve spoken to him on the subject, M’lord, but he refuses to listen to common sense. Hardly out of character-“

Thomas reached out, desperate to grab something, anything, and managed to touch Lord Grantham’s suit top. He held on tight to the hem, taking several deep breathes. He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“… Robert, please.” Thomas mumbled, letting go of Lord Grantham’s suit to brace the couch with both hands, “I beg of you… I have to go-“

“I’ll go.” Lord Grantham sat down on the couch beside Thomas. “You’re much too ill. I’ll take the train today, and I’ll make sure that things are taken care of.”

Thomas thought of all that he’d do if only he could be the one to go. He hoped that Lord Grantham would be a good enough ambassador, “My office— it’s on the top floor of the furnace. I have file cabinets. If they’re not destroyed… I’ll need those files. They’re full of sensitive information. Names, addresses, places where…”

Another roll of dizziness hit him. He fell quiet, and was only jarred by the sensation of being patted on the back.

“I’ll get them.” Lord Grantham assured him. Thomas looked about to find that Lord Grantham was wearing his tweed suit again. He seemed unsure, wary of Thomas’ every reaction. It reminded him heavily of how the family had treated Lady Sybil before her birth. If she’d so much as sneezed there’d been a panic.

“I came with a briefcase.” Thomas added, for wherever it was it needed to be found. There were precious items inside, not to mention a loaded gun, “I need it too. It’s loaded-“

“Loaded?” Lord Grantham had a difficult time understanding the concept.

“My gun.” Thomas said. Lord Grantham was taken aback, as was Carson, “Robbie- my alpha bought me a gun.”

“Is it here?” Carson demanded.

“I— yes— it should be. It’s in my red briefcase. I was holding it when I showed up, like I said. I don’t know where it is though-“

“It’s in my study.” Lord Grantham said.

“I need it back. There are pictures inside… important things.” He suddenly felt horribly tired at the thought of the red briefcase. He’d put such devotion and care into the gift… now it was ruined by fire. “It was a courting gift.”

“I see.” Lord Grantham murmured. “Very well-“ He rose off the couch, stretching, “I’ll head out this moment and see if I can’t catch the train. There’s no need for you to have a gun in this house, you’re perfectly safe here, but I’ll certainly have your briefcase delivered to your room. Carson-“

The butler snapped to attention

“Take Thomas back to his bed.” Lord Grantham said. “I’ll have Norris bring the car around to take me to the station.”

“Very good M’lord.”  
And this time, Thomas did not fight the pull of reason.

~*~

 

She waited, enshrouded in darkness.

She’d come, called by the echoing ache that had been carved out of her tender breast, and now stood poised to strike as she watched policemen comb the remains of the Furnace. There was no sign of Poppy, no sign of anyone save for dead bodies being tallied and sullied traitors that were being given blankets and hot ales by villagers. They were right cozy in their little nest of sin, and it set her teeth on edge. Her wedding band felt hot on her finger. Her locket felt tight on her throat.

The pictures of her children tucked inside were forever stained by their horrific deaths.  
She would never be whole again.

 

There was the Lieutenant Colonel… That Turnbull man who thought he could police other alphas. He claimed the moral high ground but Fran knew better.

He was nothing more than scum in polished boots.  
Scum, pure outright.

He was talking with a man who was clearly upper class. He had a bit of a belly, with curled iron grey hair and a sleek top hat. He was standing amid the wreckage like he owned it.

Typical of his lot.

“We’ll need to gather as much evidence as possible, now that the Brigade is broken up.” Turnbull said, kicking over a bit of burned brick; it crumbled into ash beneath his boot, “I’ve been having the mines scoured out. Twelve bodies, all Brigade members, MacNaire included. Cor-“ Turnbull scoffed, “It was a site, I can tell you that much. So maimed you couldn’t make out much of his face, not that he was ever a looker to begin with between you and me.”

His ugly words burned her… salted her already raw wounds.

She could remember being young and whole, unknown to the touch of man and as pure as her mother’s intentions. She’d run through a field of clover with him right behind her, panting heavily in her ear as he paced faster and faster. He’d taken her down by brute force, fucked her into the raw earth of her father’s sheep fields. He’d claimed her then, and had owned her since.

She was his, until the day she died.  
She was determined that day be soon.

“Dorsette?” The toff asked.

“Vanished.” Turnbull said. “Rumor has it the bugger isn’t dead. I’m prone to believe them, even if the odds are slim. Fact of the matter is, Dorsette’s as tough as they come. If anyone could craft their way out of a mine explosion it would be him.”

“I’m unsure.” The toff warned, “Thomas said he was dead. That he saw him go down with the cave.”

“Well if he’s dead he’s not in that mine!” Turnbull jerked an annoyed thumb over his shoulder. “And where is Thomas anyway?”

 _Thomas_ …

The name was like the fuse to her fire, making her teeth clench subconsciously. Ruby lips, eyes like the sea, and hair as black as coal… he’d been born to destroy her. Born to smash her like pottery. Where she was the earth, he was steel. Where she was weathered and beaten, he was polished and primed. Now his belly grew big while hers was barren. He’d taken her alpha, her pups, her life, and kept his own with selfish hands coated in stolen honey.

No more. She would not allow it. The injustice of it would not stand. She would find that cunt, and take his life with her own bare hands. Would destroy him for robbing her of all that she held dear.

“He’s at Downton Abbey. My home in Yorkshire.” The toff said, “He’ll be staying with me till he gives birth. I’m keeping him quite safe, I assure you.”

“Jolly good.” The bastard Turnbull was played. “He doesn’t need to be involved with this nonsense anymore. He’s a hot little pepper and I appreciate his enthusiasm but even he has limits. The baby comes first.”

It was divine providence, she told herself as she slipped away through the woods. She stalked her prey in utter silence, clad in the clothes of her fallen alpha and bathed in the blood of her sons. It was nothing short of the Supreme Alpha’s favor that had blessed her with overhearing the conversation which would lead her to him.

The whore of Babylon… the bitch that had ruined her life.

~*~

When Lord Grantham returned home, it was to find Thomas back downstairs in the main hall sitting on a couch and taking a cup of tea. Despite everyone’s urges for him to rest, Thomas had decided it was best to at least attempt to sit up and make conversation.

“Lord Grantham!” Thomas rose off the couch at the sight of Lord Grantham walking back through the doorway. He was carrying a bundle wrapped in paper and twine underneath his arm, and despite Andy’s silent protests would not give his package over as he instead took off his coat and hat.

Thomas wanted to know everything; how had the errand gone? Was the furnace alright? What about Mr. Belphrey? Had there been any other survivors?

“Don’t walk so fast, Thomas.” Lord Grantham admonished as Thomas waddled across the floor.

Bugger it all, Thomas didn’t care!

“What happened?” Thomas asked as they met in the middle of the hall. “Did you find any survivors? Was the Furnace still on fire-?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” Lord Grantham said, chuckling at Thomas’ enthusiasm, “But for right now, I’m tuckered out and want to change for dinner. You’re to be a guest at the table- no I won’t take no for an answer!” Lord Grantham added as Thomas opened his mouth in protest.

He did not want to sit at a table where he did not belong, but he desperately wanted to know about the furnace. It seemed that Lord Grantham was pushing him into a corner, and Thomas didn’t like being bullied to fit a social standard.

“You’re not a servant, Thomas. You haven’t been a servant for over a year now.” Lord Grantham reminded him. “You’re the Omega of Lincolnshire, the mate of a prominent London doctor… and you deserve to have a moment of calm.” Lord Grantham gave him a small, hopeful smile.

“Please?” He asked.

Thomas waffled a bit back and forth, unsure if it was the best idea. At the same time, he had to admit that he was hungry and he felt better than before when he’d been made to eat under the presumption of Lord Grantham courting him. This time, everyone would know that Thomas had an alpha… that he was loved, and not for the taking.

“…Alright.” Thomas finally agreed. “But only if you tell me everything.”

“I shall!” Lord Grantham promised. “I absolutely shall.”

And with that, Lord Grantham handed him over the paper bundle, “And I believe you were looking for your files?”

Well at least he knew how to take one direction!

~*~

It was a magnificent house, but to Fran it was nothing save stones of sin stacked upon bricks of blood. She could see the sparkling windows and a butler making his rounds, portly and proud. He was closing windows and carefully checking for last minute details. Fran could hear the far off call of a maid urging a hall boy to fetch more coal for fires to be stoked.

The sun had set. The stars were above her. Dinner would soon be served for the toffs and their broods.

Fran waited in the shadow of the wood shed, the stolen hatchet in her hands. It had been recently sharpened, surely another blessing from the Supreme Alpha.

She would feast tonight as well, and the flesh would be sweet.

 

~*~

What Thomas had not considered, when accepting Lord Grantham’s invitation to dine downstairs, was that he’d inevitably have to dress for the occasion.

His own frock was not satisfactory. When one dined with the upper class, one had to act the part. Thomas, being middle class, had to ask for a favor from Lady Mary. Once again Matthew Crawley’s clothes were pilfered to pull out some of the evening dresses he’d worn while heavily pregnant with George. Matthew had despised being floral or feminine. He, like Thomas, had assimilated with the male sex, and liked to wear trousers and pants. His dresses reflected his tastes: they were simple, in muted colors, and lacked any type of lace or bead. Thomas was offered a dress of navy blue, which Matthew had worn while traveling abroad to Duneagle. Despite it having a light blue ribbon trim, it was a moderate dress and Thomas felt he could live with it. What was more, the fabric was loose and billowed around his stomach so that he wasn’t tight or pressed for movement.

Of course, Thomas didn’t know how on earth he was going to get it over his head and do up the straps in the back.

The answer came with a polite knock on the door. Thomas was in his bathrobe, mid-way between changing and applying lotion the stretch marks on his stomach.

“Who is it?” Thomas called out, unsure if he wanted company when he was so undressed.

The door opened, and a very familiar face poked inside.

“Oh!”

To see Baxter again, when he wasn’t covered in bruises and his limbs were healed, was an incredibly refreshing thing. They embraced, or as much as they could with Thomas’ swollen stomach in between. When they pulled back, Baxter beamed as if he’d taken the gold medal.

“Oh Thomas…” Her brown eyes sparkled as they viewed his stomach, “Look at you!” She was amazed.

“I’m huge?” Thomas tried for a joke, but she just batted him aside.

“You’re beautiful.” She corrected at once. Thomas flushed.

“Don’t flatter me, I’m the size of a whale.”

“You’re pregnant, you’re allowed to be big.”

“Big is one thing.” Thomas said, sitting down at his vanity still wrapped in his housecoat. “But I’m going on needing my own postal code.”

Baxter just couldn’t stop laughing. She came up from behind, observing his borrowed dress which Thomas had laid over a clothes horse.

“Her ladyship wants me to dress you.” Baxter explained. “She thought you might need a bit of help.”

“I am.” Thomas agreed, for there was no way he was getting the dress over his head alone. “But you don’t need to worry about the rest. If you’ll just do up the straps I’ll take care of myself.”

“I’m allowed to dote on you if I want.” Baxter teased.  
Thomas didn’t know about that, but he reasoned that some fights you were just bound to lose.

He brushed his hair as Baxter laid the dress upon the bed, and shed his housecoat so that he stood only in a pair of knickers and a chemise. Baxter did not so much as bat an eyelash, instead offering up the opened backside of the dress so that Thomas could step through.

He did so, cautiously, and used Baxter’s shoulders as a make-shift support as she brought the dress up around his hips, stomach, and finally to his chest.

Lord it was like trying to turn himself into a present.

Thomas did not deign to put on makeup or do something fashionable with his hair. As much as he had agreed to Lord Grantham’s request, Thomas still wanted to be himself. The only jewelry which adorned his person was his locket and his engagement ring. The rest, he decided was up to interpretation. He was not an omega of the upper class. He would not pretend to be even if it made Lord Grantham feel better.

Thomas caught his reflection in the mirror, and paused.

He looked like himself, but off somehow… the dress didn’t really suit him. He’d have felt better if Robert was there.

…But of course, Robert was in France. No such luck of him waltzing through the door tonight.

As Thomas headed downstairs, Baxter helped him not to trip on his slight train. His shoulders carried an odd train, sort of like a cape, though it shimmered in the light in a distinctly different fabric. As they reached the bottom, Baxter let him go. She kept turning back to look at him, grinning from ear to ear when she saw the products of her handiwork.

“Enjoy your evening.” She teased. Thomas stuck out his tongue, narrowing his eyes.

He reached the door to the sitting room, only to have it opened before he could touch the handle. Mr. Carson was on the other side, looking slightly impressed to find Thomas up to snuff. The sitting room was held court to a quiet lot. Lord and Lady Grantham were relaxing upon the couch. Branson was having a whiskey in the corner of the room, with Andy’s tray being his sole source of comfort. He was kept company by Henry Talbot, who seemed to be telling him some kind of story that was making him laugh.

Lady Mary was enjoying a quiet moment with Mrs. Crawley, who was the first to spot Thomas entering the room.

Her aged eyes were misty; she seemed a hundred years older, suddenly realizing that Thomas was wearing her late son’s dress.

“Goodness. Matthew’s dress is very flattering on you.” Mrs. Crawley said. Thomas could hear an obvious strain in her otherwise kind voice.

Thomas could not imagine the feeling of seeing your dead son’s dress on another omega. To remember a time when it had been your son to be pregnant and alive.

“Thomas!” Lord Grantham rose up from the couch, amazed at his transformation.

“You look quite dashing, I must say.” Lady Mary said. Thomas dipped his head a bit, slightly uncomfortable at being the source of everyone’s attention.

“It’s good to have you home.” Branson added. Honestly, Thomas found it difficult to care what the man thought, even now. He’d never hit it off well with Branson.

“Goodness,” Mr. Talbot, on the other hand, had more to say, “How far along are you? You look ready to explode!”

Thomas gave him a dry look.

“I’m due in early March.” Thomas said. He hoped his cold tone conveyed his irritation for Mr. Talbot’s lack of tact. Lady Mary shot Talbot a queer look.

“Dr. Clarkson is more of the opinion that it’ll be February.” Lord Grantham said. The others seemed to accept this notion easier.

Lady Grantham came forward, offering that sweet smile like she always did. Thomas found himself wondering if there was nothing the woman could not forgive. “Thomas-“

“M’lady.”

“I’m so relieved you’re home.” Lady Grantham said. She looked it too, crows feet at her eyes crinkled with amusement, “We were terribly worried about you.”

“You’re kind M’lady.” Thomas didn’t know what else to say after all that had passed between them.

“Robert says there was much todo today at the Furnace. I’m glad you weren’t there, I’m sure it’s going to take ages to sort it all out.”

“On that note, I was hoping to discuss the Furnace with you, M’lord.” Thomas said.

“Of course. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?” Lord Grantham offered. “That way I don’t have to tell the tale twice.”

“Shall we go through?” Lady Grantham offered a hand to her awaiting party. Carson was stiff at the door, ready to see his guests to the table.

Thomas followed, the last to pass through the ancient double doors.

 

Dinner that night was a grand affair, for everyone save Thomas.

It wasn’t for lack of kindness by Mrs. Patmore’s part, but rather an attempt to give him healthier meals. They started their dinner with a savory soup, which was made of simple beef broth. Thomas, on the other hand, got a vegetable stock which was lighter on his uneasy stomach.

The baby rolled, delighted with his upper class dinner. Beneath the table, Thomas carefully rubbed the swell of his stomach to try and keep the baby calm.

Everyone was chatting. Thomas was situated between Mrs. Crawley and Lady Mary.  
Everyone was turned to talk to the person on their prospective left. Mrs. Crawley was attempting to make polite conversation.

“I confess I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since I found out that you were pregnant. I didn’t realize that you were an omega. But Lord Grantham tells me you hid as a beta for nearly twenty years-“

“Pardon me, M’lady-“ Thomas cut her off before their conversation could really begin, “I have to make my point.”

As Carson brought around the second course (a main serving of roast pork in a sauce of merlot, sautéed potatoes, and carrots), Thomas caught Lord Grantham’s eyes.

“M’lord, I’m afraid I must know what happened today.” Thomas said.  
At once, conversation around the table came to the pause. The dining room was unnaturally silent.

“Forgive me if I’m outspoken, but I’m deeply concerned for my men and my property.” Thomas continued on. “Please tell me what happened at Moira Furnace?”

Lord Grantham shrugged, always rather easy going when it came to disturbances in the normal. Thomas tried not to look too impatient, though beneath the table his fingers were white upon his stomach.

Carson sat down a platter before him, along with a small silver cup that could have been for cream or sugar. Confused, Thomas plucked it up to see that it was nothing more than his evening pills for blood pressure and vitamins. So it seemed that he would be made to secure his health even in this relaxed atmosphere.

What was more, Thomas’ main meal seemed to be lacking more of the spices that others were able to enjoy. His meal was instead more calm and fresh, with better cuts of pork and boiled vegetables instead of roasted.

 

He took small bites, carefully cutting his pork to take his time as Lord Grantham began to explain.

“I traveled to Moira with the intention of merely surveying the damage and contacting our lawyer.” Lord Grantham explained, “But when I arrived there I was met by Lieutenant Colonel Turnbull. Murray was already on the scene, speaking with Turnbull about the damage.”

“Is the Furnace completely destroyed, M’lord?” Thomas asked.

“I’m afraid so.” Lord Grantham said. Thomas paused, suddenly unable to eat as he instead listened to Lord Grantham’s tale.

“Your man, Belphrey, had to make some difficult decisions at the drop of a hat.” Lord Grantham explained. “Apparently the blast furnace was rigged with explosives, and Belphrey set them off in order to keep the Brigade from gaining a route to the escaped omegas. The entire tower came crumbling down, and with it went the Furnace. The flames were extinguished by the Moira Fire Department. The villagers were more than happy to lend a hand. Apparently everyone knew that the Furnace was a sanctuary… but no one bothered to tell the Brigade.”

“How many men are dead?” Thomas asked, fearful.

“Let’s not speak of such things,” was Lord Grantham’s reply, side eyeing Lady Grantham and Mrs. Crawley. “It’s better to keep conversation light, Thomas.”

Thomas suddenly felt slightly ashamed, but was still determined.

“… Is it… bad?” Thomas asked, timidly chewing upon a piece of pork.

“Not as bad as you think.” Was Lord Grantham’s reply. That, at least, gave Thomas some amount of comfort.

 

They were next served a side plate of artichokes, which everyone received grilled save for Thomas, who once again got to eat it steamed. Thomas realized that Mrs. Patmore was trying to give him more nutrients, surely worried that his pregnancy was putting his body through hell.

 _I hope you like your dinner,_ Thomas thought. The baby rolled comfortably in response.

“On a more light subject, I understand that your alpha has been found?” Mrs. Crawley said. “You must be so relieved.”

That was a word for. Thomas nodded, suddenly shy with everyone’s eyes upon him: “I’m very grateful M’lady. It’s a miracle.”

“Have you spoken to him?” Mrs. Crawley asked.

“Unfortunately the good doctor is far too ill to speak.” Lord Grantham answered in lieu of Thomas’ silence. “I’ve spoken with the English embassy in Paris. They’ve sent convoys to Lyon to gauge his situation. He’s recovering from several wounds, but should be ready to travel by mid January.”

“But surely Thomas could at least talk to his alpha before then.” Lady Mary said.

“It’s possible but I’m unsure how.” Lord Grantham paused, “Perhaps we could look into finding a telephone near the convent where he’s staying.”

“Let’s.” Lady Mary decided. Thomas tried not to let his heart race too much at the thought of being able to speak to Robert again. In a way, he already knew the answer would be no. He didn’t even imagine that Robert would be home mid January…

The baby would probably be born before the reunited. It burned Thomas deeply.

 

 

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch. Thomas wasn’t allowed a share of the citrus ice, nor was he to eat the sweet pickles and fancy cake that came in succession. Instead, he was given fresh dinner rolls, sweet cream butter, preserved fruit, and cool punch instead of coffee. The dining group reconvened in the library, with everyone clustering around the couches nearest the fire in the cold weather. Outside, the windows were piling up with snow. Thomas could not help but think of Irene’s car, surely ruined by now.

 

Thomas sat nearest the fire, allowing the flames to warm his belly. It was a calm moment, with Lord Grantham leaning by the mantle as he smoked a cigar.

Lady Mary was playing cards with her mother and Mrs. Crawley. They were chatting amiably. Branson and Mr. Talbot were likewise occupied, looking over the paper where there seemed to be an ad featuring a car for sale. They were far too old to be giggling like children over a motorcar, but that didn’t stop them from gloating over their newfound prize.

Given a moment of solitude, Lord Grantham sat beside Thomas on the couch and gently put out his cigar so as not to irritate him with the fumes.

“There’s something we must discuss.” Lord Grantham murmured.

“Yes?” Thomas asked.

“Amos Dorsette’s body is missing.” Lord Grantham said, “and Lieutenant Colonel Turnbull doesn’t think he’s dead.”

Thomas was shocked to hear as much. It wasn’t like he’d seen an ambiguous movement that might or might not have resulted in death. There was no way the explosion could have not killed him. Christ, it had nearly killed Thomas!

“That’s impossible.” Thomas murmured. “I saw him. I saw the cave collapse atop…”

But had he really? What had he honestly, actually seen? Thomas tried to think it throw, eyes narrowed in intense thought. “Well, I think I did at least-“

“Try and walk me through it.” Lord Grantham offered, “What exactly did you see?”

“I saw… a bright flash of light.” Thomas said, a hand combing through the naked air as if to touch a cave wall or cloud of smoke. “The mouth of the cave seemed to expand to me. I saw dust shoot up into the air like a javelin. There was light. So much light, and the noise was horrifically loud. There was this big orange flash, like a bomb. And then… the heat hit me and knocked me back. But I certainly saw the cave collapse atop Amos, and Alden.”

“The cave did collapse. I saw it myself.” Lord Grantham said, “And there were many men inside, including MacNaire… but not Dorsette.”

Could it be that someone had drug his body away, in a sort of homage to his great act of sacrifice? Perhaps even an animal-?

“Where could he be?” Thomas wondered aloud. It almost made him sick, to think of Amos’ body being degraded in such a way.

Lord Grantham mused over it, but came up short, “I’m afraid it’s out of our hands now, Thomas. Turnbull is a sharp chap. He’ll take over things, and make sure that Dorsette’s body is recovered. What matters is that you are safe here.”

Thomas smiled, grateful for his port in the storm. It came none too soon, with Thomas’ health on the line and the baby growing bigger everyday. He’d never carried a baby past six months, and now he was going on seven.

 

The telephone rang, causing Thomas to jump at the sudden sound. Carson was the only one in the library to oversee their party, and quirked a bushy brow as he marched across the carpeted floor to pluck up the receiver.

“Downton Abbey, this is Mr. Carson, the butler.” There was such pride in his voice.

Mr. Carson raised an eyebrow to whatever was said, “One moment sir.”

At that, he set the receiver down on the desk to confront Thomas and Lord Grantham on the couch.

“It’s for you.” Mr. Carson said to Thomas, which was slightly surprising. Who in the hell could be calling at this hour? “It’s your solicitor.”

“Murray?” Thomas could only imagine that his case was running the poor man ragged. No wonder he was calling so late, he’d probably only just gotten back to London. Thomas got off the couch with slight difficulty, having to use Carson’s forearm to steady himself, and picked up the receiver expecting to hear only heavily exhausted lawyer on the other end.

“Hello?” Thomas said.

 _“Sarah says hello.”_ whispered a voice. And then, quite suddenly the phone hung up.

Thomas blinked, befuddled, and looked at the now dead phone line.

“What was that?” Lord Grantham asked.

“… It wasn’t Murray, for a start.” Thomas warned, setting the receiver back on its hanger with a soft clink. “It was some strange man telling me that ‘Sarah says hello’ whatever that means.”

Carson was affronted to have been duped on the telephone before his masters.

“I assure you, I was told that it was your solicitor!” Carson said.

“Oh don’t take it to heart, Carson.” Lord Grantham said, ever the one to swipe away any trivialities, “It’s probably someone playing a prank.”

But the words were ominous to Thomas, who was now racking his brain for every Sarah analogy he could come up with.

Sarah says hello, what did that mean? Thomas was certain it had something to do with Amos Dorsette, who had called for Sarah to be contacted,on his last telephone call. Could it be that Sarah actually was a person? Was she Amos’ companion in arms? Or was Sarah an acronym for something? S.A.R.A.H? Society Against Religious Alphas Harming….?

Oh if that wasn’t the biggest ball of rubbish he’d ever cocked up.  
Thomas shook his head, puzzled.

 

~*~

 

The lights were extinguished one by one, with Carson doing final checkups. Andrew was given slight reprieve, allowed to go downstairs ahead of time if only to spend a few more minutes with Daisy. They were courting, but Carson was privy to the secret that Andrew was to ask Daisy to wed come Saturday when Daisy was going to have a half day. It was the buzz of downstairs, kept secret from Daisy by sheer good luck.

The family were all upstairs asleep in their beds as Carson locked the front door at last. He found a slight crack in the sill, and grumbled at the cold air which had been allowed to pass through. Andy must not have closed the door carefully when he’d walked Mrs. Crawley to her motorcar. The boy was nervous, fumbling on the most simple of tasks. He needed an answer to his burning questions. He would receive them sure enough.

Determined to give the boy a scolding, Carson headed for the green baize door through the sudden darkness of the main hall. The only light came from the cut of the servant’s passage being opened. When it closed again, the halls of Downton Abbey were shrouded in darkness.

There was no noise to be heard, not even the footsteps of an intruder creeping up the main stairs.

~*~

In his bed, likewise layered in darkness, Thomas’ heavy eyes were draped upon the picture of Robbie shaking hands with Freud. He was slowly falling to sleep, his belly full with good food and his head cradled upon a soft pillow.

So far gone in that misty veil of sleep was he that he did not notice the soft sound of his door opening.

He’d just fallen asleep, still bordering on the realm of waking, when a shadow crawled up his bed. Steel gleamed in the moonlight that streamed in through his curtains. It seemed almost blue in the night, the curve of its blade unnervingly sharp.

Francine MacNaire drew the axe high above her head, taking a slow breath to steady herself for the killing blow.

Thomas shifted in his sleep, suddenly waking back up to turn left upon his pillow.  
It was an act that would save his life.

Fran brought the ax down with enough force to make the blade whistle through the cold air, but instead of hitting Thomas’ head it instead only hit his hair and the edge of his pillow.

Gasping awake at the sudden disturbance, Thomas looked about only to scream bloody murder at the sight of Fran above him!

“HELP!! GOD HELP ME!!”

~*~

Only a room over, Robert Crawley was midway through dousing the lights in his own room when the high pitched scream of terror shocked him to a pause.

_“HELP!! GOD HELP ME!!”_

Robert looked around at the door to the hallway. There could be no mistaking a scream like that, nor the ones that followed, shrill and terrified. Either someone was dead or dying, and it startled Cora right out of bed as she glanced from her husband to the door, ashen.

“What the devil?!” Robert demanded, swinging his housecoat back on.

_“SOMEONE HELP ME!!”_

Robert was not the only Crawley to poke his head out of his bedroom door. Mary and Henry were likewise disturbed, as was Branson even though he was several doors down and close to the bachelors corridor. The screams were resonating from the secret passageway to Thomas’ room, which was standing ajar as if someone had entered and not shut it behind.

Carson appeared from the green baize door, close to Branson. At the sounds of screaming, the normally stoic butler flew into action. He all but ran down the hallway, making a beeline for Thomas’ hallway.

Robert followed swiftly after him, as did Branson and Mary.

 

The door to Thomas’ room was already open.  
The scene they found was absolute chaos.

Thomas was on the floor, a violent woman atop him with the blade of an ax pressed tight to his slim throat. His swollen belly was pressed between their colliding bodies, with Thomas holding to the blade and handle of the ax as he desperately pressed it back. The woman was absolutely insane, her black hair shaggy in her murderous eyes. She was almost drooling, so intensely focused on killing her prey that she’d forgotten her own depravities. Feathers were drifting through the air; the bed had clearly been struck several times with the blade. The curtains were hanging off their rod, which was broken in half cleanly. Clearly the ax had struck the wood and brought the canopy down.

“Die, die, die-!!“ the woman was hissing in Thomas’ face.

“Get off, you maniac!” Branson shouted, diving for the woman to grab her under the arms and yank her forcibly off Thomas. She went rolling, with Thomas gasping shallowly for air as he scrambled on hands and knees upon the floor. He pressed himself against the far wall, taking staggering gulps as he tried to gain bearings on his surroundings.

Branson was aided at once by Carson, who kicked the axe out of the woman’s hand to press her hard against the floor.

“Axe!” Thomas cried out; the woman’s hands were still twitching for the weapon. In a moment of bravery, Robert stepped over her kicking legs to scoop the axe up. He clenched it tight in a sweaty fist, his heart pounding as he pointed the axe threateningly in the woman’s ravaged face.

“GOD DAMN YOU!” the woman howled without shame. She seemed close to soiling herself in her violent mood, “YOU BASTARDS! YOU’LL BURN IN HELL FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY FAMILY!!”

Robert could not fathom who this insane woman might be, his mind scrambling for every ousted tenant and farmer that had failed to comply with the terms of their property lease. He could come up with no one in the past twenty years that might dare assault his family in this way!

“Mary-!” Robert barked at his oldest daughter, who was shocked still in the doorway with a gaping mouth, “Ring the police! Hurry!”

She did not need telling twice, fleeing the scene. She was smart in a panic, she would call the authorities and have them roused. Robert was confident they had the upper hand.

“You-“ Robert addressed the woman upon the floor with as much grace as he could muster. In the moment, with Thomas terrified and his butler sweating in his spats, it wasn’t much. “Are you completely insane? Who are you, to dare disturb the sanctity of this house? Can you not see that he’s pregnant-?” He waved the ax behind him at Thomas, who was still clinging to the wall and trying to get his bearings back. “He’s done nothing to you, whoever you are-“

“Nothing!” She cackled the word, like a witch from Macbeth, “Both my boys, dead! Dead at his hands! My mate, my husband! My alpha! Dead! All of them dead, and that bitch is to blame-!”

She thrashed hard in an attempt to break free of Branson and Carson, she was almost successful-!

“I’ll have his blood in my mouth.” The woman snarled. Robert gaped, unsure of what to make of this wretched creature. He looked behind to Thomas for an answer.

“..She’s Francine MacNaire.” Thomas shuddered, his voice slightly hoarse. There was a slim bruise on his throat from where the blade had nearly cut into his skin, “…She’s Alden’s omega. Her sons are Ambrose and Averill.”

And suddenly Robert could remember that wretched little boy, dead upon the floor of a private justice court.

He’d talked of his mother in his final moments. Robert could not help but feel horribly sorry for the omega at his feet, no matter how violent she might be-

But at the mention of her families name on Thomas’ lips, Francine seemed spurred into another wild round. She let out a shriek like a bird of prey, throwing off both Branson and Carson to bolted for Thomas. Even unarmed, she could do true damage to Thomas in his fragile state.

Robert had only the blade and his bare fist. If he stroke the woman with the axe, it would kill her!

Robert reared back, and as Francine made to get past him, Robert smacked her hard in the temple. The blow was so strong in Francine’s muddled state that she was immediately knocked off her feet and back to the floor where Branson and Carson could keep her still. She was unconscious, groaning softly upon the carpet.

Robert’s knuckles smarted horribly. He felt sick, having to hit a woman and an omega in such a way. But as he looked over his shoulder at Thomas, who was staring up at him with awe and respect, Robert had to surmise that it was worth it.

He was not a violent man… save when his omegas were threatened.

 

~*~

 

The police were prompt, and with them came Turnbull.

Thomas was wrapped up in a blanket to prevent shock from setting in, ushered into Lady Mary’s old bedroom from when she’d been a solo alpha still looking for a mate. There, Thomas was interviewed by several police officers, all of whom wanted him to rehash events though it was difficult to connect the pieces.

He just kept breathing, his mind spinning.

Carson had mentioned that he’d found the front door slightly ajar on his evening rounds; he’d at first thought it a flaw of Andy’s but had realized in hindsight it had been Fran’s way of getting in. From there, she must have just smelled her way to Thomas’ room. To think, she could have just as easily opened the door to anyone else’s room. Maybe she’d crept along the second floor, sniffing at every door until she’d found Thomas’ particular scent.

The near death experience had rattled Thomas’ already fragile psyche, and had roused nearly every servant from bed.

Thomas was looked over by Mrs. Hughes and Baxter, both of whom wanted to make sure his neck wasn’t in need of medical attention. They then were forced to strip the pillows and sheets from Sybil’s old heat suite. The bed was rightly broken, and would require intricate repair. What was more, the canopy was smashed. That had come from Thomas leaping off the bed and Fran having to change direction of her blow mid-swing. The canopy had gotten caught in the blow and the whole thing had come down. The curtains had blinded both attacker and victim, causing them to fall to the floor. The rest? Well… the family had burst in not too soon after that.

And Robert…

God, the sight of Robert Crawley punching Fran in the face had been shocking if not delightful. Thomas had heard rumors of a fight between him and an art historian set on Lady Grantham. Apparently the fight had been so vicious the historian had limped away with broken ribs. Having seen Fran on the floor, unconscious, Thomas was prone to believe the rumors now.

Robert Crawley had saved his life, and had done it without asking. What was more important, he’d saved the life of Thomas’ unborn child.  
Thomas didn’t know how he’d ever thank the man for that.

 

The baby was settling down now. The sudden scare had made the baby do a series of flips but fatigue had put him back to sleep as soon as Thomas had been allowed to rest in Lady Mary’s old room. Now, with most of the police cleared out taking Fran with them, it was only Turnbull left to round up the investigation and send the family off to bed.

Of course, he wanted to check on Thomas personally before he did so.

Turnbull never seemed to sleep, in Thomas’ eyes. Come rain or shine, near or far, Turnbull was always there when the MacNaire family made a slip up. Maybe he got off on having his dark assumptions vindicated. He’d certainly looked pleased when the police had loaded an unconscious Fran into the back of an ambulance. God only knows where she was bound for. Queerly, Thomas was afraid for her.

“Why is it every where I go I hear your name?” Turnbull mused from the doorway of Thomas’ new room. Thomas looked up to find Turnbull relaxing against the sill; the shadows of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes talking were just over his shoulder. The house was shutting down again for the night.

Turnbull was staying over. He wanted to keep personal watch over the house while the others slept.

“I’m popular.” Thomas mumbled.

 _Popular to kill,_ his mind added, irritably.

“Neck alright?” Turnbull asked, stepping closer to lean in. Thomas was suddenly hit with the sharp smell of something smoky… like spiced apples but deeper. It must be Turnbull’s scent.

Thomas nodded. Turnbull pulled back. “Well, I suppose that’s that.”

“There was another omega.” Thomas said, now fully afraid Marcy would be the next to seek him out, “Marcy was her name-“

“She fled.” Turnbull said with a small humored smile, “Alden reported her missing months ago. She’s gone, and I hope wherever she is she’s happy.”

Thomas let out a breath of relief. Thank god. “Me too.” He said.

“Do you want to press charges on her?” Turnbull asked. It was obvious he wasn’t talking about Marcy. “You’re fully within the right-“

“No.” Thomas said. His conscience wouldn’t allow for it. Fran wasn't a bad person. “I just… I think she’s turned right around. She needs help.”

“Oh she’ll get it.” Turnbull said. “She’s going to a convalescent in Ireland… close to her home, from what we gather. She has family over there. They’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Oddly enough, that made Thomas feel much better… to know that Fran was going to be taken care of, and not treated like a criminal.

“I’ve a message to pass along to you.” Turnbull said.

“Yes?”

“Sarah sends her regards.” Turnbull was tickled by his turn of phrase. Thomas was not.

“What does that mean?” Thomas demanded. “Someone called earlier tonight and-“

“It means that your eyes deceived you.” Turnbull said.  
Thomas blinked.

“I didn’t believe it too, and to be fair he’s pretty banged up.” Turnbull said. “But Belphrey got word to me that a certain Amos Dorsette was pulled from the wreckage of the cave, still alive.”

Thomas’ jaw dropped.

It was absolutely impossible! The explosion should have killed anyone-!

“MacNaire’s body acted as a sort of shield-“ Turnbull said, “Not that it saved him from all of it. Bugger’s covered in burns from what I’ve been told. But he’s in good hands, and eventually he’ll be back on his feet. Lost a leg to it though.”

A leg? Christ, he should have lost his fucking life! Sod the leg!

“… How?” Thomas was simply agog. “Where is he? Can we send aid to him?”

“Already taken care of.” Turnbull said, tapping the side of his nose cheekily. “Now you snuggle down tight and sleep well. I’ll be right outside your door till morning.”

Thomas didn’t know what to make of that. After all the insanities of the night, how would he ever sleep now? But Turnbull just turned to the door, pausing at the exit to look back over his shoulder at Thomas.

“You’re brave, Mr. Barrow.” Turnbull said. Coming from a Lieutenant Colonel, that was quite a lot. “But you don’t have to be brave anymore.”

He shut the door, and Thomas was once gain plunged into gloom.

Unsure of what else to do, Thomas slowly crawled beneath the covers, a hand idly at his still swollen neck while another toyed with the hem of his hitched nightgown. He touched the bare flesh of his lower belly, stroking the swollen edges.

The baby was asleep now. Soon enough his mother would be the same.

~*~

 

The rest of December passed rather quickly.

Thomas was so focused on getting better and regaining his strength that he did not notice the time passing. The only true markings of the days were Christmas decorations being put up. Thomas watched the staff set up the tree, unable to help with the decorations besides covertly polishing the star before Carson caught him and scolded him for ‘working’. Thomas likewise attempted to mend a tablecloth before getting caught by Mrs. Hughes. He was then forced to do nothing, save for read and work on his saved files. He spent his days with a blanket on his lap, surrounded by papers as he signed documents and looked into every missing omega he could get his hands on.

Most of his charges had gone towards Liverpool, which was distinctly less in favor of the Brigade for whatever reason. There were several halfway houses, mostly dedicated to omegas who’d lost their alphas through war or some other heartache. Now they were filled to the brims with omegas that were _escaping_ their alphas. Thomas sent regular donations, determined to give his charges a good place to land. He spent many a telephone call perking up his cause, reminding the owners of halfway houses that they were a part of the new generation.

The Brigade was dead, but it seemed that no one knew how to forget them. The story of Thomas’ Furnace was on every page of every newspaper. People wanted to know all the details, and were enraptured by Thomas’ story. In particular, Amos Dorsette was now growing famous for his brave deeds. The police, particularly Turnbull, were quick to remind the public that no matter how charismatic Dorsette might appear he was still technically a wanted man. The push back had been hard, with large alpha numbers demanding would they be wanted too if they were to protect their omegas from the Brigade?

The answer was no longer simple, no longer a definite ‘yes’. Change came slowly to Great Britain.

 

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear, with heavy snowfall upon the ground. Thomas awoke in Lady Mary’s old bed, still having not been able to move back into the heat suit. As a result from the lack of ventilation, the whole chamber now stank of white peach. Thomas couldn’t see it but the maids swore on it, and Mrs. Hughes had apparently been forced to clip Amelia around the ears for making lewd comments about Thomas ‘bearing fruit’. Thomas could hear the children screaming as they ran down the hall, followed by their parents, but did not make to rise with the family. He did not want to go downstairs, nor socialize with anyone. By rights, this day should have been him partaking in the Kinsey festivities. He’d dreamed the night before of being back in the old apartment with Rob. If only luck had favored them as such, Thomas would have laid out tinsel and holly, He would have even tried his luck making a Christmas pudding. He would have bought his alpha something lovely, maybe a new fountain pen to go with his red briefcase.

But that wasn’t to be. Rob was recovering in Lyon and the Kinsey’s were still hiding in London until all this hubbub with the Brigade had settled down.

Around noon, Thomas finally rose from bed and took his pills. He was no longer suffering from sudden drops in blood pressure, but as a result from the medication had become slightly constipated. It didn’t help when he was already as bloated as a dying whale. Without anyone’s help, Thomas carefully put on a dress Matthew had worn during his last Christmas on earth. It was a simple frock of dark green, and even came with jewelry which of course Matthew had never worn. Thomas deigned not to wear them either, instead combing his hair and keeping his locket and engagement ring on full display.

He headed downstairs, only to step around the events of the main hall. The children were playing with their new toys, shrieking their delights to high heaven, and the family were in turn frolicking around the open yule fire. Thomas took the servant’s stairwell in an attempt to let it be, and descended all the way down into the basement where he found the Christmas spirit very much alive.

It was common knowledge that Christmas morning was reserved as a moment of rest for the staff. As a result, the Christmas spirit was wildly perked unlike most households, and there was tinsel everywhere. It seemed this year Mr. Carson had finally caved and had put up a tiny tree in the servant’s hall which was now littered at the base with several wrapped presents. Thomas, far too depressed for festivities, had bought no one presents save for Baxter and Lord Grantham. To Baxter, he’d given a new book of poetry by American poet Dorothy Parker. Lord Grantham, on the other hand, received a snuffbox that Thomas had specifically ordered to feature an alpha offering flowers to his omega. It was the sort of scene that might have occurred if Thomas had picked Lord Grantham over Rob… but as it stood their affections now where forever bound for the ‘what if’ realm of the imagination.

As Thomas rounded the bend in the base of the stairwell, he was almost immediately confronted by Baxter, who was wearing a small piece of holly in her hair and beamed at the sight of him.

“Happy Christmas.” She said, and before Thomas could stop her she hugged him in front of everyone. Chatter died down a bit at the sight of Thomas, who was stiff as he awkwardly patted Baxter on the back. He didn’t like showing affection in public; it set the bar for too many social expectations.

Baxter seemed to understand, and didn’t take it personally.

 

“What are you doing down here?” Baxter asked coyly, “You should be upstairs with the family.”

“Spirit of Christmas.” Thomas said, vague on the detail that he sorely wished to be left alone.

“We’re having a cup of tea before we go up.” Baxter said, gesturing to the table which was laid out in full splendor. It seemed Mrs. Patmore had outdone herself, perhaps spurred on by Mr. Carson’s willingness to let a tree into the hall.

“Will you join us?”

“I might as well.” Thomas said. He hadn’t eaten anything all day and he was starving for a biscuit.

Of course, the servant’s hall was filled with more than just the regular few. The day maids were enjoying a moment of bliss, as was the hall boy, and in the corner Thomas spied a new face… or rather, a face that had gotten several months older.

William Bates was no longer a baby confined to his cot. He was now on the verge of being a toddler, and sat upright in his mother’s arms. He had a head full of straw blonde hair, and his eyes were dark and deep like John’s. He was chewing on a wooden sailboat, no doubt a Christmas gift, and was grinning blissfully as Amelia the day maid tickled his protruding belly. He was wearing breeches of doe skin, perhaps a gift from the family, and had on a little vest of holly green.

Daisy was likewise in a brilliant mood, now engaged to Andy. They were to be wed early next summer, or so the rumor stated. Andy was not a rich man and could not afford an engagement ring, but Daisy was wearing a new tortoise shell comb in her hair that was clearly a courting gift.

Thomas tried not to feel jealous, but it was hard.

As Thomas entered the servants hall, everyone stood to attention. This did not set right with him, because he wasn’t a member of the family, or even a member of the upper class.

“Don’t stand.” He protested. Everyone sat back down, eager to get on with their Christmas tea. “I just wanted to come down, if that’s not too much to ask.”

“Not at all!” Andy said at once, “We’re happy to have you.”

Thomas did not believe that for a second. His eyes trailed around the table, taking in the reproachful faces of the maids, until he landed upon William who seemed enraptured by him.

Anna stepped around the table. Thomas bristled as she drew closer with William.  
He wondered, would William remember him? How the pair of them had tucked away for hours at a time when he’d only been a few months old… how he’d nursed from Thomas’ own breast?

Cor, it was a shock that Anna would still even look him in the eye. Thomas didn’t know what he’d done to warrant her understanding.

“Happy Christmas!” she greeted him. “You haven’t seen how big Will has gotten yet, have you?”

“…He’s huge.” Thomas was shocked at the size difference. To think, he’d been but a babe in April!

William gummed at his toy boat. Thomas could just see two pearly teeth trying to poke their way through.

“Do you remember Thomas? Hmm?” Anna toyed with a lock of her son’s blonde hair. William was staring right at him now, on the edge of grinning. Thomas gave William a tiny smile, still quite uncomfortable.

“He’s a sweet thing.” Anna gloated. She had every right to be proud. “He’s an angel.”

“We’re very proud of him.” Bates said. He’d walked into the servant’s hall, bearing a hot cup of tea that was clearly meant for Anna, but put it on the table when he saw her arms were full, “Happy Christmas, Thomas.”

“Mm.” Thomas said in way of returning the emotion, still nervous to be around a baby he’d breast fed in the dark.

But William had decided he’d quite liked the idea of Thomas and stretched out both his arms to suddenly latch onto Thomas’ neck. Thomas let out a gasp, having to collect William rather quickly as he jumped from his mother’s arms to Thomas’. Thomas held him tight beneath his bottom, almost exhausted underneath his weight. Good lord, the boy was huge!

William grinned into his neck, the tip of his sailboat poking against Thomas’ clavicle. It was damp from saliva.

“So you do remember me, it seems.” Thomas murmured. He reached up, petting William’s thick blond hair, “My god, you have a head full of hair, don’t you?”

“It’s a tangle.” Anna joked.

“You must be getting excited for your own baby.” Bates spoke up, “Dr. Clarkson said he expects you to deliver in February instead of March.”

Thomas tensed at the prospect.  
He wasn’t excited, actually. He was too focused on getting Rob home first. Indeed, the more he thought about it the more Thomas realized that he was actually quite terrified. What if something happened to him during the birth? What if he died, and left his child motherless? What if the baby died? The loss would destroy Thomas forever.

“It’s complicated.” Thomas mumbled. “I’m… not excited just yet.”

“But you’ll be due soon!” Baxter said, amazed at Thomas’ lack of enthusiasm. Thomas just shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter.” He wished he could say otherwise, but without Rob this whole venture seemed half-full at best.

“Missing your alpha?” Amelia spoke up with a loud sneer, “That’s a change! Where’s the haughty under butler in his trousers now?”

Thomas rolled his eyes to the ceiling, praying for God to give him strength: “Why are you still here?” He demanded, “Haven’t you shriveled up and died yet? I thought flies didn’t live more than forty-eight hours.”

Amelia flushed scarlet, angry.

Baxter admonished him with a stern look, “Don’t be unkind. She’s just jealous.”

 

“Of course.” Thomas muttered nastily as William tugged on a lock of his black hair, “I’m the unkind one.”

“You’re going to be someone’s mother soon.” Bates offered. “You ought to learn to speak with kindness.”

Thomas wanted to smack Bates in the face at that, but he found it to be more trouble than it was worth. Was Bates trying to insist that he would be unkind to his own child?  
Did he really think Thomas that cruel?

In an attempt to break up the quickly forming tension, Daisy blurted out, “I’m getting married!”

Thomas focused on her at once, forcing a small smile onto his face. “Congratulations.” He said, and he meant it.

“Andy proposed.” Daisy gloated, batting her eyelashes at Andy like she were trying to ward off flies.

“…I gathered.” Who else was supposed to have proposed to her? Mr. Mason?

“we’re going to have a church weddin’ in May!” Daisy said, “Will you come?”

“Of course.” Thomas said.

Daisy gasped, her eyes sparkling, “You can bring your baby too!”

She had a point. If Dr. Clarkson was accurate, the baby would be three months old in May. Well ready to go out into public… or was he?

Thomas suddenly realized that he didn’t know much about babies. What if he killed his baby out of ignorance?  
Icy dread slipped into his stomach, suddenly making him feel terribly cold.

“…Yes I… maybe.” Thomas was unsure. It resonated in his voice, “Possibly. I mean— it depends.”

“Motherly bliss doesn’t seem to be agreein’ with you.” Amelia spoke up again. The servant’s hall quieted around her; her voice was obnoxiously loud when she was heckling someone.

“Wishing you could take it back?” She added icily.

“Wishing I could punch you in the throat.” Thomas replied. Baxter pinched his arm, making Thomas wince.

“Don’t say things like that.” Baxter whispered. “Think of the baby.”

“I am.” Thomas growled, his arm still smarting.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful, Amelia.” Bates warned. “Thomas isn’t a servant anymore.”

“Just like he always wanted.” Amelia said, while picking at a spot on her chin. “Funny though, he doesn’t seem very happy now. Makes you wonder if he’s changed his mind.”

Thomas passed William back to Anna, unwilling to be a part of the atmosphere any longer. He should have just stayed in his bleedin’ room.

“Course, can’t blame him can you?” Amelia teased. “He’s born in dirt, and he’ll die in dirt, just like the rest of us. He should have took up with Lord Grantham when he had the chance-!”

“Pardon me-“

All at once, the scraping of chairs was like the screeching banshees. Thomas looked about, amazed to find that Lord Grantham had come downstairs.

It was a rare occurrence for Lord Grantham to descend, and he looked just as out of place as ever. It was so obvious, when you put the two classes together, that Lord Grantham was rich. His red tie was made of silk, not cotton. His suit was pressed, without a single wrinkle, and his hair was oiled with expensive perfumes. He was regarding Amelia with a wary expression, one that clearly dictated he’d overheard her little jab where his own person was concerned.

Amelia looked ready to faint. Thomas couldn’t blame her.

“I do hate to bother during the festivities.” Lord Grantham did not sound pleased, “I just came to collect Thomas for an important phone call I’ve had Carson schedule. But I couldn’t help overhearing some todo regarding my own person… and I was heavily displeased.”

Amelia didn’t have a clue what to say or do. She seemed to have gathered that silence was best, and really the girl was right. The less said, the better.

Mrs. Hughes wasn’t far behind. It seemed she’d been the one to fetch Lord Grantham in the first place, perhaps ordered by him to send up an alert when Thomas finally poked his head out. Her brown eyes were narrowed with distrust as she looked from Amelia to Lord Grantham.

“Amelia, did I overhear you speaking about Barrow in an unpleasant light regarding my person?” Lord Grantham asked.

Amelia floundered for an answer. Thomas tried not to feel vindicated but boy was it hard.

“I only meant- it just seems unfair to your Lordship that he should choose another alpha over you-“

“Is it your place to have any opinion on my position as an alpha?” Lord Grantham parried. Amelia pursed her lips, unsure of what to say.

“You’ll answer his Lordship when he asks you a question!” Mrs. Hughes reminded her angrily.

“Only…” Amelia did not know what to say, “I think it shows disloyalty-“

“I think it shows lack of contrition where your person is concerned. To meddle in the affairs of others.” Lord Grantham had seemingly made up his mind, glancing surreptitiously to Mrs. Hughes. “I’ll be speaking to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes on these matters.”

Amelia paled, her skin waxy like a paraffin doll.

“M’lord, I didn’t mean to be outspoken-“

“No, only nasty.” Lord Grantham was not fooled. He turned away, his Christmas mood clearly spoiled in that moment. “Thomas, come with me.”

Thomas didn’t know what to do but follow. For a moment, no matter how brief, he felt terribly sorry for Amelia. He could remember being in her position, speaking out at everyone and being angry at the world. God only knows what Lord Grantham would have said if he’d overheard Thomas’ comments on Lady Grantham’s miscarriage back in 1912. He supposed that it boiled down to sheer luck… and Thomas had never been one to think himself lucky.

He left the servant’s hall, still able to hear Mrs. Hughes’ voice echoing down the hall:

_“You’ll hold your tongue from now on if you know what’s good for you-!”_

They reached Carson’s office, and Lord Grantham entered without knocking to find Carson speaking to someone on his telephone. Instead of being shocked at Lord Grantham’s arrival, or putting down his telephone, Carson gave Lord Grantham a warm smile and gestured for them both to come closer.

Lord Grantham shut the door, effectively sealing the three of them in.

“Is it ready?” Lord Grantham asked in a hushed voice. Carson nodded.

“Just now, M’lord.” Carson said, before returning his attentions to the telephone. “Hold please-“

He sat the receiver down on his desk, rising up to vacate his chair. Lord Grantham gestured from Thomas to the telephone.

“It’s for you.” Was Lord Grantham’s single explanation.

Thomas was unsure of who was on the other end. Perhaps it was Amos Dorsette-

Wary, he came around the desk and sat down in Mr. Carson’s swivel chair. It was warm from his girth. He plucked up the receiver, his hands sweating.

“M’lord, I’m… not really-“ Thomas wished he could say ‘in the talking mood’ but Lord Grantham was giving him such a knowing look that Thomas doubted he’d be able to put the man off.

He sighed, holding the telephone to his ear.

“Hello?” He mumbled, unsure of what he’d hear back. Maybe it was Melvina or—

_“…Thomas…”_

Thomas stopped dead, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he sucked in a breath of shock. His eyes were wide in his sockets, locked on nothing in particular as his mouth worked, unable to form words properly for a moment.

Because that had most certainly been-

But Lord Grantham had said-

His eyes burned painfully in his skull, swimming in an over peel of emotion as all the months of not knowing faded into the blissful reality of confirmation.

It was one thing to hear ‘Robert Kinsey is alive’. It was another to actually hear his voice. To know that no other could fake it, or make it so.

“Robert-“ His chest ached from the love now spilling out of him. The fears of giving birth and the exhaustion of carrying on his work alone melted away into the knowledge that Rob was surely coming home very soon, and would be here to support him through it all.

 _“My beautiful dove.”_ Robert croaked, _“My sweet, sweet love-“_

Thomas did not even try to conceal his emotion, weeping brokenly into the receiver. He did not even acknowledge Lord Grantham when he offered a handkerchief.

“Robbie-!” Thomas wanted to scream his name from the rooftops. “Oh god, Robert! Robbie- I- I thought you were dead-!”

_“No dovey. I’m in Lyon… Convent of Saint Rita. I’m well looked after.”_

But so much had transpired.

“The furnace is gone.” Thomas choked out, ashamed to admit defeat. “Alden burnt it down. He’s dead…”

 _“Sweetheart… it’s alright.”_ Robert instantly made it so through his words alone, _“M’comin’ home for you. I promise. I’m just a little…bent. I need some time to get back right.”_

But Thomas was now filled with a hundred other worries. Was Robert being given the care he obviously needed? He needed to go to France, health be damned, and oversee Robert’s care himself.

“I’m coming to you.” Thomas said in a rush, “I’m- I’m going to leave tomorrow or— or a day after I’m— I need to care for you myself. I can’t trust you to strangers!”

“You cannot travel while you’re pregnant!” Lord Grantham admonished as softly as he could so as not to interrupt Thomas’ phone conversation. “Dr. Clarkson has forbidden it. It’s too dangerous!”

 _“Too dangerous, dovey.”_ Robert unknowingly echoed Lord Grantham’s words, _“M’comin to you… M’fine. The nuns are good to me. Got one marchin’ me around to make me strong. They’re feedin’ me good. Keepin’ me well. Just a little tired right now, that’s all.”_

Thomas didn’t know what to do. He felt more powerless than ever.

“Then… I’ll… I’ll go to the bank, and get money sent to you.” Thomas decided. “I’ll- I’ll book a passage or— I don’t know— I’ll figure out something—“

Thomas had never been the one to book travel overseas before. It had always been done by Mr. Carson or someone else. Where did he start? What did he do?

He looked at Lord Grantham, terrified. “I don’t know what to do.” He admitted.

“Allow me to offer a solution.” Lord Grantham stepped in, “I will contact Monsieur Dumond, who runs my house in Paris. I will have him travel to the convent, and accompany Kinsey to a ship. We can make arrangements to meet him at the dock when he arrives in England, and he can return here to recover while you give birth.”

 _“Dovey, don’t be afraid.”_ Rob murmured. _“I’ll get home. I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to worry about anything.”_

“Rob-“ Thomas sniffed to speak clearer, his eyes still misting over, “Robbie, listen to me. Lord Grantham has an idea. I think it’ll work.”

 _“Hah.”_ Rob let out a hollow but soft laugh, _“How did I know that you were at the abbey. My smart little dove. Doin’ what your alpha says, you’re a good one aren’t you.”_

Thomas could chide the man, honestly. Now was not the time for flirtations!

“Lord Grantham has um- a house in France. In Paris.”

_“Bet that’s nice.”_

“His butler is a man- um- named Monsieur Dumond and he can travel to the convent in Lyon. And he can accompany you to the ship… and then when you get to England we’ll be there to meet you at the dock. And then-“ Thomas’ voice broke from strain, “and then you can come home with me.”

 _“To the abbey.”_ Robert murmured. _“That sounds wonderful.”_

“Lord Grantham wants me to give birth at the abbey.” Thomas sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, “Dick- Dr. Clarkson thinks I’m going to have the baby in February, not March. Lord Grantham wants me to stay here until the baby’s born so we can be sure it’s safe.”

 _“I like that idea.”_ Rob said. Thomas’ heart warmed in his breast at Rob’s agreement. _“An’ he’s right too… both of them are. Omega male births are complicated. I want you taken care of. No more runnin’ around.”_

Thomas nodded, though of course Robert wouldn’t be able to see.

“Of course.” Thomas whispered. “Anything that you say I’ll do.”

 _“That’s my dovey.”_ Robert praised. _“M’okay really. I’m… I’ve been shot twice. Blew a hole in my ear-“_

“What?!” Thomas was horrified.

_“Just the cartilage. Nothin’ bad. I can still hear. Got shot in the shoulder though. Fuckin’ Averill tried to do me in. A nun blew his brains out. A Sister Leonié. Suppose there’s worse ways to die than to be shot in the face by a Nun.”_

“I wouldn’t know.” Thomas stuttered. “But- are you okay-?”

 _“Got an infection. They’re givin’ me enough pills to choke a mule.”_ Robert joked. In spite of it all, Thomas could not help but laugh. _“They say I’ll be ready to travel around the middle of January. Maybe we can book a ship on the fifteenth?”_

“Of course.” Thomas scrambled, snatching up one of Mr. Carson’s pens to write “1/15” on a scrap sheet of paper. “I’ll- I’ll contact someone and … um…”

But once again, he didn’t know what to do. He looked to Lord Grantham unsure.

Lord Grantham offered his hand.

“May I speak to him?” He murmured. Thomas was loathe to give up the phone, but he knew it was for the best.

“Robbie, Lord Grantham wants to talk to you. So… don’t be an arse.” Thomas joked.

 _“Mm, I think we’re past those days.”_ Rob said. Thomas handed the phone over to Lord Grantham, who took it to put on a jovial voice that was quite at odds with the stern talking down he’d just given.

“Kinsey, a Happy Christmas to you!” Lord Grantham said. He paused, looking slightly irritable. “Doctor Kinsey, of course.” He rolled his brown eyes at the correction of address. “I’ve been made aware of your situation by the English Embassy in Paris. We’re eager to get you home so you can recover on green and good soil.” He paused, listening to Robert’s answer. “Yes, of course we can do that. My man Dumond will take you by train to Normandy. We’ll get you home… I’m thinking straight to Liverpool; it’ll be a shorter distance to travel by train and car. The passage should take about two weeks, but that’ll give you plenty of time to rest up.”

Lord Grantham listened again, giving Thomas a small smile. “He’s in a bit of a way, I confess. Very pregnant, very tired, and very unhappy. He’s taken a great deal upon himself. His body’s become strained. Dr. Clarkson has put him on several tinctures and vitamins. He’s been recovering but slowly. The baby is small but Dr. Clarkson thinks it’s healthy. It’s his opinion the baby is going to be an omega. I can’t imagine two parents better suited to the task.”

For a moment, Lord Grantham was quiet as he listened to Rob. Whatever was being said, it put a pained smile on Lord Grantham’s face.

“My dear fellow, we mustn’t talk like that.” Lord Grantham urged. “I assure you that no matter what happens, Thomas will be safe with me.” He paused, listening, “It’s difficult to remember at times, isn’ tit? I fear I didn’t act like a good man before…. but you shouldn’t dawdle in dark thoughts. You’re coming home and you’ll be well received when you do. I’ll take care of everything, you just relax and enjoy your rest.”

Lord Grantham laughed at whatever Rob said, “Yes, horribly un-English of us I suppose. But why don’t I let you talk to Thomas if you’re going to be this soppy?”

Lord Grantham laughed again, “Righto. Cheerio.” He handed the phone back to Thomas who took it at once.

“What are you saying over there?” Thomas demanded. He could still here Rob chuckling a bit on the other end. “What dark thoughts are you having?”

 _“Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head over.”_ Rob praised. _“You’re safe, that’s what matters. You do everything Dick says, even if it’s annoying. I’ll be heading home on the fifteenth, and I’ll probably see you sometime around the beginning of February. We’ll be together soon… and when we are, we’ll never cry again.”_

“Never.” Thomas agreed with a blissful smile.

 _“Happy Christmas my sweet sweet dove.”_ Rob whispered, _“If I were there, I’d have bought you a dress, so that my mum wouldn’t bark me up a tree, and then I’d take you to bed… and make love to you with my fingers… and suck your juices off my hand. I dream of your scent at night. The nuns are ready to exorcise me.”_

Thomas blushed furiously.

“You stop that you naughty thing.” Thomas mumbled, unable to hide his grin from Carson or Lord Grantham. “No more talk of that, you just rest…. and the Happiest of Christmases to you. My wonderful alpha.” Thomas’ voice broke again.

_“Bought some things in Vienna. They’re comin’ to you. Sent em to the abbey… figured… it’d best.”_

“I’ll wait for them.” Thomas said. “Don’t worry. And I’ll wait for you.” He sniffed audibly. “I’ll wait every day until we’re together again.”

_“Won’t be long, dove. But I have to go. The nuns want me to rest.”_

Of course. Robert was ill, he needed to sleep. Thomas closed his eyes, two hot tears carving a path down his pale cheeks.

The world was terribly unfair.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Thomas said, “You sleep… and… I’ll take care of the rest.”

_“I love you Thomas. I love you with all my heart and soul.”_

“…. I love you, Robert.” Thomas felt weak at the knees. He didn’t know if he’d be able to walk when he hung up the phone. “And I will never ever let you leave my side again.”

There was a moment of warm silence, which seemed in Thomas’ mind to stretch on for all eternity. Then, there was a click, and the line went dead.

He hung up the phone, shell shocked. He almost couldn’t breath properly. The nerves in his limbs felt inflamed, as if his body were shooting off all the wrong responses to try and gather what had happened.

“… Thank you.” Thomas closed his eyes, letting the tears fall. His gratitude was to the universe at large. To Lord Grantham. To Carson. To God, in general. “Oh thank you God…”

He buried his head in his hands, and for the fist time in months felt nothing but bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is extremely important. Someone new will be making their appearance! Another OC! Can you guess who? ;) 
> 
> Please let me know if you any and questions or concerns.


	30. The Scent of Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 5th, 1928, at 5:11 p.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!!! Haha, bet you weren't expecting this today. Consider it a little gift to all of you for pushing through this story so far. We have only two chapters left, including an epilogue. They will all be horribly fluffy and indulgent. We will see reunions and a glimpse into the future as well. 
> 
> Shoutouts to anyone who draws fanart of the newest character. ;) 
> 
> triggers today will give the chapter and surprise away. Click to the bottom to see if it's anything that will deeply distress you.

_Litigo 16:21: “Whenever an omega is in labor they have pain, because their hour has come; but when they give birth to the child, they no longer remember the anguish because of the joy that a child has been born into the world.”_

December turned into January.  
January oozed by into February.

 

Lord Grantham was as good as his word, using his connections in Paris to send Monsieur Dumond to Lyon in order to meet Rob at the convent. Monsieur Dumond called Downton Abbey to confirm that he’d met with Rob, and that he’d been given the all-clear by Sister Leonié to travel home. So it was on January 15th, Rob left for the quiet coastal town of Roscoff with Dumond in tow. It took him three days to arrive, with Downton receiving another call from Dumond right before Rob boarded the ship for Liverpool.

The ship would dock on the 5th of February, and it wasn’t the only titan sliding into port.

Thomas was now at the stage of his pregnancy where he was so bloated and uncomfortable he simply couldn’t think anymore. January was difficult, but as February 1st rolled around Thomas was solidly ready to either give birth or have an exorcism. He wasn’t picky as to which.

Robert’s homecoming was marked by another wave of good cheer in the form of the Kinsey family. Dr. Clarkson was determined that Thomas would give birth by the fifteenth, with Thomas amazed that he hadn’t given birth on the first instead. With the press calming down, and the Brigade vanquished, it was safe for Lord Grantham to call for the Kinseys to join Thomas at the Abbey. With Robert arriving home on the fifth, Thomas was determined for the whole family to be together. It would be a comfort to him when he was giving birth, to know he was surrounded by people who loved him and supported him.

That didn’t stop him from being plum fuck terrified, but it was a nice place to start.

February 1st was a day made bright and clear, though snow was still on the lawn and packed with dirt from passing motorcars. Thomas could not go outside, but it was not for lack of freedom. He was simply so heavily pregnant now that he wasn't comfortable straying far from his bed.

The Kinsey’s were set to arrive around afternoon tea time, and as a result Thomas had asked Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore to make a small spread to welcome his visiting family. The last time he’d seen Melvina and George, they’d been hauling him away from Rob so that he could make his voyage across the English channel. Now they would be back together again, with only four days to go until Rob’s arrival home.

The morning had been marked by another intriguing visitor: Rob’s parcels arriving from France. It turned out to be, shocker of all shockers, the crib that Rob had ordered from Vienna. It seemed that the woodcarver, in a gentleman’s agreement, had gone so far as to ship the crib to Lyon, thereby giving Rob the option to have it sent to England. It arrived in a crate, packed with straw, and Mrs. Hughes had to set the hall boy on an hours errand cleaning it off from dust and hay during the travel.

When it was finally revealed, the bassinet was brought upstairs to Thomas’ bedroom, so that he might be able to enjoy it at his bedside. It was a handsome creature, just as Rob had written, resting on two heavy legs connected by a joint beam. The cradle itself rocked on a hinge connected near the top, with a dome encapsulating the headboard so that the baby might have some shade while it slept. The wood was waxed, dark, and lovingly carved by hand. What was more, the bassinet even came with a mattress to lay in the basin, stuffed with cotton and incredibly soft to the touch. Mrs. Hughes had the maids beat the mattress free of dust, then cover it with a borrowed linen for the cupboard. As soon as it was all set up, Thomas could not help but fish through what little of Ada’s belongings that had escaped the fire. Her fish jumper, knitted hat and jacket, and booties would now all belong to the little life growing inside of Thomas.

… Though if it grew anymore, Thomas would surely explode.

As tea time approached, Thomas waddled around the sitting room helping Mrs. Hughes to lay out a tray of cakes and tea. He could do very little else, simply because he was exhausted by the weight of his stomach. He was starting to suffer from an awful back ache, which could only be soothed by a hot bath. He’d likewise been having moments of upset stomach, with explosive diarrhea during the night and nausea spells if he dared eat too much. As a result, he was looking quite peaky.

Thomas carefully wiped the edge of the tea tray to mop up the tiniest drop that had been spilled out of the tea kettle. As he bent over, he felt a sudden throbbing pain and winced, closing his eyes tightly to will the pain away.

“Thomas?” Mrs. Hughes murmured reproachfully.

“I’m fine.” Thomas gritted out. “I just have the worst backache in the world. This bugger is trying to murder me.”

“That baby is a gift from God, and I won’t hear a word against it.” Mrs. Hughes warned amusedly.

“Oh, if that’s how you feel, why don’t you carry it?” Thomas teased, delicately arranging the mini sandwiches upon their painted porcelain platter so that they looked most appealing.

“No thank you,” Mrs. Hughes scoffed, “Lord, every time I see you I feel pain in sympathy. Now-“ Mrs. Hughes clapped her hands, quite satisfied with their todo. “That’s that, covered. Perhaps you should sit down now?”

“No, I’m fine.” It was difficult to sit down now anyways. Sometimes it only made the pain worse. He checked the clock, finding it to be 4:24 in the afternoon. “It’s almost time for tea. The Kinseys should be here anytime now. I’m so eager to see them again.”

“I’m sure they’ll be very pleased.” Mrs. Hughes said. “Mrs. Kinsey is to stay in the blue room, close to you. Mr. Kinsey will be staying in the red room. His wife will be staying across the hall in the pink room.”

“They could just sleep in the same room.” Thomas muttered. It was difficult to think of the red room without remembering that awful Pamuk’s death.

“I should think not!” Mrs. Hughes was utterly scandalized at the idea. “This might be 1928 but we still have standards, Thomas.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, knowing when to back off from a battle and when to press onward.

“If you think for one minute that Robert will be staying in another room when he arrives-“ Thomas warned.

Mrs. Hughes was the one to be defeated now, “Dr. Clarkson has spoken about that to Mr. Carson. Given your condition, Dr. Kinsey will be allowed to board with you. It’s unorthodox but the circumstances are particular and we want you and the baby to be healthy before and after the birth.”

Thomas did not meet her eyes, too busy idly adjusting a row of silver teaspoons. “I’m not having this baby until Robert is home.” Thomas warned, “So you can stop worrying.”

He knew it was illogical, but he was so terrified of giving birth that his rational brain did not allow him to have an adult conversation on the subject.

“Thomas, I hate to inform you of this, but I fear the baby will come when it wants to.” Mrs. Hughes said. Perhaps she noticed the way he avoided her eyes, and acted timidly.

“No.” Thomas muttered. “The baby will come when I let it.”

Mrs. Hughes blinked, “If you say so.”

 

Just then, the door to the main hall opened to reveal Andy in his pressed livery. He seemed to be glowing now a days, with Daisy’s accepted proposal under his belt.

“Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Barrow, Dr. Clarkson is back with the Kinsey’s. Shall I send them in?”

“For gods’s sake!” Mrs. Hughes beseeched, “Don’t keep them waiting on the doorstep!”

 

Thomas was delighted to see his in-laws again. He waddled out of the sitting room, ahead of Andy and Mrs. Hughes, eager to be the first to greet the Kinsey’s at the door. Andy out-strode him, Thomas was too fat to make it there first, but as Andy opened the door Thomas forgot his prenatal woes at the sit of Melvina Kinsey in a peach frock and large brimmed hat, girlishly delighted to be taking tea in an Earl’s home. She was, at the same time, distraught to see Thomas again and so heavily pregnant. The last time they’d seen one another was in July and now Thomas was all but strained underneath the weight of the baby. George and Rebecca were there too, but not Laura for whatever reason. George’s hair was laden with pomade; he was wearing his best tie of sky blue and had Rebecca in a matching dress. As they crossed the threshold in one unit, Andy was all but forgotten. Melvina strode forward embracing Thomas tightly so that his belly was suddenly squashed between them.

“Mrs. Kinsey-“ He began, only to be cut off.

“Don’t you dare.” She choked up, pulling back to view him as if he were a madonna, “Don’t you dare stand there, so beautiful and perfect, and call me by a title. I won’t have it.” She was too emotional to let it go. She hugged him again, petting his hair and back sweetly.

“Oh Thomas-“ she murmured, “I was so afraid.”

“I am so so sorry about your house-“ He began but she waved it off.

“My house is not a problem. Moonpie and I are just fine. We’ve found a nice new house closer to town, and are settled in just fine.” She tenderly patted his hand, her eyes still watering profusely, “I’m going to stay with you through the birth, dearie. I’m so happy. Rob’s coming home and it’s all thanks to you!”

“Not really.” Thomas blushed, “The credit goes to Lord Grantham honestly-“

“Thomas-“ George would not be put off any longer. He hugged Thomas, a bit tighter than his mother had. Thomas winced.

“Ah, easy George.” Thomas pulled back. “I’m a little sore.”

“Sorry-“ George blushed even as Melvina shot him an irritable look. Rebecca was the next to step forward, hugging him sweetly. She even put her hands on his belly, amazed at how large he was.

“Oh Thomas-“ She was amazed at his girth.

“Where’s Laura?” Thomas asked.

“Staying with my sister.” Rebecca explained, “We’ll call for her when the baby is born, but until then it’s just not ideal.”

“I quite agree.” Thomas said. The birth would probably be traumatic for her too. “The chaos would surely frighten her-“

“Shall I take your coats?” Andy offered, desperately trying to be of assistance.

“Oh I’ll get them-“ Thomas said, even as Melvina and George shrugged out of their coats.

“Don’t be silly!” Melvina wouldn’t hear of anyone lifting a finger for her comfort. “We can get our own coats. We’re hardly royalty-“ she unpinned her hat, her graying curls gleaming in the light of a thousand curls. She stared up at the domed ceiling of the main hall, amazed at the opulence around her.

“…Thomas… our baby shall be born in a palace.” She said, amazed.

“This is gorgeous.” Rebecca agreed. As she took off her coat and hat, Andy was quick to take them.

Mrs. Hughes moved quickly helping to ferry them all off to the coat room as Melvina shed her riding gloves. Andy took those as well.

“Where’s Dr. Clarkson?” Thomas asked, for he was under the impression the good doctor would be staying at the abbey as well until the birth. He was apparently convinced it could happen at any time now.

“He’s just parking the car; he had to wrangle it out of the butler’s hands.” Melvina tittered. Mrs. Hughes shot Andy a look over Melvina’s shoulder, ready to scorn him. Poor Andy; it was hard to work with the middle class and keep out of the way at the same time. The upper class knew how to intermingle but the lower class did not.

Right on cue, Mr. Carson entered from the front yard, jerking a thumb for Andy to help at once with the luggage. There were only three valises, alongside a fourth that had been brought for Rob when he arrived on the fifth. Dr. Clarkson was upon the stoop, taking off his hat and coat and politely giving them over so that Carson could take them away. He seemed to be in good spirits.

“Dr. Clarkson-“ Thomas reached out to shake his hand. They’d not seen each other in a few months since Thomas had arrived at the abbey.

“Isn’t he beautiful, Richard?” Melvina boasted with clear bride. Thomas huffed, flushing at her insinuations. They were horribly unfounded. “Absolutely beautiful, but you must tell me if you think anything is wrong, yes?”

“I’m afraid that would breech doctor patient confidentiality Mrs. Kinsey.” Dr. Clarkson warned.

Melvina rolled her eyes, irritated, “Oh Richard, you’re so sweet but don’t be a nuisance dear. Just tell me what I want to hear.”

Thomas held back a laugh, but barely.  
It was good to be near Melvina again.

 

But as they walked towards the sitting room, eager to take tea, Thomas had to pause for the sudden stabbing pain that shot through him.

Dr. Clarkson was watching his every move, and was the first to comment on it.

“Thomas?”

“Nothing.” The last thing Thomas needed was for Dr. Clarkson to get itchy. Mrs. Hughes was bad enough. “Just a bit of back pain.”

“Does it come and go?” Dr. Clarkson asked as Thomas resumed his pace to the sitting room.

“Yes, but it’s fine.” Thomas wouldn’t hear a word to the contrary. “I must have pinched a nerve.”

Dr. Clarkson followed, but little did Thomas know his eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

 

 

Melvina elected herself the pourer of their motley crew, which made sense given that she was the matriarch of the Kinsey family. She poured tea with expert ease, sorting out loose leaves and pouring the suspendible kettle before dosing out each cup at a time. Each cup was taken through a strainer, catching any loose leaves that tried to slide through. The brew was Lapsang Souchong today, a sort of celebration for good company. As such, the milk cup went untouched by everyone was eager to take a slice of lemon.

“Oh what a lovely spread,” Melvina praised their little cucumber sandwiches and scones. A tray of clotted cream and jam was left to the side in silver containers that gleamed in the light of the setting sun. “Thank you Mrs…?”

“Hughes, ma’am.” Mrs. Hughes said. Andy was still sorting the luggage and as such it was up to Mrs. Hughes to serve the tea.

“Mrs. Hughes, you must call me Melvina.” Melvina urged her. “I’m hardly nobility, and I am delighted to be here. This house is utterly divine.”

“This is Wedgwood china, too.” George added, examining his cup curiously, “Who on earth lives here?”

“The Crawley family.” Thomas explained, accepting his cup to add two dollops of honey when the pot came around. “Lord Grantham is the 11th Earl of Grantham.”

Thomas paused, having to hide a wince as the baby kicked with delight. Clearly someone was eager to get up and get going.

“Lord Grantham is out at the moment, there are renovations going on with the local cricket pitch and Lord Grantham is desperate to get them underway. He’s an avid fan of the sport.”

Andy was back, dismissing Mrs. Hughes. Instead of leaving, however, she merely waved him off. There were other tasks to be attended to for dinner tonight and their party was not of the upper class. In a younger time, it might have been unthinkable to be served tea by the housekeeper, but times were becoming slacker.

Andy was unsure, hovering by the door.

“I’ve never been waited on by a footman.” Rebecca praised. She’d finished her first cup and wished for a second; Andy poured it at once, eager to be of use.

“You’ll recall,” Thomas teased, “I’m a servant too. I worked in this house for sixteen years. I know the particulars of the staff well. This is Andy, Andrew rather, but he’s the first footman. He’s the pride of our house.”

Andy flushed, flashing Thomas a curious glance.

“Thank you, Andy.” Rebecca said as she accepted her second cup of tea.

“You needn’t thank us ma’am.” Mrs. Hughes urged. “We’re only doing our job.”

Thomas grinned breaking a scone in half with his hand to apply clotted cream and jam with a knife. “Wait until you meet Mr. Carson. He’s the head alpha downstairs, the butler. You saw him when you pulled up. He runs this house with an iron fist.”

“So you must know him well?” Melvina asked.

“He hates me.” Thomas shrugged. Mrs. Hughes scoffed.

“He does not hate you, Thomas.” Mrs. Hughes warned. “Mr. Carson merely enjoys the comforts of tradition… and you are eager for the guillotine in Trafalgar Square.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, avoiding Mrs. Hughes heated gaze as he nibble on his scone.  
A sudden sharp pain in his back made Thomas wince. He set his teacup down, pausing to take a slow, deep breath.

“Thomas,” Dr. Clarkson saw everything and let nothing slip, “You really ought to lay down if your back hurts.”

“No.” Thomas shook his head, “If I lay back down, I won’t get back up. I want to show everyone around the house.”

“Yes, I want to see where you’ll be giving birth.” Melvina said, “You must tell me all about the arrangements for the birth.”

“I’ve called upon an old friend of mine and mentor: Dr. Andrew Watkin.” Dr. Clarkson explained. “He’s an expert at male omega births, he’s hosted over twelve of them. Those numbers are literally unheard of in the medical community. He’s bringing his star pupil, a Dr. David Connell. The pair of them will be helping me with the birth. A great deal of the detail from this event will be in medical journals. We’re eager to compile as much information as possible… it will come in great use to the community as we see more male omegas giving birth.”

“I’m curious, will you be using a birthing bed?” Rebecca asked. “Given the affluence of the house and family, I wondered if it was as common for their lot as it is for us-“

“No.” Thomas said. The only birthing bed in the house was the Grantham family bed, where Lord and Lady Grantham slept. “the Grantham chamber is for the Crawley babies only. I’m giving birth in my current bedroom.”

“I’ve brought a gown for you to wear.” Melvina said, “It will be easy to pull on and off while you give birth.”

Thomas didn’t quite know what to make of that, “Thank you.” He said so as not to appear unkind.

“I’ve also brought some swaddling clothes that are very important to our family. Georgie and Robby both wore them-“

“I tried to save you.” George muttered under his breath, taking a small sip of tea.

Melvina gave her youngest son a scorching look, “It’s a family heirloom, Georgie! How can you be so unsupportive. Your great grandmother made it-!”

“And maybe in the 1700’s it was fashionable but right now it’s a death trap.” George shot down.

“I’m sure it’s not a death trap.” Thomas urged.

“It has a lace collar! With pearls!” George was disgusted by the blasphemous nature of it all.

“It’s for communion!” Melvina shot back, “I want the baby christened in our family church.”

“So I’m the heathen for not wanting to choke the infant?” George asked.

Melvina looked ready to smack him with her riding gloves.

Rebecca pressed past the pair of them, trying to keep the tea party civil.

“I want to hold a shower for you at our house, Thomas. Would that be alright?” She asked.

“Of course.” Thomas said. It would be very nice to return to London.

“We could have tea, and give gifts. I saw the most lovely umbrella for the pram. Do you have a pram?”

Thomas shifted, slightly guilty. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh, well that will be easy to obtain.” Rebecca said. “You can borrow Laura’s old pram until you find your own.”

“After … well…” Thomas didn’t want to talk about Ada when he was so close to giving birth, “I didn’t want to have hope. So I don’t have much besides a set of clothes that were made for my first child last year. I don’t even have a blanket. I suppose you think that’s silly.”

“Oh darling-“ Melvina gently took his hand where it lay upon his lap. “You mustn’t think of such awful things. Even if you were to have the baby right now, they would be perfectly healthy.” She turned to Dr. Clarkson, her eyes gleaming, “Isn’t that right, Richard?”

Dr. Clarkson was stubborn, “I can’t make blanket statements like that Mrs. Kinsey-“

She huffed, glaring at the good doctor, “Oh Richard, stop speaking unless you’re going to say something intelligent.”

George nearly inhaled his tea, he snorted so loud.

~*~

The next few days were a difficult process for Thomas. The Kinseys were easy to set in and didn’t bother much. Melvina was eager to see Rob’s crib, and to look at the clothes Ada had nearly worn. Rebecca was kind enough to offer some of Laura’s old clothes, including some swaddling clothes that were decidedly not covered in lace and pearls. The real blessing came with a pair of rubber pants for newborns, which were lined in the softest cotton on the outside so as not to chafe an infant’s fragile skin. Melvina even went into the village, driven by the family chauffeur and collected two simple blue knitted blankets for the bassinet which would keep the baby warm.

The day before Robert was to return to England, Thomas was feeling utterly miserable. He’d spent a good portion of the day shitting his brains out till he was quite certain he was passing things that _other_ people had eaten. By the end of it, his bowel movements could have been classified as spring water; he tried to keep optimistic but it was difficult. Thomas decided to take an early evening simply because he didn’t have the strength to put up with dinner. Allowed to rest in bed, Baxter brought him a simple supper only to collect his tray later to find it barely touched.

Thomas read a book in bed, trying to get comfortable. It was incredibly difficult, his back was smarting so much, but Thomas was determined.

When a soft knock came at his door, he was glad to find Melvina was on the other side. She was carrying a modest tray, which bore a teacup and a small porcelain kettle. She shut the door behind her, and propped her tray atop Thomas’ dresser to pull up a visiting chair so that she could sit at his bedside.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Thomas sat his book aside, pleased to have a cup of tea.

“I don’t mind.” Melvina said, pouring him the brew before adding honey and lemon just like he enjoyed. She gave him the cup and Thomas took mild sips while it was still scalding hot. The brew made him feel much more relaxed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Ha! What a question.

“My back aches, my head hurts, I’ve shit my brains out and I feel ready to puke up pure air.” He scoffed at it all, taking another sip of tea. “I recommend this to no one.”

Melvina gave him a tired smile. She was wearing a purple dress tonight, tied at the waist with a black sash. Someone had given her a white rose to tuck at her belt. Its floral odor was pleasant to Thomas’ nose.

“I was the same way.” She agreed. “I can remember being ready to give birth to Robert. I was so scared… my mother died in childbirth, and I was afraid. ‘What if I died too’ I thought.” She took his hand in both her own, caressing his knuckles, “I remember, I told my sister, Robert’s aunt, I begged her if anything was to happen to me to take care of my baby.” The memory was oddly a fond one for her. She looked wistful. “I cried… I cried so many tears.”

Thomas felt a flutter of hysteria deep in his belly, “Are you trying to comfort me?” he asked weakly.

“Do you need comforting?” She asked.

“Yes.”

She squeezed his hand allowing him a moment to set his half-drunk teacup aside.

“You’re going to be just fine.” She whispered. He wished he could believe her… but it was very comforting to hear someone say the words all the same, “We’re going to be with you every step of the way. When it’s over, you’ll have a baby. A sweet, perfect little baby… all yours.”

Thomas nodded.  
He could not even imagine what it would be like to be a mother. To have a healthy, living, breathing baby. It was partly a dream, partly a nightmare he supposed.

Sensing his worry, Melvina leaned forward and kissed him gently upon the forehead.

“Try to sleep dear.” Melvina said. “I’ll be right next door if you need me tonight.”

“Goodnight Melvina.” Thomas mumbled. Melvina took his now cold teacup away, loading up her tray so that he wouldn’t have to worry over the mess. At the door, she gave him a sweet, earnest smile that warmed his bones.

“Goodnight darling.” She said. She shut the door behind her, leaving Thomas sleepy and relaxed against his many soft pillows.

He lay his fingers over the cooler parts of his mattress, imagining the warmth he might find there tomorrow. One day from now, Robert would be home.

It was enough to make Thomas close his eyes… eager to let every second slip past until they were reunited again.  
~*~

It began with a strange dream, of laying in a warm lake looking up on a crystal clear blue sky. He might have stayed there happily for a while, had it not been for the fact that his psyche was warning him something was off.

Thomas awoke, slightly muddled, only to come back to the waking world with a sharp jolt when he realized that he’d accidentally wet the bed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Thomas groaned to the canopy above him, utterly humiliated. He rose, noting that his back was aching fiercely. His night dress and bed linens were now both sporting a drying puddle. Wasn’t that attractive?

This was what he got for having tea before bed. Thomas took off his night gown, fetching a new one before stripping the bottom sheets of his bed. He had to go slowly, the ache in his back causing him to stiffen as he bent over. When his task was done, Thomas took all the linens and piled them up on the floor. It seemed he would have to sleep on a bare mattress for the rest of the night, which was preferable to sleeping in a puddle of urine.

But as Thomas turned on the bedside light to make sure his room was put to rights, he noticed something distinctly lacking in his sheet stains… color.

It was like he’d passed water instead of urine. Perhaps the baby was to blame for that.

“I hope you’re happy you little tyke.” Thomas muttered, shrugging off the niggling sensation that something was amiss. He climbed back into bed and turned off the light to resume sleep.

 

He would find it hard pressed to come by.

Passing urine had somehow forced his stomach to cramp, but not constantly. He’d have moments where he was on the verge of sleep, only to suddenly be jerked back when he felt a sharp burning sensation in his stomach. It was highly annoying, and probably due to stomach activities. Bizarrely, however, the baby wasn’t moving. Maybe he was still asleep? Thomas just couldn’t say.

Hour after hour crept by, and still Thomas could not sleep for more than half an hour at a time before jerking back awake due to the pain in his lower back. He almost rang for a beechams before he remembered that everyone else must surely be asleep. He tried laying on his side, on his back, and even curled up on his front.

It was difficult to find relief.

When dawn broke on England’s dewy soil, it found Thomas in a gray malaise, half asleep and half awake.

The pains wracking his lower body were growing stronger as the morning wore on. By the time it was eight in the morning, Thomas ought to be downstairs enjoying breakfast with the family. Instead, he was still laying on bed on his side, trying desperately to breath and keep calm.

In a way, he already knew what was happening, but he was too scared to admit it.

This was normal, this was fine, and this was definitely not him giving birth. His stomach was just acting up. He was probably close to giving birth but it wasn’t going to happen today. He’d know when it was time. He’d be ready. Robert would be home.

 _You know it doesn’t work that way_ , a tiny voice nagged him in the back of his head. Thomas shut the voice down and finally got out of bed to carefully draw a hot bath.

The bath turned out to be an excellent idea, and Thomas bathed for a while to ease the pain in his lower back.

When the water grew too cold to enjoy, Thomas got out and dressed. He rubbed his tired eyes, exhausted, but tried to keep positive. The pains were sporadic, coming and going; no doubt he’d slept on a disk wrong and was now suffering for it. Maybe the baby had kicked him in the kidney or something. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, wouldn’t it?

When Thomas re-entered the bedroom, it was to find Baxter looking about at the pile of sheets, agog.

“Thomas! What happened to your sheets?” She asked, gesturing to the soiled bundle on the floor.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Thomas whispered. So exhausted and pain riddled was he that Thomas could not even keep of the guise of being friendly.

“Are you alright?” Baxter asked, stepping closer to put a hand cautiously on his back. Thomas winced; Baxter’s touch hurt more than he cared to admit.

“Fine.” Thomas said, stumbling away from her to sit at his vanity, “Let’s get ready. We need to be on time for the train to Liverpool.”

“…Thomas, I really don’t think you should go.” Baxter said, coming up behind him to place her hands gently upon his shoulders so that she could massage the stiff muscles.

“No.” Thomas would not even consider the option, “I need to be there when my alpha gets off his ship.”

Baxter helped him to dress, but she looked none too sure.

Thomas was forced to wear what was essentially a table cloth. His belly was so big that he couldn’t fit into much else. Bending over was almost impossible. Thomas had be incredibly careful with how he put on his blue dress, for each move seemed to make the pain in his back just throb worse.

He noticed his reflection was a sordid state. His complexion was sweaty and pale; he had deep bags beneath his eyes. He looked ready to keel over.

 _You’re in trouble,_ a voice whispered in the back of his head. _You didn’t wet the bed last night and you know it._

“I’m fine.” Thomas muttered to no one. He was determined to hold out for as long as possible, even as his heart began to pound from nerves.

He was fine. He was absolutely fine. He wasn’t in labor and he was completely fine.

“If you say so.” Baxter replied. She didn’t look convinced.

Thomas left his bedroom, opening the door for the maids to remove his soiled linens, and began the slow trek to the stairs. Each step was excruciating. Thomas had to cling to the rail, pinching his lips shut at the burning sensation which slowly rippled through his womb. It was like his body was reforming, splitting and curling to try and change. Many times, Thomas had to simply stop in the hallway; the maids skirted around him and let him be.

Thomas finally maid it to the stairs and descended them one at a time. For some strange reason, the motion of moving his legs up and down helped the plain in his back so that Thomas was able to keep up a decent pace and not look peculiar. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs again, a sudden pain slammed into him that was so intense and thorough Thomas stopped dead and nearly fell over.

 _You know what this is_ , a voice whispered. _It’s time._

“No.” Thomas mumbled. It would not be. He _could not have this baby_ until Robert arrived. He would not have this baby until Robert arrived.

He was in control. He was completely—….  
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t in control at all.

The Abbey was crammed with people on this fine morning, for many were joining their group to venture to Liverpool. Dr. Clarkson was already waiting by the foyer, looking very excited at the prospect of seeing his oldest friend again. Melvina and George were likewise chatting, with Rebecca between them. They were all so happy, so thoroughly delighted.

Thomas could not let them down. He staggered forwards, pale and sweating. Every pain that wracked him seemed stronger than the last. It was like they were getting shorter together.

“Thomas-!” Melvina spotted him, but her delight soon fled as she saw his sorry state.

Dr. Clarkson looked about; he frowned at once.

“Thomas?” Dr. Clarkson’s senses as a trained doctor were picking up the details that Thomas did not want to acknowledge. Thomas tried to appear calm, but it was difficult. Lord Grantham was coming up the way, wearing his riding hat and coat. Mr. Carson was with him; the pair were chatting about the dinner that was to be served for Kinsey’s honor.

“Don’t.” Thomas did not want Dr. Clarkson to spoil the mood; he looked keen to give Thomas the once over but Thomas didn’t want to be touched.

“Ah, there you are-!” Lord Grantham strode up on their once-merry group. “I was wondering why you weren’t at breakfast—“ but even Lord Grantham was shocked at Thomas’ state. “…Thomas, I hate to be a bother but you look absolutely horrid.”

Thomas shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, to fling up any excuse, but a sudden contraction hit him and forced him into silence.

He could do very little but breath through the pain. He thought he might faint from the force of it.

“…Dear, are you alright?” Melvina asked.

Thomas shook his head again. He took three steadying breathes before he spoke, “M’fine, I just need to get on the train.”

“Thomas, answer me honestly,” Dr. Clarkson was stern, but not angry, “Did anything happen last night or this morning that we should know about?”

_I broke my waters. I think._

Thomas looked about at the good doctor, wondering if he could simply smell fear after all this time in the medical field.

“Did you break your waters?” Dr. Clarkson asked.  
Now everyone from Mr. Carson to Rebecca Kinsey was staring at him with baited breath.

Thomas considered his options, considered lying, but even as he opened his mouth a sudden pain hit him. He winced audibly, eyes fluttering closed again as he breathed through it.

“I- I’m unsure-“ Thomas stuttered through the pain, “I might have. Yes.”

“Right.” Dr. Clarkson’s entire demeanor changed on a single word. Where before he had been excited and ready for the bountiful day ahead, now he was fully in ‘hospital’ mode sans the white coat. He put both his hands on Thomas shoulders, trying to steer him around. “Upstairs.”

“No-!” Thomas jerked away, bitter at being pushed like some dumb cow. “I’m fine, damnit! I have to be there in Liverpool to see Robert off the ship. I’m completely fine-“

“Is he in labor?” Lord Grantham asked Dr. Clarkson. His eyes were alert in bright like they hadn’t been in years.

“Yes.” Dr. Clarkson said. Thomas adamantly shook his head.

“No- I’m fine-“ Thomas snapped. Melvina was now trying to ever so gently push him towards the stairs. Carson, on the other hand, was already halfway up the stairs in his determination to start the train of events.

“Come on dear, let’s get you upstairs and into bed.” Melvina urged. “You shouldn’t be on your feet-“

“No— “ Thomas did not want to be touched, why couldn’t people understand that? He wasn’t having a baby. He was completely fine!

 

“Thomas, don’t be silly now.” Lord Grantham chastised.

“I’m fine.” Thomas ground out, his jaw clenched as he bore through the brunt of another contraction. It was like they were five minutes apart and getting closer. “I can make it to Liverpool! I’m not going to die-“

“Thomas, your birth is going to be very different from an omega female, we have to watch everything carefully-“ Dr. Clarkson said. He was getting close to being angry at Thomas’ stubbornness.

“Look, I will tell you when to get worried, alright?” Thomas snapped. His patience was plum run out given the pain he was in.

“No, I will let you know when to get worried!” Dr. Clarkson’s eyes were burning at the thought of be upstaged again. “That’s my job, I am the doctor, and I am telling you that you are in labor and you need to get ready to give birth-“

“I’m not giving birth!” Thomas spat out, his mouth rushing ahead of his mind, “I’m not even pregnant!”

Wait. What?

Dr. Clarkson and Lord Grantham swapped a quick look, confused at Thomas’ bizarre outburst.

“W-what I meant to say is that I’m not in labor-“ Thomas tried to pull away, but he was held back by Dr. Clarkson.

“We are not arguing about this.”

“I agree with Dr. Clarkson,” Lord Grantham said, “This isn’t up for discussion. You’re to go upstairs this instant.”

“No.” Thomas ground out.

“Thomas-“

“Let go of me-“

“If we have to drag you-“

“I AM NOT HAVING THIS BABY!”

The shock of hearing Thomas scream in the main hall was enough to stop conversation dead. Even Dr. Clarkson’s arguments fell flat as everyone seemed to realize unanimously just how terrified Thomas was of giving birth.

Because he was terrified. Truly.

“I cannot have this baby.” Thomas blubbered, shaking his head vindictively as if he sheer emotion could make it so, “So I’m not having this baby, and everything is going to be just fine so I just need everyone to go about their business because this isn’t happening. I can’t have this baby.” He sniffed once, twice, desperate not to blubber.

He’d never been so terrified in all his life. Not even when he’d been abused by Lawrence Gray or threatened by Alden MacNaire. He felt like he was completely out of control of his body, spiraling high above his physical form and unable to come back down to earth.

“I can’t do it.” Thomas shook his head again. He was seconds away from crying, his chin quivering traitorously, “I’m sorry. I can’t have this baby. I can’t.”

He’d felt as if he’d let the others down.

Yet where Thomas thought he’d surely be met with scorn from all angles, he was instead met with kindness. Hell, Dr. Clarkson seemed relived to hear him say the words out loud, as if it was the start to the long road which they all must walk down.

“Thomas…” Dr. Clarkson braced his shoulders, amazed at Thomas’ emotion and tears, “You absolutely can do this.”

“Dearest, you don’t have to be afraid.” Melvina’s voice was sweet and soothing; for a moment, Thomas almost believed her. He looked deep into her warm honey eyes, searching for anything that might anchor him in the moment. She’d had two children; maybe he should trust her advice.

“I can’t do this without Rob.” Thomas said. “I just can’t… I’m not strong enough-“

“You absolutely are strong enough.” Lord Grantham wouldn’t hear another word to the contrary. In that moment of uncertainty, he exuded an aura of confidence Thomas wished he could mimic.

“I’ll go to Liverpool right this instance, and collect Kinsey.” Lord Grantham decided on the spot.

“I’ll go with you, M’lord.” George said. “I’m no good here, and Robert will recognize me easier.”

“Very good.” Lord Grantham was back to shrugging on his coat with purpose.

“Rebecca, Melvina, and I shall stay here.” Dr. Clarkson spoke in a kind voice, “We’ll call for my support team, they’ll help us to have the baby, and when Rob gets here he’ll have the most wonderful surprise of all.”

But Thomas just wasn’t sure. “What if I mess up?” He asked, fearfully. He’d never forgive himself if he killed his child so close to the gate-

But Clarkson just gave him a gentle smile and squeezed his shoulders endearingly.

“That’s the best part, Thomas.” Dr. Clarkson said. What he said next reshaped Thomas’ view of Dr. Clarkson for the rest of their relationship. “There’s no way for you to mess this up. It’s quite impossible. Because you see it’s on my shoulders to deliver the baby in a healthy and timely manner… so all I ask of you is to put your faith in me. Put your trust in me… and I swear to you, on the grave of Rob’s late father, I will deliver your baby safely.”

Thomas was speechless. Could it really be that easy? Just… trust Dr. Clarkson?

“Do you trust me?” Dr. Clarkson asked.

Thomas nodded. Dr. Clarkson beamed, squeezing his shoulders again.

“Then we’re well on our way.” Dr. Clarkson praised.

 

 

Lord Grantham and George Kinsey took off without another moment to delay, making for the ten o’clock train to Liverpool. It would take them three hours to reach their destination, picking Robert up at the docks by one, and they would return promptly afterward so arrive home sometime around five in the afternoon. With Thomas going into labor, the pieces of the clock began to slide into place with bizarrely oiled precision. Where Thomas had predicted disaster, there was instead beautiful synchronicity as house and guest meshed into one thriving unit.

Carson rang for the Downton Village Hospital, notifying two traveling doctors who had come to assist Dr. Clarkson in the birth, along with two nurses who were to offer aid as backup. Mrs. Hughes was sent to boil water in large quantities, aided of course by Mrs. Patmore who brought out large copper tubs for the task. Thomas’ was aided personally by Melvina and Rebecca, both of whom had taken it upon themselves to be his greatest columns of support. Baxter was still fetching linens and bringing supplies; she would join their party soon at Thomas’ request.

“There you are dear-“ Melvina helped him to pull his dress back over his head. Thomas’ limbs were coated in a thin sheen of sweat. No one seemed to care that he was stark naked; Dr. Clarkson was too busy washing his hands and rolling up his sleeves while Rebecca threw a large birthing gown over his head. The fabric was simple and white, with a large gaping neck hole and enormous sleeves. It was like he’d been swallowed in a soft white tent.

“Let’s just get you laid back on the pillows… that’s a love…” Melvina’s voice was soothing, but it did not help to distract Thomas from the pain of the contractions rippling through him. They were growing in strength and speed now, causing him to be terrified of every twinge. What if the baby just- just fell out of him? Would he survive it? Would the baby?

And suddenly Thomas realized there was a very good chance he could die. His heart skipped a beat as he clutched at his stomach. Now laid upon a freshly sheathed bed, comforted by a mass of pillows and thin blankets, Thomas could not help but remember Sybil Branson.

How she’d laid just the same, and died screaming in agony.

“I’m gonna die.” Thomas croaked, “I’m not gonna live past this-“

“Shh- don’t even say such things.” Rebecca sat on the bed beside him, carefully rubbing his brow as Melvina fetched him a cold flannel from the tap.

“Sybil-“ Thomas caught Dr. Clarkson’s passing eye as he paced the floor. Where was his support team.

“You are not suffering from pre eclampsia.” Dr. Clarkson assured him, “I’m watching you very carefully Thomas. If I thought you were in any way in danger, I would let you know.”

Good to know.

“Where are my damn staff?” Dr. Clarkson wondered aloud “They should have been here—“

But before Dr. Clarkson could even finish the question, a hassled knock was followed on the door by Mrs. Hughes entering.

“They’re here!” She said, eyes drifting to wear Thomas lay groaning and sweating upon the bed. “I’m sending them up right now. The maids have brought more hot water.”

They followed in a train after Mrs. Hughes; Amelia seemed shell-shocked at the site of Thomas in actual labor. Her hands were shaky as she set her kettle upon a stand. She didn’t seem to know what to do.

“Out, out-!” Dr. Clarkson barked, shooing the maids away. They scuttled behind Mrs. Hughes, terrified of the raw experience.

A contraction slammed into Thomas. He cried out, hands clenching tight as he twisted his bedsheets.

“Breathe, Thomas!” Dr. Clarkson commanded. Melvina and Rebecca were at his side, rubbing his skin and wiping his brow.

“Count.” Melvina urged him gently, “Count with me: one, two three-“

“F-four, f-five, s-s-siii-“ But Thomas broke off, unable to keep from crying as the contraction broke over him. Christ! It had been the worst one yet.

“That’s a lamb-“ Melvina used the wet flannel like a fan, waving it above his face to cool him. “Very good darling.”

God when would it end?

Two men entered the room, followed up by two nurses. The men were dressed in traveling clothes, but had white coats slung over their arms. One seemed to have been brought for Dr. Clarkson, and was passed off so that he might change.

One man was quite old, looking to perhaps be in his seventies or eighties. He had a sagely look about him, and his pocket watch was dangling openly from its Albert chain.

The other man was young, akin to Robert’s age, and seemed bubbly with enthusiasm. That would never do at all-

“Get out!” Thomas bemoaned, thrashing on the bed in the wake of another contraction. “Get out!!”

“Hush now-“ Melvina soothed him. “We need them!”

Did they? Thomas couldn’t be arsed at this point. The nurses were scuttling about the room, opening traveling kits and setting up trays full of sterilized tools. The commotion terrified him.

“Thomas this is my team.” Dr. Clarkson explained. “This is Dr. Andrew Watkin, and Dr. David Connell-“ He gestured to the old and young doctor in turn.

Dr. Watkin was by far the most hands on of the group. He even pulled Thomas’ blankets off, repositioning them so that they lay tented over his knees instead of flat at his feet. He wore a kindly smile, but he still frightened Thomas.

“Thomas… I know you must be feeling terribly overwhelmed, but I assure you, you’re in very good hands.” Dr. Watkin said. He spoke in a soft voice, barely discernible over the hubbub. “I’m a male omega specialist. I’ve been retired for many years now, but I’ve come as a personal favor to Robert Kinsey, who was an old pupil of mine. I’ve handled twelve male omega births, the most of my colleagues, and I promise you that I will deliver yours just the same.”

“Oh good-“ Thomas warbled, eyes sparkling as Dr. Watkin had a nurse bring over a tray of gleaming instruments, “So I’m unlucky thirteen?”

“Certainly not.” Dr. Watkin smiled gently, pulling back to wash his hands thoroughly alongside Dr. Connell. “You are the lucky thirteen, mostly because you’re not having triplets.”

Wasn’t he? Thomas was certain he was having a demon at this point.

“Jesus Christ-!” He moaned belatedly to the ceiling.

“It’s just one baby.” Melvina admonished the good doctor.

“God, my back-“ Thomas could not bear the pain anymore. He rolled onto his side, cradling his swollen bellow. Was it just his imagination, or had his bump descended lower upon his frame?

“Let’s change his position, see if we can’t alleviate some of the pain.” Dr. Watkin commanded. Though Dr. Clarkson knew him best, Dr. Watkin seemed to be sharing the burden of being in charge so that Dr. Clarkson and he could switch out and rest in turn. Thomas was eased up, helped along by Melvina, Rebecca, Watkin, and Connell so that Dr. Clarkson could prepared his own birthing tray. The nurses were pouring steaming water into porcelain bowls, wringing out stiff clothes so that they smoked in the cool air.

Thomas’ birthing dress was hiked up around his knees. One of the nurses folded a steaming towel to search beneath the folds of his dress so that she could lay the cloth on the small of his back. Thomas hissed at the sudden searing heat… but found that it eased some of his pain.

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment to relax and rest mentally.

“Is that better?”

“Uhuh.” Thomas didn’t have the mental capacity to say much more.

“Then let’s stay right here.” Dr. Watkin said.  
And so they did, until Thomas started hurting again and needed to change positions once more.

 

~*~

 

The trip to Liverpool was a strained one, with all of Robert’s thoughts preoccupied with Thomas at Downton Abbey.

Now that they were in the hour of action, Robert could not help but remember how Sybil had been just as distraught. How Matthew had been in unbelievable pain and muddled. Now it was Thomas’ turn under the knife. Robert felt sick to his stomach at the concept of it. Kinsey was fairing no better, all but ready to chew on a fingernail. He was ashen, knuckles ashen as he clung to the fabric of his trousers.

When their train docked at Liverpool, George Kinsey hailed a cab for them so that they could be taken to the docks. The Strand was mercifully quite close, with a great deal of ships docking on Princess Parade. A Titanic Memorial threw a heavy shadow over the otherwise calm scene, with many a man eager to get to his destination. Kinsey was aboard the S.S. Montrose, a CPOS steamship underneath Captain E. Landy. She was a large ship, made for trans Atlantic voyages, and was merely capping off in Liverpool before heading over to Quebec. As such, there was a great flurry on the docks beneath the Montrose’ mighty base. Passengers were getting on, with very few leaving. Kinsey had no baggage to pick up, being found essentially penniless.

George Kinsey was frantic, constantly checking his watch. It was just after noon. With luck, they would be able to take the next train immediately back to Yorkshire… of course that depended on how fast Kinsey was to get through the heavy traffic of boarding passengers.

“For gods sake.” He moaned, checking his watch once again, “Why can’t they speed it up? We need to get back to the Abbey to support Thomas.”

“We have to put our faith in God.” Robert advised, gently. He had to admit, even he was slightly shaky at the moment. “He will deliver Thomas safely.”

But hadn’t he said the same about his own daughter? And Matthew?

George Kinsey was reproachful in the face of Robert’s optimism. “Thank you for doing this, M’lord. It means more to my family than you could ever know.”

Robert smiled, though he doubted the expression reached his eyes. Even now, Robert desperately yearned for Thomas. If only Thomas was his, instead of Kinseys… he wouldn’t have to fear the pain of birth. Robert would have had Thomas under anesthesia, anything to spare him from the awful reality of childbirth.

But he couldn’t let George know he had such thoughts.  
Still, even as Robert watched the Captain shaking hands with passengers atop first deck, a sudden thought dawned upon Robert.

“Between you and I, do you believe your brother makes Thomas happy? Truly?”

George took no offense outwardly, “I think so, M’lord. Thomas wasn’t the same when Rob left. It was like all the light fled from his eyes. I think-“

But whatever George thought, Robert would never know. For there, parting the crowd with nothing to his name but a borrowed traveling coat, was Robert Kinsey.

He was obviously exhausted, his skin color still too pale to rightly be called healthy. He was wearing a pained expression, but it seemed it was from emotional yearning more than anything else. He kept looking about, desperate. His clothes were threadbare, his vest missing two buttons; his hair was greasy and unkempt but still curled. His borrowed glasses were slightly bent. He looked horribly disheveled compared to most passengers, and was garnering many rude looks from upper class women.

“Christ-!” George began to curse, horribly emotional as he ran across the dock to embrace his older brother in an enormous hug. “You fucking fuck face!”

The man was about to cry, overjoyed to see his brother again. Robert Kinsey did not hold back, the pair of them babbling like fools as they grabbed onto each other’s coat, hair, and faces.

“Georgie!” Robert Kinsey was about to cry, cupping his little brother’s face in both his hands, “God you bastard, I thought I’d never see your atrocious face again-“

“You little prick, you’re never allowed to leave ever again! Do you hear me?!” George had a finger in his brother’s face, but it devolved into yet another hug that was slightly less spirited. Robert simply held George, slightly taller than his brother although much thinner.

But he pulled back, eyes glistening and glasses fogging: “Thomas, where is he-?”

Robert stepped forward at this, deciding to make himself known. As he approached the Kinsey brothers, he gently tipped his hat in greeting. Even now, he was incredibly jealous of this disheveled doctor. He wondered how it was that Kinsey had been the one to get so lucky, to possess Thomas as an alpha. He wondered what Thomas saw in the man; how was Kinsey even supposed to provide for his brood? For god’s sake, he’d nearly died in the wilderness. He must not have a penny to his name.

“Dr. Kinsey.” Robert greeted him, “I’m afraid that Thomas is not here. I hate to shock you off your sea legs, but Thomas is in labor-“

Dr. Kinsey was startled, gaping both in joy and disbelief. “Labor?!” He babbled to his brother, shaking him by the arm, “Really?! Truly?!”

“Don’t look at me, you’re the one that knocked him up!” George sneered. Behind them, an older woman who’d overheard let out a noise of disbelief. She was utterly scandalized, and hurried away before she could hear anything else raunchy.

“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind?” Robert warned them, “I think we’ve scandalized enough women for the day.”

“We’ve got to hurry to catch the train!” George pulled his brother along.  
Robert followed the two, hardly accustomed to running anywhere. He did his part by flagging down a cab again, allowing the two brothers to clamber in first. Lord Grantham was suddenly like a school teacher on a class trip, having to keep her children in line as they heckled about. George was blissful, Dr. Kinsey was slightly in shock.

“Oh god we’re having the baby.” Dr. Kinsey croaked in joy. “We’re gonna have the baby today!”

“We are!” George agreed.

Robert said nothing to the contrary, though it slightly irked him to hear the Kinsey brother’s boast about having a baby when in fact all they were doing was sitting and watching. Thomas was the one having the baby… and Robert’s thoughts were solely with him.

 

~*~

The pain just kept coming and coming with no end in sight.

Thomas was now completely covered in sweat, each of his limbs trembling dangerously from the exertion and strain of pushing out this fucking baby. He was surrounded by people, with Mrs. Hughes and Baxter finally joining their little team to lend him moral support. Rebecca kept using cool towels to mop up the sweat from his face, neck, and chest, while Melvina spoke softly to Dr. Clarkson just out of earshot. Watkin had fully taken over, simply because Dr. Clarkson wanted to monitor Thomas’ symptoms and transcribe any useful medical events that he saw. Male omega births were rare, and the more that they were able to glean from Thomas giving birth, the better. It could prove live-saving to the next male omega in his position.

But Thomas couldn’t be arsed to think about any of this.

He gone through several stages of vomiting, expelling a foul bile like substance that made him gag. Apparently his stomach was now reverting traffic, his anal passage closed off by a slim flap of skin so that the neck of his womb could push out the baby and not be intruded upon by waste. As a result, Thomas was horribly sick, on the verge of fainting as the pain escalated again and again.

“You’re fully dilated at this point,” Watkin said from between his legs. Thomas was squatting on his knees, his birthing gown hiked up around his legs which were spread wide to offer him support. The nurses were watching his every move carefully, squatting low beside the bed so as to be able to notify Watkin when his anus began to breech. “You can start pushing whenever you like.”

Thomas didn’t want to push. He wanted to wait for Robert. Was it alright to do that? Was it legal? Was it safe? Could he choose just to simply-?

But a sudden shooting pain made Thomas cry out. He was shushed from all sides, even as he screamed for mercy. His eyes were pinched shut; someone was tenderly rubbing his back, trying to massage away any pain he felt.

The nurses were moving again. Thomas was beginning to expel slick, a sort of lubrication to try and ease the passage of the birth. As a result, fresh towels needed to be brought over; the ones taken away were dark pink from fluid. Thomas was afraid he was bleeding.

“Am I bleeding?” Thomas stuttered, “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Dr. Watkin assured him, before checking the consistency, color, and odor of his slick. “A bloody plug often blocks the neck of the uterus to keep infection out of the womb while the baby forms. You’re expelling it, resulting in a bloody discharge-“

Thomas was going to be sick, “Bin- bin-“ He stuttered. Baxter immediately put a waste bin in front of him, and Thomas vomited heavily into it. It was dark green, a sure sign of stomach bile.

“Here-“ Mrs. Hughes offered him a glass of water. He took a large sip, swishing his mouth and spitting into the waste basket to try and get rid of the awful taste. He then took another actual sip, panting.

“Is this normal?” Mrs. Hughes asked Dr. Clarkson, fearful. “He’s been ill for hours.”

“With omega males, the strain on the stomach is unbelievable.” Dr. Clarkson said, “That’s why Thomas has been so sick. He’ll probably continue to be sick until after the birth.”

Christ. He was shitting out a bloody plug, a baby, and vomiting his guts up. Everyone could probably see his penis. This was the worst day of his life.

“This is the most humiliating moment of my life.” Thomas whimpered, about to cry from embarrassment.

“Hush now!” Rebecca wouldn’t hear a word of it. “This is beautiful and natural.”

“You’re having a baby.” Baxter praised him, “A sweet little baby and everyone here is delighted.”

“But you can see my bits!” Thomas sniveled.

“Please by all means continue to vomit and shit blood profusely.” Dr. Watkin teased. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well good for you.” Thomas spat, but before he could keep at the jab he felt a massive burning pain in his lower abdomen. “Fuuuck-!!”

“That’s it-“ Dr. Watkin pressed a hand at the small of Thomas’ back, “Push against it-“

And suddenly everyone had their hands on him, supporting him as he gave an almighty push. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t see-! Stars were bursting in front of his eyes! He gasped for breath when the pain receded. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple until it was chased up by Rebecca’s cloth. Mrs. Hughes tried to offer him another sip of water, but Thomas slowly shook his head.

“That was excellent.” Dr. Watkin praised. “You did a wonderful job.”

Thomas shuddered involuntarily, as if from a sudden bout of cold. Mrs. Hughes stroked his hair out of his face.

“Do you know how brave you are?” She whispered in his ear. Thomas sniffed, unsure if she had a point or not.

“So very very brave.” Melvina agreed. She was now before him, taking up his vision while Dr. Watkin bent low to keep an eye on his backside.

“Hmm-“ Dr. Watkin did not sound pleased. Thomas could feel him pressing with his hands on both his back and front, as if searching and coming up wanting.

“W-what was that?” Thomas demanded. Doctor’s never said ‘hmm’ for a good reason, “Why did you make that noise!?”

“Don’t you panic.” Dr. Watkin murmured, “The baby’s just a little small.”

“Oh god-!” Thomas wailed, thinking of Anthea’s deformed baby. “It’s not gonna have a face!” He sobbed into Melvina’s shoulder, overcome with terror at the thought.

“What?” Dr. Watkin was completely baffled.

“I think Thomas saw an anencephalic birth up close.” Dr. Clarkson explained.

“I see.” Dr. Watkin said. Thomas watched as the doctor washed his hand again, and this time coated his fingers in a coconut oil. They glistened in the light streaming in through the open windows.

“What are you doing-?” Thomas demanded as Watkin walked back over, one hand up in the air to keep the coconut oil from dripping on the carpet.

“I’m afraid a lot worse is about to happen.” Dr. Watkin joked softly, reaching his oiled hand around to feel at Thomas’ pulsing anus. His opening was hot, gaping to the size of a coin. Dr. Watkin gave Mrs. Hughes a particular look using his other hand to gesture from Thomas to herself.

Mrs. Hughes jumped into action, taking Thomas’ face in both her hands to make him look away from Dr. Watkin.

“Look at me-“ She ordered. “Be brave and look at me.”

Dr. Connell and Dr. Clarkson were both aiding Dr. Watkin now, each of them trying to help as Dr. Watkin began to spread Thomas’ anus beneath his fingers. Thomas cried out in agony, the burning sensation forcing him to the point of tears.

“Don’t pay attention to that man-“ Melvina soothed, wiping away his tears with her thumbs, “He’s a silly man, so boring and plain. Pay attention to us-“

“Pay attention to me-“ Baxter said. Thomas could feel something massive pushing inside of him, something cool and steel. God- what was it?!

“Ah-!! Stop-!!” Thomas begged. He almost reached about but Baxter and Rebecca grabbed each of his hands, holding him still as the doctor’s worked.

“Easy, easy now…” Dr. Watkin soothed, “We’re just preparing your opening a bit… You’re doing wonderfully Thomas. There’s a bit of a blockage; some of the plug has gotten in the way of the baby. Take a deep breath-?”

Thomas sucked in a shaking breath. He felt something being pulled at inside of his passage.

“Push down now! Push down hard!” Dr. Clarkson commanded. Thomas screamed loudly, pushing with all the strength he could muster. Whatever was in the way tore easily, burning slightly as it passed through Thomas to fall out with a wet sound.

“Very good!” Dr. Connell praised. “That was excellent Thomas.”

“That was very well done.” Dr. Clarkson patted Thomas carefully on the back. “Breath slowly now. Take a little rest. You’re doing just fine.”

He continued to lay his head against Melvina’s shoulder.  
When would this suffering end?

 

 

 

Several hours passed in that method, with Thomas pushing every time he felt a contraction and being tended to by his group. He could slowly feel the baby start to make its way down through his passage. With each inch, Thomas kept screaming like bloody murder. He’d never felt pain like this before, never in all his god damn life! It made every ache, every twinge, seem absolutely insignificant.

Around four, Thomas simply had to fall back and lay on his side. It was the only position that gave him comfort anymore. He couldn’t sit up, he couldn’t lay on his back, he couldn’t squat. Nothing helped anymore. The baby was low in the neck of his womb, the pressure blinding against his pelvic region. Now, more than ever, Thomas needed Rob. He just couldn’t do it without Rob- he couldn’t finish the job. He felt weak, useless, utterly destroyed. His pushes were becoming feeble. After eleven hours in labor he didn’t have any strength to give anymore.

Just rest for a moment.” Mrs. Hughes whispered, timidly wiping his brow with a cold cloth.

“Take a moment and breath, Thomas. Gain you strength back.” Dr. Watkin said. “You’re almost through.”

Thomas was blind to their optimism and enthusiasm. He was swaddled in pure misery.  
“I wish Rob were here.” He whimpered.

“He’s almost here, Thomas!” Melvina assured him, “I’ve been watching the clock. They picked him up three hours ago, which means he should get back to the Downton station at any time now.” It’ll only take him about twenty minutes to get back to the house. The chauffeur is already waiting at the station.”

Thomas whimpered, “It’s only been six hours since they left?” He couldn’t believe it, “I thought of sure it was later! It feels like it’s been days-!”

“Lord, if I could agree anymore it would be a sin.” Mrs. Hughes sighed.

“Is there anything we can do?” Baxter asked the doctor’s. There was a tinge of fear creeping in her voice. “Anything to help him with the pain?”

“You’re doing exactly what you need to be doing.” Dr. Connell assured her. “You’re supporting him. We’ll take care of the baby.”

“This has gone on long enough.” Dr. Clarkson snapped. “We need to take action.”

“I agree.” Dr. Watkin said, “Something is wrong. The baby should be lower by now. Nurse-! Forceps!”

“Right here, doctor.” A nurse was prompt, handing him over sterilized forceps wrapped in a white cloth.

“I can take a turn-“ Dr. Connell offered. Dr. Watkin shot him down.

“No, this is tricky. The baby is small and if I’m right he’s possibly turned the wrong way. I want to oversee this one myself… not that I doubt you.”

Dr. Connell was clearly put out. “Less pressure on me.” He muttered.

“Let me see if I can help-“ Dr. Clarkson said, taking Thomas carefully in his arms like he might be made of glass. “Come on now, Thomas. Be a brave lad and sit up for me?”

“No-“ He whimpered. But it came to nothing; he was forced to sit up anyways. Everyone held onto him to keep him upright; he had no strength to do it himself anymore.

“Right-“ Dr. Clarkson, now able to fully get the scope of Thomas’ lower belly, was able to use his hands like a pressure tool, “I’ve got the size of it. He’s on his side-“

“Is it bad?” Thomas whimpered as Dr. Connell slicked the forceps in a large amount of coconut oil.

“No.” Dr. Clarkson assured him while Dr. Watkin carefully began to push the forceps inside his now gaping anus. “For whatever reason, the baby doesn’t want to turn the right way.”

“Very common with male births.” Dr. Watkin said. “Often they want to come upside down-“

Thomas felt a horrible burning sensation, much like another heavy contraction. He cried out, his voice muffled as Melvina pressed his face to her breasts.

“There we go!” Dr. Clarkson was still feeling Thomas’ pelvis with his hands. “I can feel it now. He’s turning.”

“He?” Dr. Connell asked.

“Thomas thinks it’s a he, so it’s a he.”

“It’s a he.” Thomas blubbered. “I know it’s a he.”

“It’s so small, it might even be a male omega at that.” Dr. Watkin mused.

“It’s not small!” Thomas spat out, jerking back from Melvina’s hold to glare at Dr. Watkin. The bastard had the nerve to gloat at him. “It’s a fucking elephant!”

“If you say so.” Dr. Watkin knew better than to argue with a delivering mother. “Let’s put you on your back.”

“No, I’m not going on my back, it hurts too much!” Thomas cried out. “I can’t go on my back!”

“You have to Thomas. That’ll be the easiest way for you to deliver.” Dr. Clarkson urged.

“No!” Thomas would not do it. The pain was too blinding. “I can’t I’m telling you I can’t-!”

“Be brave now-“ Melvina soothed him, “It’s almost over. You are so close Thomas, the end is in sight-“

A sudden hassled knock came on the door. Thomas, enraged and in pain, screamed out before anyone could stop him.

“FUCK OFF!” He shrieked at the offending sound.

“Hush now, don’t you worry about that nonsense.” Mrs. Hughes beseeched. A nurse went to answer the door, sticking her head out without allowing the visitor to see inside. She returned, looking exuberant.

“Dr. Kinsey is here!” She said, eyes sparkling. “He’s downstairs with his brother and his Lordship!”

Thomas began to sob, unable to control himself anymore. Rob was here. He was in the house. He was back. He was only feet away- why wouldn’t he come? Why wasn’t he here now?

“Fetch him at once!” Dr. Clarkson barked to her, “And get more hot water!”

“Right!” she sped off at once, all but slamming the door behind her.

“On your back.” Dr. Watkin commanded him.

“No. No it hurts.” Thomas whimpered, pressing his face back into Melvina’s breast. “I’m stayin’ right here-!”

“We need to move your body so the baby can slide out naturally.” Dr. Watkin urged.

Thomas response to this was to simply lift his head and scream: “ROBERT!” He bellowed the name, praying the man would be able to hear him.

“Shh…” Melvina wiped his face clean of sweat and tears. “Shh now…”

“Why won’t he come?” Thomas blubbered.

“He’s coming!” Melvina soothed him, “He’s coming.”

“I can hear someone running up the stairs and I don’t think it’s his Lordship.” Baxter added helpfully.

“Lord, it might be Mr. Carson. He’s on the verge of having a panic attack.” Mrs. Hughes grumbled.

“He can’t come in here!” Thomas shrieked. If Mr. Carson came in this room he was going to lose his mind.

“Oh, believe me, we’ve banished the lot of them.” Mrs. Hughes assured him, “No one’s coming in but your alpha.”

Suddenly Thomas had the aching desire to push, so he did so, grunting as he pressed a hand to his pelvis.

“Don’t push!” Dr. Watkin barked at him, “Stop pushing!”

“Stop, stop!” Melvina snapped. Thomas stopped, breathing haggardly.

“Don’t push,” Dr. Watkin explained in a more gentle tone, “Don’t push until you’re laying down or you could turn the baby again.”

Thomas began to cry. He didn’t want to move god help him!

And suddenly, the door burst open.

Without warning, the room was suddenly full of people as Robert, George, Lord Grantham, and Carson all entered the room. Robert was at the front, eyes blazing beneath borrowed glasses. In that moment, he was like an angel to Thomas, delivered straight from heaven. His entire being seemed to radiate with a shimmering light. He was whole, gloriously healthy and vibrant- it was like a mirage. Like one touch would dispel the sight-

“Get out!” The other nurse cried out, quite offended at the men, “Get out of here, all of you-!”

Thomas flung out a sweaty hand, fingers trembling wildly from strain. Robert surged forward, and collided with force against Thomas.

The smell of white tea engulfed him, and Thomas drunk it in. Robert was warm and solid beneath his fingers, so very real, and Thomas began to weep profusely in gratitude and relief. He clung tightly to Robert, terrified to let go of him even as Melvina and Mrs. Hughes shoved everyone else out the door.

“Out, out, out-!” Melvina barked, taking George by the ear and shoving him through the door again.

“No one but the mate!” Dr. Clarkson ordered, “Everyone else must stay outside!”

“Good god-“ Carson spluttered at the sight of Thomas with his legs spread and covered in slick, “That’s a sight-“

“Charlie!” Mrs. Hughes admonished. Carson all but ran away, terrified of being forced to observe another moment. Lord Grantham had been the first to flee, his Victorian sensibilities all but fried in the face of medical dilemmas. Mrs. Hughes kicked the door shut as the returning nurse entered with another pot of fresh hot water.

But none of it mattered. All that was important was Robert.

He kissed Thomas sweetly upon the brow, cheek, nose, and lips, building him up with as much strength as he could muster. Robert smelt of fresh air and white peach, of hard travel and well-earned dust.

“Alright, alright-“ Robert soothed him, holding him close as Thomas cried profusely into his waist coat, “We can yell and cuss and fight all we like later, but right now we’re having this baby. So…” They looked at one another. Robert was just as terrified as he, but clearly excited. He beamed at Thomas. “So let’s do that, yeah? And then we can say hello. All three of us.”

Thomas nodded, panting.

“I don’t feel good.” He whimpered. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

“I know.” Rob assured him. For whatever reason he was kicking off his shoes, which made no sense until he also shed his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves. “I know, but I’m here. We’re gonna have this baby now, and be bloody done with it.”

Thank god.

Robert climbed into bed behind him, and used his body like a support chair for Thomas to lean against. Finally on his back, Thomas was able to get into position as Dr. Watkin used the fresh hot water to sterilize his tools and pat at Thomas’ fluttering anus. Dr. Clarkson took Thomas’ left leg, Dr. Connell took his right, and both men pushed upwards Towards Thomas chest. Mrs. Hughes and Melvina were helping the nurses, preparing towels and pouring hot water into bowls that had gone cold. Baxter and Rebecca wiped his brow, whispering to him.

“Can I get some air?” Dr. Watkin asked. Mrs. Hughes opened another window at once, letting in a cool draft.

“Breathe deeply.” Dr. Watkin ordered Thomas. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest as Robert wrapped his arms around Thomas’ chest and kissed his lovingly upon his scent mark.

“I need the room cleared.” Dr. Watkin ordered.

“Rebecca, go get some more towels.” Melvina urged.

“I’ll show you where they are.” Mrs. Hughes said. Rebecca left at once, Melvina taking her place by Thomas’ side.

“On the next contraction, I want you to bear down hard!” Dr. Watkin ordered Thomas. His voice was like a general amid a battlefield. It seemed they’d reached the final act. “Robert! You support him. Keep you arms around his chest, and scent him as he needs it. You’re instrumental to this birth.”

“I’m right here.” Robert murmured lovingly in Thomas’ ear. The smell of white tea soothed him. The warmth of Robert’s voice gave him strength.

They were together again. They could do this.  
It was time.

“Are you ready?” Dr. Watkin asked. Thomas nodded. Dr. Connell and Dr. Clarkson had faces like thunder, both of them wholly focused on the task at hand as they supported Thomas’ legs.

“Just bear down as hard as you possibly can!” Dr. Clarkson ordered. “This is it, we’re in the home stretch now!”

Thomas pushed and pushed with all his might. Every time he gasped and backed off, Robert was there to scent him and whisper words of support in his ear. Baxter wiped his face, Melvina held his hand, and Dr. Watkin started to use his fingers to carefully open Thomas’ anus.

Something heavy was sliding through him, one inch at a time. He bore down again, and again!!

“Good, good!” Dr. Watkin cried out after twenty minutes of intense pushing, breathing, and scenting. Thomas could feel an awful burning at the ring of his anus, horrible and stretching. “It’s crowning, the baby’s crowning!”

Dr. Watkin used his hand to carefully stretch Thomas’ opening, fingers delicate as they danced around the rim. Something was there, Thomas could feel it-!

“Very, very good!” Dr. Watkin just kept urging. Bloody towels were coming away now, as nurses brought over fresh linens.

Thomas sucked in a deep breath, having to take a moment to breath against Rob. Rob kissed his ear, humming softly to him.

“We’re almost there.” Rob whispered.

“Does…. head…” Thomas couldn’t form full sentences anymore.

“As round and lovely and complete as a head ever was.” Dr. Watkin praised. “Your baby is not anencephalic.”

“Thank god…” Thomas was in tears. “Oh thank god…”

“Just take your time, Dovey.” Rob praised.

“On the next push, you bear down as hard as you can!” Dr. Watkin urged, “If you can get the shoulders out, I’ll happily do the rest. Nurses! All hands on deck, this is the final moment now. You have my tools ready for cutting the chord?”

“Yes doctor-“ One nurse was waiting with a pair of iris scissors and a spool of twine.

“You be ready to catch the after birth.” He instructed the other nurse. She was holding a deep tin bowl, waiting to catch. “I think it’ll come straight after.”

Thomas sucked in one breath after another, amping himself up. This was it… he knew this was it.

“Ready?” Baxter asked. Thomas nodded.

“Push!” Dr. Clarkson cried out. “Push, push, push, push-!!!”

Thomas pushed.

All the world went numb and white, sound momentarily fading out. He felt something enormous pass through him, guided along by Dr. Watkin’s careful hands. There was screaming, and he only faintly registered it as his own.

And then?

“That’s it! That’s it, you’ve done it-!” Dr. Watkin cried out.

Thomas opened his eyes, dazed, to view a room full of chaos. People were moving, playing their parts, cleaning away the birth… but Thomas eyes were focused entirely on the creature in Dr. Watkin’s arms, being held up high so that all could see him.

Tiny, unbelievably tiny, arms and legs kicking the air just as he’d kicked in the womb. A thatch of curly black hair atop his perfectly round head. His eyes screwed up, his mouth open wide—

His son.

The nurses were quick, wrapping the baby up in fresh linens only to deposit him upon Thomas’ chest where he could be pressed against the flushed skin of his breasts. He was moving, squirming, squeaking. Making the most ridiculous, beautiful, lovely high pitched noises Thomas had ever heard. He was covered in disgusting fluids, blood, slick, sack, and slime… but he breathing.

Thomas could hear him breathing.

The nurses were rubbing the baby’s back, trying to get him to squeak louder. With terrified, shaking hands, Thomas reached up to feel at his son for the first time.

He was fine. He was completely and utterly fine.  
He was more than fine— he was _perfect_.

“Aha!” Dr. Watkin was beaming from ear to ear even as the nurses carried away the bloodied linens and sack. “Good job, Thomas1”

“Well done!” Dr. Connell praised, teeth gleaming. “Well done indeed!”  
By god if Dr. Clarkson didn’t look ready to cry. His blue eyes were misting over, locked on his oldest friend. Rob was choking up behind Thomas, kissing him feverishly again and again.

He could hear Melvina and Baxter cheering him. Could hear Dr. Clarkson proposing it a glorious afternoon… but he was blind to all of it.

All he could see was his son, in his arms. Bloodied, confused, but breathing.  
Breathing.

“He’s… breathing.” Thomas whimpered, amazed at the miracle before him. “He’s breathing!”

“He’s breathing.” Rob choked up, “Oh my god my darling, I love you so much!”  
And he kissed Thomas full on the lips. He was crying, his glasses fogging up so much that he had to take them off so that he could wipe his face. He was overjoyed.

“Here now, let me clean him off.” Dr. Clarkson choked up, “Let me see-“ He carefully took their son from Thomas’ arms, cradling him protectively. The nurses were ready with lukewarm bowls, washing the blood and slick from his tiny body as he squeaked and shrieked in protest. HIs voice was the most beautiful thing Thomas had ever heard.

It was like a chorus of angels.

“Oh, he’s beautiful!” Baxter was ready to cry herself; by god if they all weren’t near tears. she aided the nurses, wiping him off with warm towels

“Aha!” Dr. Clarkson burst out laughing, overjoyed. “By god if you weren’t right Thomas! It’s an omega! A male omega!”

“I have a son!” Rob cried into Thomas’ neck, “I HAVE A SON!” He shrieked to the ceiling in joy.

“He’s… five pounds, eight ounces… and eight and a half inches.” Dr. Clarkson said. “All his toes and fingers are there! His eyes, ears, and nose are clear-! By god if this baby is completely healthy if not utterly tiny too.”

The baby began to cry profusely, angry at being taken from Thomas.

There was a smattering of applause from the nurses and the aids. Baxter was crying now; she had to wipe her eyes with Dr. Clarkson’s handkerchief. Melvina wasn’t even trying to wipe her tears away, taking her grandson in her arms to bring him back over to Thomas and Rob.

Now clean, Thomas was able to get a full look at his son for the first time without any interruptions.

He was flushed, his little plump cheeks perfectly pink. His eyes ere closed, his bottom lip rosy red and wet. His button nose was so small, his ears just the same. He had no eyebrows, well… not really… but he had a full head of black hair that ended in an obvious curl. He had a fist up, nearly touching his mouth. He seemed to be on the verge of going to sleep, exhausted from the days proceedings. He was pressed on his stomach against Thomas’ chest again, his head nestled against Thomas’ chin so that Thomas could smell him.

Honey. The smell of honey filled his nose. Bemused, he looked up to Rob who was still beaming like an idiot.

Their son squeaked again; it was like he had hiccups.

Thomas wrapped his arms protectively about his son, utterly in love. He kissed his son’s head over and over again, breathing in lungfuls of the honey scent. His son’s scent.

“Alright, let’s clear the room.” Dr. Watkin laughed, shaking hands with Dr. Clarkson and Dr. Connell in turn. “Everyone out but the nurses. I think this calls for a brandy, chaps!”

Rob just kissed Thomas repeatedly, the pair of them lost in their own little world. He kept a hand steadily on the baby’s back, his hands enormous compared to their son’s frame.

“Let’s let them have some alone time.” Baxter whispered. The nurses gently covered Thomas in a fresh duvet, which warmed beneath his aching legs and allowed him to relax. Melvina closed a few of the windows, so that the room wouldn’t be too cold. Baxter checked the fire in the grate, making sure it was stoked.

“I’m so proud of you.” Melvina choked, addressing both her son and Thomas. “I’m so happy for you, Robbie.” She kissed her son on the forehead, her lips sloppy against his skin.

“Thank you, mummy.” Rob squeezed her hand.

“You’re never to leave ever again.” Melvina chided him softly.

Rob shook his head in agreement, laughing softly. Melvina turned to Thomas, kissing him softly on the temple.

“My darling boy.” Melvina praised. “You did beautifully. I’m going to call everyone right now.” She sniffed again, still near tears.

She left, taking Dr. Clarkson with her.

Baxter approached, amazed at the baby now snuffling against Thomas’ chest. Thomas could feel his little heart pounding through where their skins met. Baxter stroked his little of curly black hair.

“Congratulations, Thomas.” She choked out, her eyes red and puffy, “He’s beautiful.”

“Tell them, downstairs?” Thomas asked.

“I will.” She promised. “I’ll tell everyone.” She reached out, and kissed his forehead softly. When she pulled away, it was with fresh tears sparkling in her eyes. She left quietly, careful not to slam the door shut behind her.

Dr. Watkin and Dr. Connell left next, the pair of them exhausted and ready for a celebratory drink. Now only the nurses were left, disposing of the bloodied towels, packing up the doctor’s kits, and setting the room to rights. Thomas just rocked his newborn son, cradling him in his arms. He let one long finger trail against his son’s chubby arm, amazed at how soft and warm the skin was beneath his own. In response, his son gripped his passing finger tight in his own fist.

Thomas’ chin quivered dangerously. Tears leaked from his eyes as his son registered his mother’s presence.

The baby squeaked again, confused.

“Shh…” Thomas soothed him. The baby heard his mother’s voice and calmed instantly.

One of the nurses carefully pulled the canopy closed around Thomas’ bed so that he could have some more privacy.

“If you need anything all, just ring.” the nurse said before slipping out. Now with one nurse left, she poured a fresh glass of water for them both before heading out with a small smile.

“Thank you.” Rob said to her retreating back. She curtsied a bit before carefully closing the door so that Rob and Thomas were left in privacy with their newborn son.

Rob was just as amazed at their baby as he was. He cradled the baby’s head with one of his hands, thumbing through his black curls.

Thomas turned a bit, now finally able to see Rob eye to eye.

He’d never get tired of the sight of his alpha’s face… his warm honey eyes and his curly brown hair. His perfect brow, his straight nose… his fine chin. He’d been crafted from heaven just for Thomas.

“… I will never…ever… leave you again.” Rob whispered.  
Thomas nodded, leaning forward so that his brow cradled against Rob’s chin. Rob kissed his forehead lovingly, an arm wrapped around Thomas’ shoulders.

“I was going to say ten thousand things but, now I’ve forgotten them.” Thomas admitted, looking down at their son. “… We have a son, Rob. A beautiful, beautiful son.”

The baby yawned in response, using his free hand to cradle his mouth. He still held onto Thomas’ finger tightly.

“Our first born.” Rob didn’t seem to be able to believe it. It was hard to sink in after all this time. “Our perfect, perfect child.”

Thomas looked to his alpha again, smiling dreamily. He might fall asleep if this kept up.

“What shall we name him?” Thomas murmured.

“I had a lot of time to think about that.” Rob teased softly, his fingers delicately tracing their son’s brow and tiny pink ears. “I was hoping to name him Rupert, after my father.”

Thomas was in complete agreement, for Rupert was a lovely name. And yet?

“I was wondering about Edward.” Thomas admitted. “For Edward Courtenay.”

“It could be his middle name?” Rob offered. “Rupert Edward Kinsey?”

“Our little Ru.” Thomas praised, looking down at Rupert as he spoke. Rob was about to start crying again.

“Would you like to hold him?” Thomas asked.

“God yes.” Robert choked out. Thomas chuckled, tickled at Robert’s enthusiasm. He passed Rupert over carefully, allowing Rob the moment to get comfortable and rest against Thomas’ pillows. Thomas snuggled in at his side, carefully tugging Rupert’s blankets so that they covered his pearly pink toes.

“My sweet boy.” Rob leaned in and pressed chaste kisses to Rupert’s forehead. He was christened with his father’s love. “My perfect boy. Your daddy loves you so very very much…” He sniffed, beaming as he gave Rupert another kiss. “And I’m going to buy your mummy anything that he wants because you are everything to me.”

He didn’t need a birthing gift, to be honest. “Buy me a fucking place to live and we’ll call it even.” Thomas joked. They laughed, the pair of them touching heads.

“A beautiful apartment in London.” Rob agreed, “With room for three.”

But now that it was all over, Thomas knew that he wanted more children. Rupert deserved siblings… and Thomas wanted a large family to love. They had the money. Why not?

“Maybe more?” He offered softly.

Rob gave him a dreamy smile, kissing him sweetly on the lips.

“Maybe more.” He agreed in a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers include **graphic depictions of child birth**
> 
> Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns. ;)


	31. Just Deserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Robert welcome a new member to their family, and return to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well everyone, this story is officially done. There will be one more chapter, an epilogue, but it will only be for fun and won't advance the plot. It'll show us into the future, and explain what happened to some of our favorite characters. 
> 
> I'm going to start on my next fanfiction, which will involve time travel and the determination to right wrongs. Look for it underneath the name of **Volver**... coming soon! 
> 
> I wanted to first and foremost thank everyone who has been so kind, commenting, liking, sharing, subscribing, and drawing for this fanfiction. In particular I want to thank [Loccorocco](http://loccorocco.tumblr.com) and [Arkquill](http://arkquill.tumblr.com), both of whom have drawn fanart several times for this fanfiction. I've really enjoyed it, and I think it's probably one of my favorites. I'm glad to have done an Omegaverse for Downton. I think I did it justice, but that might just be me talking. 
> 
> I want to remind everyone about the [SubRosa Writer](http://www.liladostal.wixsite.com/mysite), my website which I've created as an aid to fanfiction writers. I would be so grateful if you would go to my website and take a look around. Use the resources! Read my articles! Heck, even subscribe if you like! I want to help fanfiction writers like yourself. 
> 
> Anways, let's get moving. Here's the ending to Spare the Rod!

_Litigo: 10:05: “And she bore him a son, of incredible beauty, an omega in her own image. He was the first of male fruit to bear forth the pain of the omega rod, and the brightest star in heaven’s sky. The Supreme Alpha loved him the most, his sweetest son, and gave him the scent of gentle perfume… and he never knew an enemy on Earth.”_

Once, when Rob had been young, he’d traveled with his father and mother to the British Museum. He’d been amazed at the beauty of the paintings and the vases. He’d seen the Holy Requiem up close, riding on his father’s broad shoulders to see over the heads of other spectators. He’d wondered at the bounty of the Earth and had thought ‘surely there could be nothing more beautiful in the world’.

But Rob had learned in time, that museums paled to the treasures held in the corners of life.

He’d known beauty when he’d viewed upon his omega for the first time, in a pinstripe suit with hair tied back and eyes of cerulean blue. That beauty had been cemented in their mating, and had grown for nine months. Thomas’ spirit and Rob’s strength, combined together to create something incredible and unique that could never again be bested.

Rob had never known beauty in its rawest and purest form until he’d held his newborn son in his hands… and simply stared at him.

He was the embodiment of God’s light.

Plump cheeks, a little button nose, black curls tucked about his tiny ears and a pert little mouth huffing softly in sleep. Swaddled in the history of his lineage, wearing the knitted yellow cap Ada near bore, Rob loved him so much it simply hurt. Like every breath he took into his chest was filled with rusted nails. So many details were popping out to Rob… like the fact that Rupert had tiny little fingernails perfect and smooth.

Rob counted them all one, twice, three times.  
Incredible. Fucking incredible.

Thomas was absolutely knackered, the poor little dove. Rob watched him fall asleep, taking Rupert silently from Thomas’ arms when they went limp. For a moment, Rob simply held onto Rupert and watched Thomas sleep from the side of the bed. Sweat had evaporate, putting a pink hue on Thomas’ normally ivory pale skin.

Thomas slept peacefully, worn plum out from his venture into motherhood. Rob could practically hear Claire de Lune in his head, captivated as Thomas slipped deeper and deeper into slumber.

The fire crackled softly in the grate, slowly turning into ember. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set, painting the snow and sky and sweet pink. Rob peeked out the window, Rupert secure in his arms, and wondered that he’d never known such peace in all his life. This morning, he’d woken up slightly sea sick on a bunk that smelt of week old sweat.

Now?

Rob looked over his shoulder at Thomas again. One of his bare feet was sticking out beneath the tossed duvets. Rob smiled, and tenderly plucked the duvet so that it would cover his slender toes.

Rupert made the tiniest squeak, the softest alert that he was somewhere close to consciousness himself. Eager to let Thomas get some much needed rest, Rob stepped out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him so that Thomas could continue on without having to worry about Rupert.

No… they were just fine together. Father and son.

Rupert was waking up for the first time, finally able to gather his bearings after birth. It must be horribly difficult, to go from the warmth and comfort of the womb to the sudden shock of life and all its sharp edges. Rupert felt none of them, tucked into the crook of his father’s arms. Rob’s reward for his paternal affection was to be blessed with the incredible sight of Rupert opening his eyes for the first time.

His eyes were incredibly blue, just like Thomas’. Rob prayed that their color never changed.

Gleeful at his sudden discovery, Rob wanted nothing more than to run back to Thomas and wake him so that he too might experience Rupert’s eyes. But Rob reasoned that Thomas had a life full of opportunities ahead of him. Soon, the color of their son’s eyes would be as unmistakable and obvious as the wallpaper that would line their flat.

But Rob was simply too excited to let this stand. He had to show someone— people needed to know that Rupert had the most beautiful eyes in the world. Eyes as blue and sweet as his mother’s!

On the verge of being hysterical for joy, Rob descended the main stairs to the entrance hall bellow. He listened for the sound of voices, and heard a golden trickle of conversation floating out from the library.

Determined to show everyone in the world just how incredible his son was, Rob took Rupert to the library, and opened the door wide.

The Crawley family was sitting around their ancestral hearth, giving company to their guests. His mother was sitting on the couch next to Lady Grantham enjoying a glass of champagne. Lady Grantham, Rebecca, and Lady Mary were all keen to join him. The men were preferring harder liquors, including Dr. Watkin, Dr. Connnell, Dick, and his brother. Carson kept watch over the whole lot of them, standing guard next to a tray full of champagne bottles, whiskey decanters, and free glasses.

Lord Grantham was the only one not truly celebrating. Instead, he was leaning against the hearth with a small glass of port, and was quiet in the face of babbling laughter.

His mother was the first to spot him, and the first to rise up in defense.

“Oh Robby!” Her voice made every man turn. He was met with shocked laughs of disbelief. “You can’t just bring the baby down here, he’ll catch a cold!”

“Oh no, no he’s just fine!” Rob was blissful, babbling like an idiot as he strode forward. He thrust Rupert among the lot of them, urging each man to look at him and behold what a beauty he was.

“Look! Look he has blue eyes!” Rob beamed, turning Rupert about so that everyone could see him better. His eyes were still open, quite dazzling in the firelight. Every so often he’d close them, as if going down for a kip, but then would pop back awake to blink, confused.

“What a sweet little boy!” Lady Grantham cooed, getting up from the couch to stand side by side with his mother. She leaned in, amazed at Rupert, and gave him a loving smile. “But surely he should be in the nursery? He’s only a few hours old!”

“Well, Thomas is resting and I didn’t want to wake him.” Rob admitted. “So I thought I’d take a walk with him, and… he opened his eyes and I just…” Damn it all if he wasn’t choking up. “I just have to share it-“

He was about to cry like a fool, but he was beaming at the same time. What an idiot he must appear to be.

“My perfect nephew.” George was the most proud of the men present. He took Rupert form Rob’s hands without so much as a how-do-you-do, cradling him carefully in the crook of his arm so that he could support Rupert’s head better. “Oh what a heart breaker, and so small!”

“He’s a tiny one.” Dick sighed, a dreamy look on his face. Rob knew instinctively that Dick must have been stressing over this birth for ages. Dick often took a personal level of care with patients that he was close to, and Dick was practically like a brother to him.

“We’ve chosen a name for him.” Rob said. Everyone looked up, with even Lord Grantham turning around expectantly. “Rupert Edward Kinsey.”

“What a wonderful name!” Lady Grantham said, but it was his own mother that Rob looked to.

She almost burst into tears, terribly moved by his gesture to name his son after his late father.

“Oh-!” She dithered, hiccuping as Dick hurriedly lent her his handkerchief. “You’ll have to forgive me. Rupert was the name of my husband.”

“I see.” Lady Mary was warm despite his mother’s hysterical mood swings. “Well it’s a charming name and he wears it well. May I?” She asked, hopeful as she extended her hands to Rupert.

George begrudgingly gave him over. Rob noted that he didn’t want to let go.

Lady Mary held him up, using her left hand to cradle his head and her right to hold his bottom.

“Beautiful.” She murmured sweetly. “Absolutely beautiful. Isn’t he Carson?”

She turned to the butler, walking carefully over to his side so that the pair of them could gaze on Rupert side by side.

“He’s looks like Thomas.” Lady Mary said, “Don’t you agree?”

“He does, M’lady.” Carson said. Rob could hear soft tones of pride in the butler’s rumbling voice. He was touched even if he didn’t want to show it.

“May I see him, M’lady?” Dr. Watkin asked. Lady Mary was cautious to hand Rupert over; they changed hands like Rupert was made of spindled sugar glass.

Now in the arms of the doctor who had helped bring him into the world, Rupert let out a tiny squeak of affront. Dr. Watkin just chuckled, using one hand to carefully rub Rupert’s tummy beneath his swaddling.

“Bit of a bother?” Dr. Watkin murmured, as if the pair of them were having a conversation. “Not to worry. Being born is a precarious business, you know.”

“Oh yes.” Dick agreed, side by side with Dr. Watkin, “But you’re healthy and have everything you need to tackle the subject.”

“I think we ought to have photographs taken of him.” Dr. Connell spoke up. “I could ring for a local photographer to come down. We could use his anatomy frame as a base line for other-“

“I think not!” Melvina Kinsey was a social woman but she refused flat out to have her grandchild be looked upon like a circus. She took her grandson away from the doctors, cradling him against her large sagging bosom. “My grandson is not your lab rat, gentlemen.”

“I mean no offense madam!” Dr. Connell protested, “But he’s a miracle in the eyes of science-“

“And in the eyes of God!” She warned, “Which matters a great deal more than you.”

Cowed, Dr. Connell said no more. He took a sulky sip of whiskey, hiding behind his mentor. Dr. Watkin gave his student a petulant look.

Rupert squeaked again, this time louder. Melvina shushed him softly, walking slowly towards the fire so that he might be warmed. She tucked his swaddling clothes carefully back around his frame.

“Shh now.” She whispered lovingly, stroking his plump cheek. “Such a little angel. Your papa is very delighted but he’s forgotten his manners. But your mother is as sweet and saintly as they come and he’ll put your father right. So don’t you worry a single hair on your head.”

“Can I have him back-?” Rob whined, suddenly itching to hold his son again. It wasn’t fair how everyone else got a turn-!

“No you cannot.” She wouldn’t even give it a second thought, sitting back down on the couch and cradling Rupert against her bosom. Rob could see Rupert’s tiny fists clutching onto her white shawl, holding tight to the mangled threads. “I’m the grandmother and I get to dote on my grandson… my first grandson.”

She lifted Rupert up, and pressed a soft kiss to his button nose. Rupert made a noise as if hiccuping.

“Such a beautiful omega.” She murmured, and it was quite the truth. Even now, Rob knew that his son was to be a supreme beauty. “You’re going to be a dame when you’re grown. All the alphas will want to court you.”

Court? No one was courting his son! Not even in a million years— Rob would beat them off with a cricket bat if they dare try!

“Can I have him—“ Rob tried to ask again, but his mother cut him off.

“George handle your brother.” She commanded.

“Come on mate-“ Georgie was kind, pulling him back so that they could near the alcohol, “Let’s a have a toast.”

“But-“ Rob wanted to hold Rupert.

“Let mummy have her fun, or she’ll get cross. Richard, will you have another?” George asked, pouring a whiskey for Rob and pressing it into his hands.

“Normally I’d abstain but I think tonight I’ll make an exception.” Dick said. George poured another glass, and handed it over.

“We’ll drink to Rupert! And to Thomas-“ George added with a hasty smile. Everyone save for Melvina raised their glasses back. Even Lord Grantham by the fire gave a meager sip of his port.

Rob could not help but notice the way that Lord Grantham was staring longingly at his son. He’d not said a word, not made to hold him, but it was plainly obvious that he was desperate to have Rupert in his arms. Rob knew that Lord Grantham had wanted Thomas for himself, if only to feel young again. He’d wanted to have another child, to feel like his best days were ahead of him.

It was a scary thing to face your mortality.

Downing his whiskey in three burning swallows, Rob sat down his crystal glass and headed across the room. Without asking, he stooped over and lifted his son from his mother’s arms. She gave him up, but wore a haughty expression and seemed to fall into a bitter mood. She didn’t like to be taken away from her grandchildren, but she’d live just this once.

Cradling Rupert in his arms, Rob made the bold move to physically take away Lord Grantham’s sherry glass so that he could set it on the mantle. The man was taken aback, and who could blame him. Rob doubted that anyone had ever taken away Lord Grantham’s drink before.

“Take him.” Rob said, gently. He offered Rupert up to Lord Grantham, and noted that the man grew even more pained.

“I shouldn’t-“ Lord Grantham was still obviously pining.

“Take him.” Rob urged again, and put Rupert against Lord Grantham’s chest.

Lord Grantham finally took him, and all composure melted away.

The pitiful yearning was plainly obvious. Lord Grantham was as sweet as Melvina with Rupert in his arms. Rupert whimpered, but Lord Grantham was there to sooth him. As Rupert extended out a fist, eager to latch onto anything, Lord Grantham offered one of his wrinkled fingers. He stroked Rupert’s smooth fist with his thumb; by contrast, Lord Grantham’s fingers were enormous.

“… Rupert.” Lord Grantham murmured the name like a prayer. “You’re just as lovely as I’d dreamed you’d be.”

Rupert said nothing to this, seeming to fall back for a kip again. He closed his eyes, relaxing. The smell of frankincense began to fill the room, as Lord Grantham carefully scented his son. It wasn’t an act of claiming, it was an act of soothing, and with it Rupert seemed to finally drop off into sleep.

“There now.” Lord Grantham whispered.

Oddly enough, Rob didn’t feel threatened or annoyed. In a way it felt like good closure, to have Lord Grantham finally obtain the moment he’d so longed for…

To hold a baby in his arms and feel young again.

 

~*~

For two days, Thomas stayed in bed and healed. There were several tears in his anal ring, which Dr. Watkin assured him was quite normal. He was utterly exhausted, and felt like a deflated car tire though his belly and thighs were still quite swollen. It was bizarre, after eight months of waking up with someone kicking at his bladder, to wake up and instead feel nothing but hear the indignant wails of his newborn child from his Austrian crib.

To some, the sounds of a screaming newborn were surely deafening and horrendous.  
To Thomas, it was the sound of true love.

There was no delicate way to put it, no way to keep his dignity and state the facts at the same time. Thomas was utterly in love with Rupert Edward Kinsey, in a way that he’d never been in love with a man before (even Rob).

Rupert was petite, in all ways. Petite and utterly perfect. Everything dwarfed him, from his swaddling clothes to his knitted hat and jacket. The only thing which fit him was his little thatch of black curls, which were as soft as feathers to the touch. His pouty cheeks were plump, slightly reddened, with his button nose and quivering chin constantly twitching against the air. When he dared to open his eyes, they were beautiful almond slits against his rosy skin. His irises were shockingly similar to Thomas’, a lovely watery blue color that reminded Thomas of the ocean on a warm summers day. He constantly lay with his legs curled, knees perched wide and legs kicking at thin air (or blankets, or Thomas, or anything really). It was quite funny, to Thomas, to see how Rupert had bruised his bladder with the naked eye and away from his sensitive organs. God, he could remember those kicks so easily (after all, it had only been three days ago that Rupert had been inside him)!

Rupert smelt strongly of honey, powdered flesh, and clean clothe. It was the most beautiful smell Thomas had ever come across, and he constantly let Rupert lay on his naked chest so that they might have skin to skin contact. Rupert was never happier than when he was perched between Thomas’ breasts, which were swollen now and ripe to give milk. Unlike before, when Thomas had had to strain to give milk to William (and had endured great pain), now he could breast feed with ease and was grateful to do so. Rupert was far too young to take in great amounts of milk. Instead, he liked to lay against Thomas’ breast and simply smell his milk. It seemed to sooth him, to know that he was safe and in the arms of his mother. He managed three good suckles on the second day before being tuckered out. Rupert always slept well, although after a nap he usually passed a great deal of meconium. Lord have mercy, the boy had only weighed close to six pounds upon birth. Thomas was certain he’d already lost another pound just in excrement alone. It looked like motor oil at first, and was slightly terrifying until Dr. Clarkson assured him that it was perfectly normal; indeed, it was even a good sign because it suggested that Rupert’s tummy was working well. Rupert seemed to shit more than an olympic athlete attempting for a gold medal, but Thomas didn’t care. Changing nappies was lovely, and a time when he could give Rupert extra love. With other babies, Thomas had always been gentle and kind… with his own, Thomas was utterly soppy.

He’d wipe Rupert down with a wet cloth, careful to clean around the tip of his fragile genitals and soft bottom. Then, he’d powder Rupert in a baby dusting that smelt lightly of coconut milk. Rupert would kick, doing a little dance for Thomas, and Thomas would egg him on.

“Dance, dance, dance!” He’d sing with glee as Rupert kicked in his new nappy. “Dance for mummy!”

Rupert would grunt, determined to see the world before turning three days old.

Rob was keen to leave Downton and return to London, after half a year abroad in the Austrian wilderness. His colleagues were thrilled with his return, particularly the survivors of the original expedition. There was the question of buying an apartment, but George had plenty of friends in London including one Daniel Riggs who was downright delighted to see Robert safely back on English soil again. Robert hadn’t been home a week and already Riggs had four apartments lined up for them to see.

Rob refused to leave Thomas’ side, and Thomas couldn’t travel to London just yet. Thus, George was the one to travel south, calling with reports of what apartments were the best. It was a great act of faith on their part, particularly with Rupert now being involved, but Rob and Thomas trusted George. He was a good man, had good taste, and understood what it took to raise a child. Thus, when George called saying that Riggs had found a spacious flat in Petts Wood with three bedrooms and two floors, Robert agreed that it would be for the best if they made a downpayment. It came furnished from the prior tenants, who’d passed away without children to take their home, and seemed well made. Thomas’ fortune was half of what it had once been, after all the exhaustion of funds from the Furnace, but Thomas still had more than enough to put down the initial payment that would take the Petts Wood flat off the market.

Their departure date was set for February 10th, with the entire Kinsey family to depart as one unit so that Rupert might be protected in numbers. Lord Grantham wanted them to stay longer, but Thomas flat out refused. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be able to get on with his life. He was already planning his wedding for March 3rd, and didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

The day before they were set to depart for London and their new flat, Thomas decided it was aptly time to take Rupert below stairs. As he’d recovered from giving birth, he’d been visited by almost everyone save for the brunt of the staff. Baxter came in often, to bring trays and cups of tea. Mrs. Hughes brought fresh linens and took away soiled ones. Besides that, Thomas was allowed to spend his days in the quiet of Lady Mary’s old bedroom with Rob and Rupert for company. He stretched, kept an eye on his bowel movements until they became regular again, and slowly grew less sore. To say that he was back to normal was a horrible overstatement. He was swollen, bruised, saggy, and generally gross on all levels. He likewise couldn’t take a proper dump, was constipated, and had started to break out with a wave of acne on his hairline that embarrassed him horribly.

But Rob was home, Rupert was born, and he was no longer pregnant with a demon. Praise the lord, he could go back to church he was so happy.

He didn’t go back to church but, you know, the sentiment stayed. Sort of.

Thomas was helped downstairs by Rob, who held him about the back just in case the servants stairwell jarred him. Clutched warmly in Thomas’ arms, was Rupert. He was freshly woken from a nap, with a new nappy and wearing Ada’s jumper. It swallowed him whole, his tiny legs and arms sticking out of each hole like a twig poking through branches. He was plump, putting weight back on after starting to breast feed (he still didn’t eat much in single sittings). Thomas had put him in his knitted cap and sweater, determined that he should be warm and cozy even when below stairs. As a result, Rupert was positively swimming in his clothes and sucking on stray threads of yellow wool.

It was time for afternoon tea for the servants, an hour when surely everyone would be in the hall. As Thomas hit the bottom step and rounded the entrance, he was greeted by a chorus of scraping chairs as everyone from the hall boy to Carson rose up.

 

“Don’t stand up!” Rob urged them back into their seats. Baxter, who’d been taking her tea by the fire, refused to relax and instead came around so that she might promptly smother Rupert with affection. “We just wanted to say hello to you all before tomorrow morning.”

“I also wanted to say thank you.” Thomas said, catching Mrs. Hughes’ eye from where she stood proudly in Carson’s enormous shadow, “For everything that you did for me on the 5th.”

The Bates were bemused, but smiling. Andy was not present, and neither was Daisy. Thomas had a feeling the pair of them were crowded off somewhere, scenting one another while Mrs. Patmore was none the wiser. In a show of character change, Amelia was subdued and quiet in the corner. She seemed positively sulky as Thomas basked in the glow of showered affection. Everyone wanted to see Rupert, with the Bates stepping forward and Mrs. Patmore coming out of the kitchen. She had flour dusted on the corner of her plump cheek, and seemed to have been in the middle of writing a recipe. There was dried ink on her wrinkled hands.

“Oh, let me see him!” Baxter begged. Thomas handed Rupert over at once, able to fiddle with his knitted cap and jacket when he didn’t have to tangle with holding him. Baxter cradled Rupert against her breasts, cooing down to him. Rupert grunted, unsure of what the hubbub was over but generally pleased, “Look at how beautiful you are!”

And everyone was looking. Anna and Bates were both certainly captivated; after all, Rupert was wearing their booties though he also had on two layers of socks. His tiny balled fists were waved triumphantly as his little legs kicked back and forth. Thomas beamed with pride as Rob held him close. His son was dancing for joy, proud to be shown off.

“My goodness!” Anna was amazed at Rupert, “He’s a little one isn’t he?”

“He is!” Rob agreed, a hand protectively around Thomas’ waist. “Dick- Dr. Clarkson, says that it’s because he’s an omega.”

“Oh he’ll be so beautiful when he grows up.” Mrs. Hughes praised. Her eyes seemed to be watering. She stroked Rupert’s fist, and paused when he latched on. her finger was massive compared to his whole arm. “I think you’ll be in trouble with the suiters, Dr. Kinsey!”

Rob gave a hard laugh, clutching Thomas a little tighter by the waist. Thomas understood completely; the idea of Rupert being courted just made his blood run cold. He didn’t want his baby to grow up. He didn’t want to watch alphas flock to his lovely honey scent, and ramble about ‘breeding’ him. He hoped when the day eventually came, Rob would beat them off with a cricket bat. Just swing it right at their faces till he broke their teeth-!

“Congratulations, Dr. Kinsey.” Bates offered his hand, and they shook with shared smiles. “This is the first time we’ve met properly.”

“Yes, I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit vacant.” Rob said. With his free hand, he reached up to caress Thomas’ cheek with the back of a knuckle. “I don’t intend to ever be so again.”

Thomas leaned into the affection, a warm fluttering feeling spreading through his chest.

Everyone tittered at the sight of Thomas being openly loving; it was a rarity below stairs but Thomas didn’t feel ashamed. He loved Rob, would always love Rob, and there was nothing in the world that could make Thomas deny the rush of Rob’s touch.

“It’s been a bumpy road, Thomas, but here you are.” Bates congratulated. Thomas shrugged, a blissful smile on his face. Did it matter what road he’d taken, if only he was here all the same?

But of course, Baxter took the moment to urge Bates to hold Rupert. Bates froze, suddenly wide eyed and awkward as Rupert was pressed to his barrel chest. He seemed almost frightened to touch the baby, like Rupert might break in his massive hands. Anna was quick on the punch, and took Rupert instead. She cradled him with expert ease against her chest; after all she’d had her own baby for over a year now.

“Someone’s a little nervous with babies.” She teased her husband.

“I am not!” Bates grumbled. His flushed cheeks spoke otherwise.

“Oh, what a lamb…” Anna sighed, gently brushing one of Rupert’s black curls. “And your’e wearing Daisy’s hat!”

“Aren’t I handsome?” Thomas spoke for his son, reaching out to once again adjust hit knitted sweater. It was difficult for Rupert to wear his clothes when they were falling off him at every corner. “And my little fish jumper that Auntie Phyllis made for me.”

“The fish hold up well!” Baxter was pleased with her stitch work, a shifting mirage of vermilion, chartreuse, and cerulean, “I’m glad.”

“Ah-!” Mrs. Patmore was through with being put on the back burner. She pushed her way meatily to the front of the line, and without further ado extended her mighty arms to Anna. “Hand him over. I want to get a feel for him.”

Anna gave Rupert over at once. He squeaked in Mrs. Patmore’s embrace, suddenly squashed by her massive bossisms.

She laughed, fingering his little chin so that he would turn his face up and give her a good look. Rupert was flushed, his pert pink tongue sticking out from between his ruby lips.

“You’ve a good color,” she praised, “But you’re small. I’m going to give your mother a few of my best recipes. We’ll put a few pounds on you yet.”

In appreciation, Rupert blinked open his eyes so that everyone could marvel at how blue they were. Anna cooed, amazed at his color.

“Oh, and what beautiful blue eyes you have!” Mrs. Patmore said. She walked about the table a bit, jiggling Rupert carefully as if to dislodge gas. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were now able to get an up close look; the pair of them had stepped to the side to allow the younger crowd through.

“What d’you reckon Mr. Carson?” Mrs. Patmore teased. “Is he up to your standards?”

“Well we’ll just have to see about that.” Mr. Carson played along. As Mrs. Patmore gave Rupert over, Carson took him with care and ever so gently pulled off his knitted hat. To be fair, it was already falling off his head. Mrs. Hughes murmured sweet words in Rupert’s tiny ear, stroking his many black curls that were now in full view.

“He has a scent of honey.” Mr. Carson deduced, catching Thomas’ eye, “There were wives tales, back in my youth. Omegas claimed that different scents lead to different futures.”

“I never knew that!” Anna was impressed. “What did the scent of honey mean? Go on, tell us.” She was always one to tease Mr. Carson if she could get away with it.

“Honey is a very particular scent. It’s rich, powerful, and naturally sweet.” Mr. Carson ran a meaty finger around Rupert’s plump cheek, stroking the soft powdered flesh he found. “And it gives the omega in question a very rich life.”

“Well there’s his university fund squared away.” Rob joked.

“Rich in love.” Mr. Carson added for further emphasis. “He will be beloved by his alpha.”

But at the word ‘alpha’, Rupert seemed to grow needy. He began to squeak in rapid dissension, his eyes screwing up and his mouth opening wide. Rupert did not so much cry as he did whimper plaintively. It was a horrible thing to listen to, mainly because it made you feel so damn sorry for the lad. Thomas couldn’t bear to hear it. He left Rob’s side, extending his arms so that Mr. Carson could hand him over.

But instead, Mr. Carson exuded his scent, a soft wave of peppermint rolling about the room. He used his free hand to gently caress Rupert’s swollen stomach, as if to kneed away any pain he might have from a difficult bowl movement. Rupert slowly began to quiet down, his bottom lip still quivering traitorously.

“I do know a thing or two.” Mr. Carson grumbled.

“I never said you didn’t.” Thomas didn’t ask for permission, taking his son back along with his knitted cap. With Rupert pressed against his shoulder, Thomas put his knitted hat back on so that he wouldn’t get cold, and rocked him gently until Rupert was quiet once more. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Thomas returned to Rob’s side. The pair of them scented Rupert together, allowing him to be consumed in an aroma of peach and tea. Rupert gurgled softly in appreciation.

“Why not sit down?” Mrs. Hughes offered the rocking chair by the fire. When Thomas had been employed at Downton, it had been his favorite seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Thomas did as she offered, with Rob coming to stand behind his chair. Thomas tucked Rupert against his chest, the nape of his neck available for Rupert to suckle against in skin on skin. Thomas could feel drool collecting where Rupert’s soft lips touched his skin. He hummed in his son’s ear, gently patting his back so that he could go to sleep.

“You must be excited to leave for London, tomorrow.” Baxter spoke up. “Where will you live?”

“My brother’s found a flat for us in Petts Wood.” Rob said. “It’s got three bedrooms, and a good connection to LMS for me. It’s rather close to Dover House actually. Course, that’ll be unoccupied now. We’ll also be close to my mother and brother, which is essential.”

“And what about your family, Thomas?” Baxter asked. “Will you tell them you’ve had a baby?”

Thomas shook his head. He’d not thought of his own family in a very long time. He supposed that his parents had surely read his name in the paper as of late, but were they even still alive? That was the real question, wasn’t it?

It didn’t matter. Thomas didn’t feel connected to his parents.

“You’re my family.” Thomas said. Baxter was touched, and it showed in her face.

“Well that’ll put me in my place.” Baxter joked softly. Thomas just continued to rock, kissing Rupert’s soft hair. Lord, he could scent his son for ages.

“And what about your work, Thomas?” Anna asked. “Will you go back to it?”

“Eventually.” Thomas said, “But for right now, I need to take care of Rupert. Maybe when he’s a little bit older.”

“I suppose you’ll have to reel him in now, Dr. Kinsey.” Mr. Carson grumbled from the head of the table. Rob looked up, confused. “He can’t be running around, a mother to your pup, and a mate all at the same time. You’ll have to remind him of his place.”

Rob straightened up; his expression was stern, and unappreciative of such comments even if they were meant in slight jest.

“…Thomas’ place is wherever he chooses to be, Mr. Carson.” Rob disagreed. “As his alpha, it’s my job to protect him, and our child… and I will, even from those who might not initially mean harm.”

Mr. Carson tisked. “I only mean to suggest that his line of work is far too dangerous to carry on.”

“Our son is an omega, Mr. Carson.” Rob said, “What would happen to him, if Alden MacNaire were still alive? He would live under the gaze of an evil eye all his life; he could have easily been taken by the Brigade-“

“Don’t say such things.” Thomas begged. The thought made his heart pound, made his palms sweat and his anxiety sky rocket. The idea of Rupert being taken-!

But Rob soothed him, scenting him in full public view as he caressed the side of Thomas’ slender neck.

“It’s fine, dovey.” Rob murmured. Thomas buried his nose in Rupert’s hair, kissing him all the same. “No one will dare take our baby.”

Thomas would die before such events could transpire.

“Far be it from me to mourn MacNaire’s death.” Mr. Carson dissuaded. “He was a fiend and a coward, but he does not represent the actual ways of Litigo. It’s important that a child should have a good religious upbringing. You will have him baptized, surely?”

“No.” Thomas and Rob spoke as one. Carson was obviously crestfallen.

“We’re going to have a life blessing, at my mother’s church in London.” Rob replied.

“No Litigo needed.” Thomas added.

“But if it will make you feel better, my mother has already threatened to put my poor innocent child in a terribly itchy ancient gown.” Rob joked. Thomas smiled, a laugh caught in his throat.

Mr. Carson rolled his eyes, unamused. “It’ll hardly be my soul in question.”

Thomas stiffened instinctually, eyes widening at the suggestion. Was he to say that Rupert’s soul was unclean-?

Rob was just as angry as he. He let go of Thomas’ chair, coming around so that suddenly he was now blocking Carson’s view of Thomas and Rupert by the fire. Thomas could see that his normally gentle hands were balled into fists.

“Mr. Carson,” Rob warned softly, “our son is a being of pure light. He needs no book, no baptism, to confirm that.”

“I’m not trying to suggest otherwise!” Carson shot down at once. Rob did not seem to believe him, “But you have to recognize that Litigo is a vital tool for passing moral lessons and a firm upbringing. Your son is a beautiful omega. He deserves to know what that means. To understand his place in society and the home-“

Rupert let out another audible squeak, beginning to squirm against Thomas’ chest. He was growing overstimulated, and frankly was due for a feeding.

Thomas had grown tried of the back and forth. His son mattered now more than any squabble with Mr. Carson.

“Excuse us-“ Thomas adjusted Rupert upon his shoulder, “We’re hungry.”

Rob made a dispassionate noise, giving up on the tiff with Mr. Carson to put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder and guide him out of the packed room. There was an uneasy tension, palpable as Carson spluttered and tried to amend a wrong he hadn’t meant to make in the first place.

“Thomas-“ Carson called out. Thomas paused, looking back over his shoulder to find the butler looking regretful. “I am glad for you. Regardless of where your path leads. You do understand that, right?”

It was incredible, to know that Carson had swatted him with a rattan cane. Now, with Rob by his side and Rupert in his arms, Thomas finally felt independent of the enormous shadow of Downton Abbey. It lifted an aching breath from his chest, allowing him to remember that come tomorrow he would be home free, able to live his own life away from Carson’s constance pushing presence.

Even if he meant well.

“Thank you, Mr. Carson.” Thomas smiled for his own reasons, turning away heading upstairs.

~*~

Thomas spent his last night in Downton comfortable in bed, breast feeding Rupert while Rob held him tenderly in his arms.

Rupert suckled tenderly, snuffling against Thomas’ flesh. His little button nose was squashed against Thomas’ pectoral muscles. He seemed to be transfixed with the task at hand, and wasn’t even bothering to kick his little feet as he so often did when excited.

Thomas hummed sweetly underneath his breath, caressing Rupert’s rosy cheek with the tip of his index finger. Behind him, Rob kissed him upon the cheek and neck, using his own hands to cradle Rupert’s head and back. They were entwined upon one another, an incredible arch of support for their son to grow against.

“Alright?” Rob whispered in Thomas’ ear, “No pain?”

“None.” Thomas said. “He’s just enthusiastic…. My beautiful Ru.”

Rob chuckled in his ear, scenting Thomas lovingly. The smell of white tea filled the air, and gave Thomas a weightless feeling, “You know, I can’t wait for our wedding.”

“Why?” Thomas teased, “Thinking of debauching me?”

“I fear you’ll be the one to do the debauching.” Rob said, which was quite astute. Thomas was hardly a shy virgin. “But I confess, you’ll have to peel off a horrible wedding dress my mother wants you to wear.”

“Lace and cobwebs, I’m sure.” Melvina had a knack for clinging to the most ancient of traditions.

“Heinous and disgusting… I think my nan was buried in it. God only knows how mum got it out of the coffin.”

Thomas laughed in spite of himself. “Suppose I leave you at the alter? Suppose I find me an alpha who doesn’t let his mother force me into some awful moth eaten dress.”

“Ah-“ Rob tapped Thomas’ nose with a tender peck of a kiss, “But would you find an alpha that would walk across the Swiss Alps in oxford flats for you?”

Now there was the hundred pound question. Thomas turned in Rob’s embrace, so that they might stare at one another eye to eye. He realized, in that moment, all of God’s grace in bringing Rob back alive. So many tiny miracles had been sewn together in a patchwork quilt made by good connections and happenstance. So many things could have gone wrong, and none of this would even be happening now. And yet, in spite of the obstacles, their love had found a way to survive the elements (quite literally), and now they were together again with Ru tenderly nestled in their arms.

Thomas would never doubt the presence of fate again, after being blessed in such an incredible way.

“I love you.” Thomas whispered. “And I am so fucking grateful that we are together again. We’ve been given a gift, Rob.”

Rob agreed with a small smile, “And I intend to make the most of it, my dove.”

 

That night, Rupert slept in the nursery so as to allow Rob and Thomas precious hours of honest sleep. They would need it for the following day, given that they would have to travel to London and get comfortable in their new flat. It resulted in the pair of them sleeping deeply, only to wake up at intermittent hours due to force of habit from Rupert’s bizarre schedule. Determined to get back to sleep, Thomas lay flat on his back in bed, the covers kicked off to his waist and the fire burning low in the grate. A warm heat lulled him into a sense of security, doubled by Rob at his side. Rob was clearly awake too; his fingers were playing patterns on Thomas’ stomach where his slackened nightshirt had ridden up a bit to reveal his belly. His shirt was meant for breast feeding, and was therefore quite easy to slip on and off the shoulders even if you were in a cramped position.

Rob snuffled against his neck, rather oddly like Rupert. His fingers went higher, trailing around the edge of Thomas’ breasts which were slightly swollen to produce milk. He’d accidentally lactated during his sleep,and now there were moist patches above his inflamed nipples. It was irritating, but Thomas was too sleepy and still to warrant getting up and fetching another shirt. He’d only lactate on that one too, anyways.

Thomas leaned onto his side, trying to alleviate some of the pain in his back. He was still aching from giving birth.

He found Rob, lovingly tracing the outline of his areola through his nightshirt.

Thomas shivered from the sensation, arching into the touch. Rob brought his thumb in, and begin to pinch lightly at the sensitive flesh.

“Rob…” Thomas whispered, eyes closed and mouth lightly open. He tasted the air, laced with Rob’s beautiful scent.

Rob seemed transfixed by Thomas’ ability to lactate, and why not? It was a peculiar thing, even if he was a male omega.

“You’re beautiful.”

Rob used his the ‘c’ of his palm to cup Thomas’ swollen breast. There was slight pain, but it aroused Thomas deeply. It was like Rob was possessing him. Owning him.

Really, it shouldn’t have been such a delightful concept.

 

So when Rob leaned over him, and suddenly consumed him in fiery kisses, Thomas did not make to stop him. He was much too sore for sex, still like a deflated tire. But this wasn’t about sex. This was about the pair of them being together: an alpha and his omega.

Rob’s lips captured the skin at his throat.  
Then his chest.  
Then his breast.  
Then-

Thomas wound his hands in Rob’s curly hair. He panted, holding Rob tight to his breast.

“Oh-“ He moaned in Rob’s ear.

Rob laved attention to his nipple, sucking gently just as Rupert might. It was so arousing that Thomas momentarily felt his rational thinking vanish beneath a wave of love. Their legs intertwined— or rather one of Rob’s legs jutted between Thomas’.

If they weren’t fresh parents, with a move for tomorrow, it might have gone on. As it was, Thomas was exhausted, and even if he wasn’t he was still recovering from giving birth.

Rob held him tight, and Thomas kept him close. Rob’s head lolled between Thomas’ breasts, his suckles turning into kisses. Eventually they vanished, with Rob’s exhaustion sending him back off into the gray border between sleep and waking hours.

Thomas lovingly threaded his fingers through Rob’s hair, stroking a tender lullaby until Rob was securely asleep.

He soon joined his alpha, and when he did, he dreamed of nothing but a warm darkness and white tea.

 

~*~

The morning of the 10th was relatively clear, although a few clouds in the west warned that rain would be coming by the night. Snow was still heavy on the ground, and the air was decidedly chilly. In the spirit of catching their train to London, the Kinsey family rose as a unit, dressed, ate from trays, and packed their belongings in order to be off promptly by ten.

Rupert had slept intermittently through the night and so was in a slightly cranky mood. Thomas saw to him, letting him have a feed, a bath, and a change so that by the time he was being fitted into a fresh jumper he was more relaxed. Rob watched, amazed, as Thomas put the whole world right without stumbling once, till their son was snuggled tightly down in his swaddling clothes and contentedly distracted by a nap.

Rob had had no luggage when traveling from France to England; the clothes he wore had been brought for him by George, and were cast offs. In a fresh suit with his glasses cleaned and his shoes polished, Rob felt like a man reborn. What was more, he had his red leather briefcase back, though of course it was damaged from the explosion in Vienna. It didn’t matter to him though; the sentiment kept the item dear to his heart.

Thomas, of course, couldn’t wear trousers yet. His was still much too sensitive and bruised in the groin area. As such, he wore a dress which had once belonged to Rebecca during her months as a new mother to an infant Laura. It was honey colored, hidden mostly by a thick brown peacoat offered by George. Thomas needed to keep warm; his health was of the utmost importance to Rob. Not even a sneeze should dare to pass his perfect lips.

As the hour neared nine, the Kinsey family slowly retracted from the gallery floor to head downstairs. The largest item of their gathering, by far, was Rupert’s crib. It was carried by Andy the footman, who brought it downstairs to strap it down on the back of a borrowed motorcar which would take them to the stations. For the journey, Rupert was in a sling around Thomas’ front, protected from the fierce February cold by both his mother’s arms and a flannel blanket which overlapped with the canvas backing. The whole of Downton Abbey had come to see them off, with the downstairs staff eager to say goodbye and Lord Grantham looking positively morose at Thomas’ departure.

This was the first time that Rupert had been outside.  
He did not like it.

Rupert whined at the bright light, his face turned away to hide against his mother’s breasts. Thomas shushed him softly, swaying back and forth as he rubbed Rupert’s back.

“There, my sweet Ru…” Thomas’ voice was higher up than normal. “My little honey pot. Not to fret. Just a little train ride and we’ll be home sweet home.”

“But you’ll come back and visit?” Baxter asked. She had been the first to ask to see Thomas off, and obviously was the closest to him.

“Of course.” Thomas smiled, “and you’re coming to the wedding?”

“And the life blessing.” Baxter promised. “Her ladyship said I could go.”

Mrs. Hughes, dithering behind the pair of them, was close to tears. “Oh-“ Her voice was thick, as if she had a head cold, “I’m so happy I can hardly stand it.”

Lord Grantham was upon the steps, with Carson at his side. The pair of them watched over the proceedings, with Lady Grantham and Lady Mary likewise waiting for the final moment of departure. Branson was in town, as was Mr. Talbot; the pair of them were setting up shop in York and could not be present for the final farewell. The Bates were likewise not present. From what Rob could gather, while they were friendly with Thomas neither were particularly close. It was just as well, Rob was eager to get underway and back to his actual life.

Lord Grantham, on the other hand, was less delighted.

He watched, forlorn, as everyone began to pile into the motorcar. George helped Melvina into the backseat, alongside Rebecca, and was the next to join them. Now it was only Rob and Thomas left, with Thomas making his final farewells and Rob resolutely at his side.

Lord Grantham regarded Thomas with misty eyes. Rob tried not to feel annoyed: “I suppose this is farewell?”

“Not for forever.” Thomas said, “but it’s time for us to go home, and get back to our lives.”

“Our actual lives.” Rob said. It felt like ages since they’d been soothed and settled.

“The future is bright.” Mr. Carson said.

“Thank you for all the kindness you showed my family, Mr. Carson.” Thomas said. Rob wasn’t sure he agreed with the pleasantries but put up with them all the same. “If it weren’t the families generosity, I don’t know if our Ru would be here today.”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Carson grumbled, “You’re strong and clever. You have an alpha that loves and supports you. I’m sure you would have figured it out in the end.”

“Thank you.” Thomas gave him a pained smile, before turning finally to Lord Grantham, “And thank you…Robert.”

“I’m glad the world has righted itself,” Lord Grantham didn’t sound genuine though, “Just promise me you won’t start another war.”

“No.” Thomas laughed, looking down at Rupert who was bundled against his breasts, “I have more important priorities now.”

He stroked a black curl away from Rupert’s line of vision. In response, Rupert squeaked.

“Robbie-!” Melvina called out from the car. “We’ll miss the train, dear!”

Rob looked over his shoulder, waving his mother off. They were probably going to be ten minutes early but that was just the way she liked it. She detested being late, or even on time.

Rob turned back around, deciding it was time to say goodbye to the Crawley family. He wouldn’t particularly miss them, even as Thomas bid farewell to both Lady Mary and Lady Grantham. He had a feeling that Lord Grantham was still pining after Thomas, and Rob refused point blank to allow the man even another inch on the subject. Thomas was his mate, and the mother of his child… and Lord Grantham would never be able to change that.

Rob shook hands with Lord Grantham. The man was putting on a brave front, but just barely. “Take care of him?” Lord Grantham murmured, “Take care of them both. You’re more lucky than you know.”

“I disagree.” Rob warned, “I know exactly how lucky I am… and I intend to keep them safe, always.”

They dropped hands. Lord Grantham coughed, looking back to Thomas who’d finished saying goodbye to the family and was now hugging Mrs. Hughes and Baxter. Mrs. Hughes was now crying, though she kept it concealed behind a handkerchief.

“Write.” Mrs. Hughes was choking up.

“And call us to let us know that you’re safe.” Baxter added.

“I will. I’ll write with news-“

“And send us a picture-“

“Of course.”

“Oh-!” Mrs. Hughes bent down to press a kiss to Rupert’s forehead. “Goodbye little bee.”

It was a nickname that Rupert had garnered among the staff for his yellow knitted hat and honey scent.

Rob looked back to Lord Grantham.

“I know you still love him.” Rob said. Lord Grantham bristled, but did not make to object. “I’m not a fool.”

“I never said you were.” Lord Grantham replied quietly. He still refused to meet Rob’s eyes.

“You didn’t have to.” Rob watched as Thomas pulled away from the staff, finally rejoining Rob’s side. It was time for them to leave.

“Didn’t have to what?” Thomas asked, only coming in at the tail end of the conversation. Rob just gave him a small smile, and wrapped his arm around Thomas’ waist.

“Don’t worry about it, dovey.” Rob said, refusing to let Lord Grantham drag Thomas back into this aged squabble. “Let’s get Rupert in the car.”

“Yes, it’s so chilly daddy.” Thomas said in that mutated voice again, kissing Rupert’s wriggling palm.

They headed for the car, not looking back. Thomas was the first to go up, with Rob and George both helping to get him inside and settled. Rupert was grunting now, his tiny legs kicking inside his sling.

“Are you dancing for mummy again?” Thomas teased, “Are you happy to head home?”

“Of course he is.” Rob hauled himself inside the car, and their chauffeur happily shut the door behind them. “He knows he’s a London boy.”

“Oh! London!” Thomas said the word like it was a mystical object from a heroic quest, leaning in to giggle with mirth and kiss Rupert’s forehead. “You’ve never seen London before! Oh what a day we’ll have.”

Rob grinned, at peace with the world and everyone in it. As Thomas straightened up, the pair of them nearly bumped heads. They kissed, softly, in plain view of his mother as the car began to drive off. Rob watched as the staff and family of Downton Abbey waved goodbye from the steps.

Lord Grantham was the only one who stood alone and still.

“Why isn’t he waving?” Thomas wondered softly. Melvina looked over her shoulder to see Lord Grantham stock still on the steps of the abbey.

“…Because he’s in love with the idea of having you.” Rob said, “And I believe he’s realized now he never will.”

Thomas made a noise of humor; it didn’t even phase him. He was far too happy as a new mother with Rob safely returned home to care about Lord Grantham anymore. Pleased to know that his mate was safe at his side, Rob kissed him chastely upon the temple and held them close.

 

They wouldn’t return to the abbey for five years… and when they did, they would bring two children with them.

~*~

**One Month Later**

~*~

Life in Petts Wood was humble, but never quiet.

Rob and Thomas were happy to move into their new flat, which was a block away from Melvina’s new home and only a street down from where George lived in Camden Place. Rupert settled in easily, with Thomas going slightly mental and splurging on the nursery so that it was soon filled to the brim with honey colors, creamy furniture, and bees. Rupert’s honey scent had inspired Thomas, so that he now slept with a stuffed bee in his Austrian crib, and even had a bee painted on the glass door handle of his room. The rest of their house was partly furnished by Melvina’s cast offs, and filled in with items they’d found at estate sales. Their home was stacked, with the ground floor offering a lounge which peered out into the front yard, a dining room, a kitchen, and a water closet. The cramped stairs to the first floor offered passage into all three bedrooms, and another water closet which was equipped with a tub. Thomas and Rob roomed above the lounge, so that their own window looked out onto the same view. Rupert was just down the hall, in the second largest bedroom. The third bedroom was currently being used as an impromptu office for Rob and was full of papers. As a consequence, it was by far the dirtiest room in the house. Thomas often had to make trips inside to find missing plates and pick up piles of knocked over papers.

As if they didn’t have enough to deal with Moonpie had a little of kittens and his mother had all but forced them to take one. She’d been named Cashew, for her beige coat, and was single handled the most obnoxious and lovely creature Thomas had ever met. She didn’t understand that Rupert’s room was off limits; often they would find her curled up inside on the rocking chair while Rupert had his afternoon nap.

Rob returned to work at LMS about three weeks after returning home. He was welcomed back with open arms, and there was a celebratory dinner at Dr. Reye’s house which Thomas was invited to. They dined handsomely, and boasted of Robert’s many successes while in Vienna. Thomas was likewise able to meet the remaining members of the Vienna party, who while grieving were also gracious and glad to see Robert returned in full health. Thomas had had a picture made of Rupert the week prior, and as a result had been forced to purchase several copies so that their dining party could coo over how sweet he was while Baxter, Melvina, and George likewise got a share. Rupert was too young to be out in public, and so consequently spent the night with his new cousin Laura, who was absolutely besotted and carried him around as if he were her own baby.

That is, of course, until he needed a nappy change.

As February rolled into March, Rupert only continued to grow in weight and strength. Thomas and Rob decided to use Eric Landley as Rupert’s GP, simply because he was a chum of Rob’s from school and a fellow student from underneath Dr. Clarkson. He was excellent with children, and delighted to make Rupert’s acquaintance. It was through Dr. Landley that Thomas and Robert learned their son was growing well but needed to put on weight. Thomas started to give Rupert feedings both through bottles and his breasts, so that Rupert could gain extra nutrients.

The wedding was planned almost exclusively through Thomas, simply because he had the time on his hands to sit and work through registrations. Their wedding was to be held at St. Pancras where Reverend O’Higgins resided. He had been a part of the coalition to stop the Brigade, and was known for his pro-omega standpoints in a relatively conservative world. He offered his church for Thomas and Rob, and Thomas was more than happy to accept. They were to then have a reception at LMS and would go home to Petts Wood. They weren’t going to have a honeymoon, simply because Rupert was far too young to travel and Thomas refused point blank to be parted with his child.

Their guests were a small party. The Kinsey family would be coming of course, including Rob’s aunt and uncle whom Thomas had not met yet. They would likewise host a number of doctors from LMS who were good friends with Rob, including Dr. Clarkson, Dr. Reyes, Dr. Landley, and even Dr. Watkin. Lord Grantham was coming, as was Lieutenant Turnbull, Baxter and the Carson’s. Marcus Belphrey wrapped up the guest list, and kept their numbers tight. Thomas didn’t want to be made a spectacle of, particularly when he was having to wear a white dress.

Melvina wouldn’t be budged on the subject, and Thomas didn’t push it.

It was so funny, to remember his first wedding. He’d been terrified, confused, pushed and prodded… he’d fought right up until the very end and had been raped in his marital bed. It hadn’t been a wedding… it had been nothing more than ritualized torture in the name of societal pressure. Now Thomas was excited for his wedding, preparing with care, and was ready to make the jump with Rob.

His dress, despite Melvina’s protests, was of his own accord. It wasn’t that he disliked Melvina’s intrusions, only that he didn’t want to wear something made in 1810. Instead, Thomas bought a simple dress of chiffon and lace, with little in the way of beads and sparkle and a long sweeping train. It had long sleeps, clasping with metal snaps at the wrists. To make Melvina happy, however, he bought a tambour lace veil. His bouquet was a concoction of wild flowers and roses, locally picked from the surrounding precincts. Their wedding party included George, as best man, but Thomas knew nothing about what Rob was wearing for the wedding.

The pair of them had been silly with one another, refusing to allow the other to see their fashions.

Poor Rupert, however, was getting stuffed into an old fashioned christening gown. He wasn’t being baptized during the ceremony, but the white dress and bonnet were excellent for the wedding and kept him in white. He was to be held during the ceremony by Baxter, who would serve as he sordid nanny until the after party was over. Of course, Thomas fully expected for Rupert to get passed around the room like a loaf of bread before bursting into noisy tears and needed to be coddled.

His little honey pot had such a hard time with wearing itchy jumpers.

The morning of March 3rd dawned bright and clear. Snow had finally stopped falling, though it was still slightly cold outside, and Thomas’ bridal display was taken to St. Pancras so that he might dress in an ensuite. It was common for omegas to wear makeup on their wedding, even males. Thomas did not usually oblige, but had decided that if only just for today he would dress up for Rob. He lined his lips with pale coral, coaling his eyes and powdering his nose. Rupert sat beside him in a traveling basket, grunting softly as he held onto his stuffed bee. He was already in his romper, and not happy about it thank you very much. Thomas soothed him, scenting him often as he put on his wedding dress and pearls. He’d inherited entire ropes of pearls as the omega of Lincolnshire, but had never worn them until today. They were the only sign of his wealth, and he liked it that way. There was no point in pretending to be a member of the upper class when he really wasn’t.

St. Pancras was an old church, and Thomas could hear the distant chatter of his guests settling into the church. He hummed to Rupert, singing him a soft lullaby to keep him calm as he fixed his veil at the back of his hair. It fastened with a simple clip, but required a bit of maneuvering to stay put.

_“When little birdie bye-bye goes, quiet as a mine in churches, he puts his head where no one knows, on one leg he perches-“_

Thomas quirked a grin at Rupert, who gurgled at him watching entranced as his mother began entangled in white.

Thomas leaned down, and plucked Rupert up from his bassinet.

“And where does the bee go, hmm?” Thomas lifted his veil, and tucked Rupert inside. It was like they were hidden from the world inside a cloud.

“He goes to my arms!” Thomas praised. Rupert was entranced, a quirky smile on his sweet lips. He fisted a piece of Thomas’ veil, amazed at the texture.

Thomas fell more and more in love with Rupert every day. He’d never known such depth of feeling could exist inside of him… and even now it mystified him.

“My little bee.” Thomas hummed into Rupert’s ear. “My little honey pot. Do you know how much your mummy loves you? So very very much.” He kissed Rupert’s head, drinking in his sweet scent.

A gentle knock upon his door caused Thomas to look up abruptly. He checked the time, and was amazed to find that it was almost 3:40. It was nearly time for the wedding to begin! He rose, certain that it must be Baxter coming to collect Rupert. He carefully lifted the veil from about his face so that it could fall behind his ears, and opened the door to see into the cramped hallway beyond. He was above the church, sort of in an alcove, and could descend to head directly into the main hallway below where the doors would open into the chapel.

He was quite surprised to find that it wasn’t Baxter. It was instead Lord Grantham, who wore a top hat and his finest suit.

His eyes were misted over; when he saw Thomas dressed in white, he seemed momentarily dumbstruck.

“Robert!” Thomas was shocked. “What are you doing up here?”

“… I volunteered to come collect the little chap.” Lord Grantham had to take a moment to answer. It seemed that Thomas in a bridal gown had done him in. “I see he’s dressed to the nines?”

“So are you.” Thomas said. “You look very nice.”

“…And you look radiant.” Lord Grantham clearly wanted to say more. Thomas hoped he wouldn’t.

“I wanted to say something just between the two of us.” Lord Grantham said. Thomas bristled, sensing that Lord Grantham was about to do something very stupid.

“… Lord Grantham, I-“ Thomas was about to feel very uncomfortable until Lord Grantham said something wholly unexpected.

“I recognize that you love him.” Lord Grantham said, “And I do not ask for more. I merely wanted to say that should anything ever happen, the unthinkable or worse, that you and your son will always have a home at Downton… with no strings attached.”

Thomas was silent for a moment. He was broken out of his reverie by Rupert gurgling, reaching his hands out for his stuffed bee which was still in his carrying basket.

“Thank you, Robert.” Thomas said. He knew, instinctively, that should the worse ever happen Thomas would not return to Downton. He would stay in London, near the Kinsey’s.

But he would not allow himself to think like that. Robert could not die. It was beyond thinkable.

“I’d best go before I make a fool of myself.” Lord Grantham said. “May I have him?” He extended his arms to Rupert.

“Yes.” And quite right too. It was time for Thomas to get ready to walk up the aisle. He carefully handed Rupert over to Lord Grantham, and then fetched Rupert’s bee from his basket. “If he gets fussy, let me know.”

“He’ll be just fine.” Lord Grantham took the bee, and Rupert snatched it up at once to begin gumming on it. The bees yellow face was coated in a layer of saliva. “…And so will I.”

Thomas was glad to hear it.  
Nothing could exist between the pair of them now. It was time for Lord Grantham to move on.

Thomas watched as Lord Grantham left, talking softly to Rupert as he headed back downstairs.

“I see you’ve got a friend.” Lord Grantham said, his voice growing faint as his top hat vanished down the stairs. “You know, I have a good friend owns an apiary— when you’re older we’ll take you—“

Thomas shut the door again, returning to his vanity. He re-fixed his veil, picking up his bouquet of wild flowers and roses and waiting. He’d head downstairs in about ten minutes, as soon as he heard the church music.

His stomach was fluttering with excitement and nerves.  
He couldn’t wait to be married to Robert. Tonight, Rupert would be staying with Rebecca and George. Thomas had already bought a bottle of champagne for him and Rob to share…

They’d make love, as alpha and omega. Mated and bonded for life.

Another knock sounded at his door. Thomas checked the clock, and reasoned it must be Reverend O’Higgins coming to collect him. Taking a deep breath, Thomas rose up and headed to the door. He opened it—

And gaped.

“Oh my-“ Thomas blurted, absolutely speechless at the sight before him.

Amos Dorsette looked better than he had in ages, clearly having put on a bit of weight and even washing his sandy hair. He was wearing a suit, probably having borrowed it from someone, and had even tried to wrangle on a dark blue tie. The true distinction, though, came from the ivory cane that he clutched and the wooden leg that he stood on. It was strapped with leather, built on a hinge, and began at the knee.

Thomas scoffed, blustering for words as Amos grinned and shrugged.

“What?” He teased. “Am I so handsome that I’ve left you without words-?”

Thomas cut him off, throwing his arms around Amos’ neck to hug him tight. Amos laughed in spite of himself, carefully taking his weight off of his cane to hug Thomas back. For a moment they simply stood there, reconnecting, even as the organ music began to faintly resound from downstairs. When Thomas pulled back again, there were tears in his eyes.

“I thought you were dead.” Thomas choked out, “I would have never left you if I’d known-“

“It’s fine.” Amos shrugged, “I thought I was dead too until Belphrey pulled me out. Sorry I couldn’t say hello before now. I was a wanted man for a long time but me and Turnbull have worked it out.”

“So you’re free now?” Thomas asked, hopefully. Amos nodded, and Thomas couldn’t help but beam.

“Free as a bird.” Amos said, “And I figured it was time for us to reconnect. I wanted to see the bean after all- or as I hear he’s called… the bee?”

“Rupert.” Thomas chuckled. “Rupert Edward Kinsey.”

“What-?” Amos scoffed, “No Amos John?”

“You’re middle name is John… interesting.” Thomas said. Amos winked at him.

“I also wanted to walk you down the aisle if you don’t mind.” Amos said. “Don’t mind do you, with my one leg?”

“This is new!” Thomas was amazed at the request. Amos had never offered anything of the sort before.

“Course the leg’s new-“

“Not that you idiot, wanting to walk me down the aisle.”

Amos just shrugged, still wearing a dopy grin, “Kinsey asked me to keep you safe. Crawley wanted me to do the same. Consider this the closing of a chapter.”

He offered his arm.  
Thomas took it.

“You look good in that suit.” Thomas praised as they headed off down the hall.

“Yeah. I know.”

 

They reached the bottom to find the doors to the chapel closed. An attendant had been waiting for their arrival, and upon seeing Thomas ready to enter made a rapid hand motion through a back window that could offer good views to the organist. For a moment there was nothing but silence, only broken as Amos shifted carefully upon his wooden leg and made sure his arm was secure with Thomas.

Then, the pipe organ far beyond struck up with the proud chords, with the attendant briefly flitting behind Thomas to make sure that his dress and his veil were laying completely flat. He vanished but a second later, and just in time as the doors to the chapel were opened wide by the ushers beyond. Golden light streamed into Thomas’ eyes, as the fiery sun shone beautifully through the stained glass windows crowning the church’s temple. The church was small and the pews were packed with admirers wearing top hats and crisp black coats. Everyone was on their feet, turned to see him walk down the aisle on Amos’ arm. The Prince of Denmark’s March was loud in the air, filling everything with a warm golden hue that made Thomas feel as if he was walking on air.

There, at the end of the aisle, was Rob. He wore pinstripe trousers, with a fine black morning suit that might have belonged to his father and a crisp steel tie. Thomas had never seen him look so fine, with his curls slicked and a golden pocket watch upon his ivory waist jacket.

At his side was George, wearing a gray suit and matching tie. Both of them looked exceedingly proud, beaming like idiots. The Reverend O’Higgins was beside them, in his fully flourished robes of cream and scarlet.

They began their walk forward.

 

Amos was smooth upon his wooden leg, neither stumbling nor swaying as he carried Thomas up the aisle. Thomas was pleased to see Melvina and Rebecca at the front, paired with a man and woman he did not know who must be Rob’s aunt and uncle back from Greece. Melvina was crying already, a handkerchief out and a lilac dress on that glistened with beads sown in at the neck and wrists. Laura was standing up on the pew to get a better look, amazed at Thomas’ dress and bouquet.

On the other side of the aisle, right at the front, was the Downton crowd. Baxter was wearing a borrowed peach dress of Lady Grantham’s wearing the pearls Thomas had bought her and holding Rupert in her arms. Thomas could not help but smile wildly at his son, so grateful to see that he was completely content with his bee and in a good mood. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson was undeniably proud. Lieutenant Turnbull grinned at Thomas as he passed, dressed to the nines in his full police regalia.

They reached the front as the march began to conclude, and Amos in a moment of tender affection reached out with both hands to carefully lift Thomas’ veil away from his face so that he could see unimpeded. He leaned in, and kissed Thomas carefully upon the cheek.

“Today is for you.” Amos whispered in his ear, barely discernible above the triumphant chorus of the pipe organ.

Thomas nodded, and kissed him upon the cheek as he stepped aside. He offered Amos his bouquet, and Amos took it slightly bemused. Amos made to stand next to Turnbull, who even patted him upon the back as if to say ‘good show, mate’. Unsure of what else to do with the flowers, he handed them to Mrs. Hughes who took them at once so that they could rest safely in her lap once seated.

The pipe organ concluded. It suddenly left the room feel unbelievably quiet, with Thomas at the front now side by side with Rob. Rob was transfixed by his dress and bouquet, unable to keep from beaming like an idiot as Reverend O’Higgins motioned for the guests to sit.

A soft scraping sound later, everyone was back in their seats and the church was utterly silent.

Rob offered his hand to Thomas.  
Thomas took it at once. He felt unbelievably strong in that moment. Like suddenly… he was right where he needed to be.

“Dearly beloved,” O’Higgins began with a smile and spoke in rich warm tones. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of an alpha and omega for a lifetime of bonding and breeding. There are no obligations on earth more sweeter or more tender than those you are about to assume. No vows more solemn that you might make. No human institution is more sacred than that of a bond between an alpha and an omega. It’s primal drive within us is so strong, so undying, that even beyond death it remains…”

He paused, with a small chuckle, “That is the common phrase a Cohen must utter to sanctify a union. I feel it pertinent to add, with these two, that the fates have already tested their bond. As we all know, Robert walked across the Swiss alps in nothing but his oxford flats just to get back to Thomas.”

The church broke out into soft, humored titters. Rob made a noise under his breath. Thomas squeezed his hand, lovingly.

“And through it all, Thomas never gave up hope. Truly, could a bond be sweeter than the one these two share?”

Rob squeezed his hand back. Thomas was the one beaming like an idiot now.

Reverend O’Higgins spread his hands wide, and initiated the taking of the vows: “Turn to one another?”

They did so. Now they took both hands, and Thomas was utterly consumed by the sight of Rob before him. He’d never seen a man more handsome, more beloved, and knew in that moment that he was making the right choice. That Rob was the man he was meant to marry.

Rob seemed to be thinking the same thing, utterly amazed at Thomas before him.  
Maybe Thomas could wear makeup more often.

“  
Robert Matthew Kinsey, will you take this omega, Thomas Nathaniel Barrow, whose hands you hold, to be your mate. To breed forth his— well— you already did that-“

A ripple of laughter broke out across the audience. Even Rob and Thomas laughed in spite of themselves.

“But do you take this vow knowing that you are to protect and defend him and Rupert from other wayward forces and all harm till death claims you under?”

“I do.” Rob replied gently. His voice was like gold to Thomas. “And I have done.” Thomas couldn’t help but giggle at that, “and I will continue to do so… for the rest of my damn life.”

“And do you acknowledge your responsibility to protect and preserve this omega, to uplift and cherish him, as all alphas are demanded to do by the way of the rod… preferably without anymore cheek?” Reverend O’Higgins teased.

“I do.” Rob said, cheek not included.

Thomas was ready to kiss, to take the ring and the vow, but Reverend O’Higgins offered up another idea.

“Thomas, it is not traditional that one asks for an omegas consent, but I think that we can make an exception today.” Reverend O’Higgins said.

Thomas was pleased at the offer, and took it up at once.

“Thomas Nathaniel Barrow, will you take this alpha whose hands you hold to be your mate? To give him as many children as he cares for, knowing that you are his vessel and reason for being until death claims you under?” O’Higgins asked.

“Always.” Thomas promised.

“And do you acknowledged your responsibility to protect and preserve your children, to uplift and cherish them, as all omegas are asked to do by the way of the rod?”

“Always.” There was never a doubt in his mind. He would care for Rupert until the day he died.

“You may exchange rings.” Reverend O’Higgins said.  
George now interjected, stepping up to offer two gold wedding rings from his trouser pocket. They were both about the same size, though one was slightly smaller and belonged to Thomas.

Rob carefully slid the wedding ring onto Thomas’ hand, pushing up the lily engagement ring so that he now bore two instead of one.

Thomas slid Rob’s ring onto his finger, his hands dancing lovingly over his alpha’s smooth skin. He could not help but take in the tiny details of Rob’s appearance in that moment. The gleam of his cufflinks and the way that his hands were so whole and smooth. He had a freckle on the side of his thumb.

“I now pronounced you to be mated for life.” Reverend O’Higgins praised before adding, “Robert, you have already given Thomas your mark, but I think it wouldn’t be remiss to kiss your mate.”

And they did at once.

The church burst into an explosion of cheers, with everyone standing up and applauding. Thomas heard a few whistles, even as the pipe organ burst into another round of the wedding march. All of it, though, went numb as he felt his mate’s lips upon his own. The scent of white tea surrounded him, kept him whole.

Kept him safe.

As they pulled back, they turned to see a room full of cheering doctors and friends.

“Look at that.” Rob held him close by the hip. Thomas pressed his head into Rob’s neck, scenting him lovingly. “We got a round of applause.”

“Let’s milk it.” Thomas said. Rob laughed out loud, took his hand, and began to walk down the center aisle with them.

But of course, they didn’t take three steps before Thomas stopped to take Rupert from Baxter’s arms. She gave him over, tear tracks obvious upon her face. He did not even look at Lord Grantham.

Safe in Thomas’ arms, Rupert babbled and held onto his bee. The three of them made their way down the center aisle, with people cheering and throwing rice. Thomas hid Rupert’s face from the worst of it, though several grains did manage to get beneath the collar of Rupert’s frock.

 

As they burst out the chapel to spill upon the front steps, it was with a wave of well wishers that gaggled about them throwing more waves of rice. Rupert squeaked, affronted at being assaulted by grains.

Amos struggled around the crowd, his wooden leg thunking against the steps as he shook Rob’s hand.

“Aren't you supposed to be dead?” Rob teased, delighted to see Amos gain.

“Is that disappointment I detect?”

“Just a bit.”

 

The photographer, rented by Melvina as a sort of wedding present, was out front with his box camera set up on a tripod. He gestured with wide hands, eager to get everyone’s attention while the sun was in his favor.

“Alright now! Let’s have a good shot! Everyone gather around the bride and groom!”

And suddenly they were pressed upon by all sides. The Kinsey’s were the closet, with Melvina hanging onto her son’s arm and George on her other side. Thomas’s side was taken up by Amos, with Lord Grantham, Baxter, and the Carson’s just close behind.

“One, two, three-!!” The camera popped with a flash, and everyone broke apart babbling happily again.

“Now just the family? Just the family please!” The photographer begged. A great deal of the party stepped back, and now it was just the Kinsey’s. Melvina stayed by Rob’s side, but Rebecca came over to take Thomas’ arm.

The camera popped again, and Melvina reached up to kiss Rob’s cheek.

“I’m so happy for you, Robert.” She praised, her voice thick as if she head cold.

“Very lovely!” the photographer praised, “Now how about just the couple!”

Rebecca was kind enough to help Thomas spread his train about his feet, in an attempt to look more photogenic. Thomas hoisted Rupert up better in his arms, with Rob holding him tight about the waist so that Rupert was squashed comfortably between them.

The photographer looked through the lens, only to pull back as if the picture wasn’t to his liking.

“Without the baby, perhaps?” He offered.

But Rob and Thomas just laughed at the idea.

“No dice.” Rob said, and turned to kiss Rupert upon the cheek. Thomas followed suit, with the pair of them kissing Rupert soundly at the same time. Rupert screeched with delight, grinning around his stuffed bee.

The photographer took the picture anyway, capturing the moment forever in time.

~*~

 

The after party, held at LMS, was swarming with delighted well-wishers.

The champagne was flowing, a gift from the psychology department to Robert and Thomas, and as a result everyone was laughing gayly. Rupert was in his grandmother’s arms, being shown off to anyone that passed. Many doctors, good friends of Rob’s, wanted to meet Rupert at long last and marvel at the curiosity of an omega male. All the doctors wanted to look at him, and as a result Rupert was being doted upon by their omegas. Every time he squeaked and squealed, a chorus of delighted ‘aws’ followed suit.

Thomas and Rob were much too busy dancing to make fun of the hoard. They swayed to Salut d’Amour, Thomas holding his train up with one hand as Rob kept him close. A few of their guests were dancing as well, including the Carson’s. Their band was a small selection of the LMS Orchestra, populated entirely by students who took up playing music as an elective past time. Thomas had heard tell that performers were being offered extra credit for poor exams. As a result, they had quite the accompaniment as everyone desperately tried to raise their grades.

As they danced, they twirled past Dr. Clarkson who was telling other medical students of Rupert’s birth with great pride.

“—And I tell you, I knew from the start he was to be an omega. He was so small in the womb! It was incredible-!” He was clearly getting drunk on champagne.

“Oh my god, it’s incredible.” Thomas mocked. Rob snorted with laughter as they danced, leaning down to kiss Thomas sweetly upon the lips. The song closed, and the crowd applauded their love.

And by god if they didn’t start up with Tchaikovsky after that, using his Sleeping Beauty Waltz.

So Thomas and Rob started up again, this time spinning with a quicker beat as they kept up with the time of the waltz.

Rob leaned close to speak into Thomas’ ear. Thomas listened intently, his heartbeat quickening at the proximity of his alpha. He was a fool in love, and always would be.

“You know, just between you and me, you are incredibly beautiful in your dress.”

“I’ll wear a dress anytime.” Thomas whispered back, “Just for you alone.”

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

“To bed?” Robert teased.

“So long as we don’t sleep.” Thomas teased back. Robert chuckled warmly in his ear.

“Tonight, I intend to take you to bed.” Robert said, and Thomas shivered with anticipation. “As my omega and my mate.”

Thomas could not help but hold onto Rob all the tighter.

He could hardly wait for tonight, to return to Petts Wood for the first time as a mated omega, bound legally to his alpha. It would be the first time they’d made love since before Rob had left for Vienna… the first time they’d made love since Rupert’s birth. Thomas was ready, his body healed. He wanted to be beneath his alpha. To be owned and possessed entirely.

But before his thoughts could go anywhere else, the pair of them were interjected upon by Amos.

“Excuse me-“ Amos stopped their twirling, “May I cut in?”

“Oh well, if you wish-“ Rob joked, and let go of Thomas to instead take up Amos’ arms.

“Mm- thanks but no thanks-“ Amos said, twirling Rob beneath his arm so that he let go and spun out. “I prefer a more delicate experience.”

And with that, Amos took up Thomas’ hands.

It was difficult for Amos to dance with a wooden leg. In order to make up for lack of balance, the pair of them went slow while Rob rejoined the crowd and accepted congratulations from his colleagues.

“So.” Amos praised with a warm smile, “That little runt over there, yours?” He jerked his head in Rupert’s direction, who was currently being doted upon by Dr. Reyes and his two omegas.

“Hey.” Thomas warned. “That runt happens to be my little honey pot.”

“He’s alright for a bean.” Amos shrugged. “I’ve seen prettier.”

“I doubt it.” Thomas said, “I’ll have you know that Rupert is the most beautiful baby in all the world. I have a team of doctors to back me up on that, I’ll have you know.”

Amos rolled his eyes but did not make to deny it. “So, your safe and sound at home with your loving mate and baby.” Amos said, “Sounds a little too simple for a guy like you.”

“You’d think I’d get bored or something.” Thomas teased.

“I have an idea, actually.” Amos said, “If you’re up for it.”

“I’m listening.”

“Now that the Brigade is done and dusted, it’s only a matter of time before some new arsehole steps in and tries to take over. Why not beat them to the punch?”

“You want to be the new Brigade?” Thomas scoffed. The idea didn’t ring out to him as a good one. Wouldn’t it be better to have no Brigade at all?

“No, no.” Amos shook his head, “I want to help alphas and omegas in need. And where better to do that than Dover Castle?”

“But do you think they’ll give you the rights?” Thomas wondered, for surely Amos would have to go through the courts to obtain the property deeds. He had quite a rap sheet behind him, and a dark reputation to boot. What if he was denied.

“Oh, they already did.” Amos said. Thomas was surprised by that. “I’m t’be knighted by the king next month. You can thank Turnbull for all of that.”

“Well congratulations.” Thomas said, and he meant it quite earnestly. “You’ve earned your moment in the sun, Amos. I’m glad for you.”

“But we need help, you know.” Amos said, “Dover House is in London, not far from here. It’s still unoccupied. I want it to be a half-way house for omegas in need. Maybe a place they can recuperate, find jobs, new places to live… a place where they can take care of their children. What say you?”

Dover House, while being occupied by the Brigade, had been run down and teeming with testosterone. If it were to be repaired, then Thomas could see it being an excellent halfway house.

“Sounds wonderful.” Thomas agreed.

“I want you to take it on.” Amos urged. “I want you to be in charge of it.”

But that made Thomas stop dancing. Amos stopped too, the pair of them standing still amid a crowd of twirling figures. Thomas did not feel comfortable with Amos’ offer, even if it normally would have been delightful. The fact of the matter was that Rob was home now, and Rupert was a newborn. Above all, beyond omegas in need and Amos’ plans, Thomas wanted to care for his son and be a loving mother. He doubted he could do that if he was constantly away with work. Then again, he might be wrong. Lady Edith had run the magazine left to her by her late lover, and had cared for Marigold at the same time… but Marigold hadn’t been an infant. She’d been a toddler.

And even so, Thomas didn’t feel comfortable with it either way. It just wasn’t in his nature to do things half-way.

“…No.” Thomas said. “No, I need to take care of Rupert. He comes first.”

“Thomas, come on!” Amos urged, reaching out to grasp him tenderly by the arms. “Rupert’s just an infant, he’s not going to know if you’re gone part of the day. You won’t be twenty miles away, hell you won’t even be ten blocks away-!”

Thomas pulled his arms out of Amos’ grip.  
Amos was obviously crestfallen.

“Thank you, Amos… I appreciate the offer truly. I’ll help you to find someone to run Dover House, but my place is at my mate’s side, and at home with my child.”

Amos did not look happy. He sighed, staring away from Thomas as he tried to regain his thoughts.

“Excuse me.” Thomas said.  
He stepped away and left Amos in the middle of the dance floor.

~*~

Returning home that night was a wonderful thing. Rupert was handed over to Rebecca and George, tucked away with his stuffed bee, his favorite flannel blanket, and all the comforts of home. It left their flat in Petts Woods unoccupied as they returned home in full regalia. Rob swept Thomas up off his feet, carrying him over the threshold in an entirely unnecessary mood. Thomas howled with laughter as Rob smacked his head against the door sill, only to be pampered as Rob set him down and begged his pardon.

They spent the rest of the night in their bedroom, kept company by a shared bottle of champagne while they lay in the nude.

They made love, as exuberant as teenagers in their frenzy to worship one another. In the afterglow, Rob and Thomas lay intertwined upon sweating sheets. The champagne sat between them, cocked against Rob’s thigh. Thomas’ hand lay outstretched, running soft patterns over the tender flesh of Rob’s cock and deflated knot. His seed was deep within Thomas’ belly. Thomas was owned inside and out… utterly swept beneath Rob’s warm waves.

“Mmm, god that was good.” Rob grumbled softly.

Thomas smiled, letting his thumb swipe tenderly back and forth over his Rob’s cock. He loved to stroke Rob’s flesh, to praise and tease him in one go. ‘’

“Mhmm.” Thomas agreed, eyes still closed. He rolled on his side, nuzzling into the crook of Rob’s neck. Rob kissed him tenderly upon the forehead, holding him close.

“What did Amos want?” Rob asked after a moment. Thomas felt him take a swig of champagne, and opened his eyes to silently open his mouth in an offering of a drink.

Rob grinned, pouring a sip of warming champagne into Thomas’ open mouth. He swallowed, licking his lips happily.

“He’s gonna open Dover Castle as a refuge. He owns it now.” Thomas said, closing his eyes to nuzzle into Rob’s neck again, “He wants me to run Dover House like a half way house for abused omegas.”

“Oh?”

“I told him no.” Thomas said. “I need to take of Ru and you.”

Robert sat the bottle of champagne aside, and rolled so that Thomas was suddenly beneath him again. Thomas opened his eyes to find Rob smiling down on him warmly. Thomas threaded his fingers through Rob’s sweating hair, his thumb gently tracing the crescent scar on Rob’s left ear from where he’d nearly been killed by a bullet.

“Last time we put our dreams before each other.” Rob whispered, “But maybe this time we can balance better. Who knows… let’s take some time, get settled, and when Ru’s a little older why not help Amos set up Dover House? You don’t have to start tomorrow, but I do think you should at least try. It’s important to you and your life isn’t over just because you’ve had a baby. Ru won’t be little forever.”

“Don’t say such things.” Thomas refused to imagine Rupert getting older, “I want my baby to stay a baby forever.”

Rob smiled and kissed him lovingly upon the forehead. His breath smelt of cake and champagne.

“He’ll grow. They always do.” Rob murmured in his ear.

“Then you’ll just have to give me another baby.” Thomas murmured back. Ro began to suck delicately upon Thomas’ neck, gently teething upon the bite wound that had marked their boding back in July.

“I think I can manage that.” Rob growled in his ear.  
Thomas shuddered, a dreamy smile spreading across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know in the comments.  
> Likewise, I'd be incredibly grateful if you could let me know if you have anyone in mind that ought to be interviewed for their fanfiction!!


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